The Truth in Tiramisu (A Poppy Creek Novel Book 2)

by Rachael Bloome

  Which is why Colt’s interest in Eliza baffled Grant to no end. Sure, she was as gorgeous and effervescent as ever. But the single mother angle didn’t fit Colt’s MO, not even a little bit.

  “Are you glad to be home?” Penny fell into step beside him, disrupting his thoughts.

  “Yeah, mostly.” Grant smiled, grateful for the distraction. He’d always liked Penny Heart. She’d been quiet in school, perpetually glued to a book. An introvert himself, Grant could relate. Plus, she never fell for Colt’s affable charm like the other girls. A fact Grant admired.

  “How’s business?” she asked. “You were pretty big news around town when your company was featured in that fancy San Francisco magazine. What was the headline again? ‘Super’ something.”

  “‘Superstar Startup,’” Grant chuckled. “Believe me, I didn’t pick the headline. Business is doing well, though. I landed my biggest client to date last week. Landon Morris with—”

  “Morris Bio Tech!” Penny’s eyes lit up in excitement. “I love what he’s doing in the sustainability field. Plus, he’s not bad on the eyes, either.”

  “Trust me, I work with the guy. I don’t need the reminder.” Grant grinned, holding up a protruding branch so she could step underneath.

  “Hey, you didn’t turn out so bad yourself.” Laughing, she nudged him playfully.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Grant caught Eliza stealing a glance over her shoulder. Did he detect a jealous glint in her eyes? Or was that his imagination? Grant wasn’t sure. But a moment later, she stumbled, lurching forward.

  Colt’s hand shot out, slithering around her waist as though he’d been waiting all day for that precise scenario to present itself.

  Grant’s fists clenched at his sides.

  Frowning, Penny followed his gaze. “Don’t worry, I don’t see that going anywhere. Eliza’s too smart for that.”

  “It’s none of my business.” Grant uncurled his fingers, trying to appear calm and unconcerned.

  “Sure. Of course. And not that you care, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t take much effort for someone else to swoop in and steal her away.”

  Grant couldn’t help notice the slight twitch in Penny’s lips as she hid a smile. “Right. Well, I’ll be sure to pass along the information if I run into someone who’s interested.”

  “Great. You do that.” She grinned broadly now, and Grant found himself smiling, too. But as he glanced up ahead, his optimism instantly faded.

  Framed by vibrant dogwood branches, Eliza and Colt walked a little too close for comfort.

  And given the enraptured way Eliza gazed up at her captivating walking companion, Grant wasn’t so sure Penny was right.

  Chapter 7

  The tension in Eliza’s shoulders subsided the second she flipped on the light switch and the warm glow flooded the bakery kitchen, reflecting off the brand-new equipment installed the day before.

  She’d barely survived the Secret Picnic, and after a long, grueling day avoiding emotions she’d kept suppressed for years, she craved some serious baking time. Caring, compassionate Cassie had begged to come along to keep her company, but Eliza graciously turned down her offer.

  This time, cupcakes and girl talk wouldn’t be enough.

  It was time for the Playlist.

  After cinching her pink-and-white-pinstripe apron around her waist, Eliza pressed play on her iPhone. It took a moment to connect to the portable Wi-Fi speakers, but once the boisterous, peppy notes of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” filled the room, the pressure drained from Eliza’s throbbing temples.

  Big band music had a knack for bolstering her spirits. Even though each trill of a trumpet invariably made her think of Grant.

  They’d taken a swing dancing class their freshman year of high school and fallen in love over the Lindy Hop and Charleston. At first, Grant worried he’d be mercilessly teased by the other boys. But, in the end, the kick ball change and triple step won out over his fears. In fact, Grant had excelled far beyond anyone else in the class. Even more than Eliza, who’d practically pirouetted out of the womb, thanks to her mother’s obsession with the performing arts.

  Humming along with Sammy Davis Jr., Eliza assembled the ingredients she’d brought from home, arranging them in order of use on the stainless steel countertop. In times like these, she never followed a recipe, preferring to let her instincts take over.

  Tonight, she’d make a concoction she called Mochaccino Truffle Cookies, an idea that had floated around in the back of her mind for days. The main ingredients consisted of dark brown sugar, organic cacao powder, and finely ground espresso, courtesy of Frank Barrie.

  By the time the rich, caffeine-packed cookies were in the oven, Sammy had crooned the first few notes of “Can’t We Be Friends.”

  Closing her eyes, she swayed to the melody, escaping to her happy place. Before long, Eliza found herself spinning and twirling across the porcelain tile floor, grateful Luke hadn’t finished the huge butcher block prep-island, leaving the wide-open space for her impromptu performance. To her surprise, all the steps came rushing back to her, as well-known and welcome as long-lost friends.

  In all her life, Eliza had never felt as free as she had when she’d danced with Grant. The rush of being lifted into the air, twirled over his shoulder, or flipped upside down transcended words. It even transcended baking.

  Caught up in the music and memories, it took Eliza a moment to register the sensation of someone’s arm sliding around her waist.

  As her eyes flew open, Eliza gasped. “Grant? What are you doing here?” He was the last person Eliza expected to see. And the sight of him, standing in her sacred space, left her tongue-tied and completely off-kilter.

  “Do you remember the Lindy Flip?” Grant gripped her hand with assurance, his indigo eyes glinting with hopeful expectation.

  Her heart pounding inside her throat, Eliza couldn’t speak. Grant’s touch felt at once foreign and familiar, safe yet scintillating. She should run away, be anywhere in the world but in Grant’s arms. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t move.

  Without waiting for a response, Grant drew her against his hip, flung her into the air, and spun her around his back before returning her to solid ground as effortlessly as breathing.

  “I guess you remember,” he chuckled, pulling her back into a basic box step.

  Eliza melted against him as they moved in perfect rhythm. Somehow, after what felt like a lifetime apart, they hadn’t missed a single beat. How was it that her body could still anticipate his every movement? How was it that her mind told her to flee, but every fiber in her being told her to stay?

  “Are you ready?” Grant held her gaze, a playful smile curling the edges of his mouth.

  “For what?”

  “The Charleston Flip.”

  Eliza’s breath caught in her throat. They’d only successfully managed the flip once—after several weeks of practice. Grant had to be crazy to attempt it after all these years. And yet, Eliza’s body eagerly fell into step, her feet kicking off the ground as Grant flipped her backward over his arm.

  For a moment, time slowed down, and a gleeful laugh escaped Eliza’s lips as she flew in the air, suddenly free from every burden weighing her down.

  As she prepared to land, a crucial part of the maneuver flickered through her mind. But it was too late. Failing to remove her arm from around his shoulders, Eliza’s limbs tangled with Grant’s, sending them both crashing to the cold, hard tile.

  Grant’s chest broke her fall, and he released a winded groan.

  “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” she breathed, scanning his body for signs of injury.

  “Minus the cracked ribs, I’m completely fine.” Grant flashed a lopsided grin. “Guess we need a little more practice.”

  “Guess so.” Smiling, she poked him in the ribs. “Are they really broken?”

  “No, just my pride. And maybe my glasses….” Grant reached for his wire frames lying a few feet away.

  As he
slipped them on his face, Eliza giggled. “They’re a little crooked.”

  “Remind me to wear contacts next time.”

  “We did pretty well, considering we haven’t danced together since…” Eliza’s words hung in the small space between them, disrupting the delicate bubble that had momentarily separated them from their painful past.

  Grant cleared his throat, and Eliza scrambled to her feet. “So, um, why are you here?” She smoothed down her blouse, unsure if she meant here at the bakery or back in Poppy Creek.

  “Cassie told me where I could find you.” Grant pushed off the ground, wincing slightly as he stood. “I wanted to apologize.”

  “For what?” Eliza turned away, tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ears.

  “For showing up at the Secret Picnic without telling you first. I honestly didn’t think we’d wind up eating lunch together. But, in hindsight, I should have known it would be a possibility.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology. It’s your hometown, too. You can visit whenever you’d like.”

  “Oh. Well, I thought…” Grant hesitated, clearly not receiving the reaction he’d expected. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m back?”

  “Why would it?” Eliza managed to keep her voice steady even though her pulse ran rampant.

  “I guess, because of our history…”

  “That was a long time ago, Grant.”

  “Was it, Lizzy?”

  Eliza’s breath hitched as he evoked her nickname, and Grant seemed to notice the effect he had on her.

  Taking a step toward her, he closed the gap between them.

  Eliza backed away, pressing herself against the counter.

  “So, being near me doesn’t bother you at all?” Grant moved closer, until he stood mere inches from her face.

  “No,” she lied. “Does it bother you?” Why did her voice sound strained and breathy all of a sudden?

  “Nope.” Grant leaned in, his gaze flickering to her lips.

  “Good.” Eliza tried to create distance between them, digging the edge of the metal counter into her lower back.

  “So, we can be friends?” Grant asked, his husky tone sending shivers skittering up her spine.

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured, although she’d stopped listening. His lips were so close, she felt his warm breath on her skin.

  Instinctively, she tilted her head back, her eyelids drifting shut.

  Then the kitchen timer wailed.

  Startled, Grant took a step back, readjusting his glasses as Eliza slipped on a pair of oven mitts.

  As he watched her yank open the oven door, thick clouds of steam wafting toward her flushed face, Grant tried to get a grip on his emotions. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. When he’d arrived at the bakery, he had every intention of clearing the air between them. Possibly rekindling a friendship. Or at the very least, he’d hoped to get back on speaking terms.

  But after they’d danced…

  Grant’s heartbeat quickened simply thinking about it. She fit so perfectly in his arms. And her scent! She smelled faintly of brown sugar, sweet and completely intoxicating. Grant couldn’t think straight, wondering if her lips would taste the same.

  Eliza slid the baking sheet on top of the stove and removed her oven mitts, gently grazing one of the pillowy mounds with her fingertip. “Perfect timing.”

  Grant would have dwelled on the double entendre, except the tempting aroma of dark chocolate flooded his senses. He noticed the faintest whiff of something else, too. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Those smell incredible.”

  “Thanks. I hope they taste okay. It’s a new recipe.”

  “You always were an artist in the kitchen.” Grant smiled as memories of afternoons spent baking together filled his mind. “Do you need a taste tester? I’m happy to oblige.”

  “How generous of you,” Eliza laughed.

  “You know me. Always willing to help in the kitchen.”

  Eliza blushed, as if she recalled a few memories of her own. “They might need a little more time to set.”

  “Remember, the soft melt-in-your-mouth cookies are my favorite.”

  “I remember.” Eliza averted her gaze, the pink tint to her cheeks deepening.

  Yeesh. Being friends would be harder than he’d thought. Grant couldn’t seem to manage going two seconds without referencing their shared history.

  Grabbing a slotted spatula, Eliza slid a cookie onto a plate, handing it to Grant.

  As he tore off a bite-size morsel, aromatic steam escaped from the center, making his mouth water. As soon as the rich, gooey chocolate collided with his taste buds, Grant released a groan.

  “Is it good?” Eliza bounced on her tiptoes, her eyes shimmering expectantly.

  “It’s amazing,” Grant mumbled, going in for a second bite.

  “Hooray! I was really hoping it would be. I need plenty of fresh, original desserts to add to the menu.” Sidling up next to him, she pinched a bite-sized piece, plopping it in her mouth.

  For a moment, Grant forgot all about the sugary perfection melting on his tongue, completely enamored with Eliza stealing food off his plate, just like old times.

  “Oh, wow. They really are good.” Eliza closed her eyes, a smile playing about her lips.

  Grant chuckled. Only Eliza could praise her own work while still being endearingly humble and genuine. “Have you decided on a name?”

  “I’m thinking of calling them Mochaccino Truffle Cookies.”

  “So that’s what it is!” Grant snapped his fingers. “I couldn’t figure out the extra kick. You added coffee to the batter?”

  “Yep. It’s kind of a special project I’m working on. An entire line of coffee-infused desserts for the bakery. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s genius.” Grant polished off the rest of the cookie while Eliza scooped another one onto his plate.

  Swiveling back to the counter, she set to work transferring the rest of the cookies to a cooling rack.

  While he nibbled, Grant cast his gaze around the kitchen, noting how different everything looked from when it was Maggie’s Place. The brick walls were now painted a soft, antique white, which contrasted pleasantly with the dark, ebony-stained shelves lined with baking tools and supplies. To honor the bakery’s original color, Eliza and Cassie had added pops of retro pink with accent pieces like the KitchenAid mixer and vintage storage canisters.

  “It’s really amazing what you’ve done with the place, Lizzy. I mean it. All the improvements you’ve made look fantastic. Maggie must be really proud.” Grant wanted to tell her that he was proud, but thought it might be awkward.

  “Thanks. I hope so. Cassie and I have big plans for this place.”

  “Do you have a website?”

  “No, not yet. Neither one of us is very tech savvy. And I’m not sure what advantage a website would have. No offense,” she added sheepishly.

  “None taken. Although, a website could be a great way to direct tourist traffic your way. Plus, you could add helpful features like a tab for customers to place custom or bulk orders.”

  “Huh. I never thought of that.” Eliza’s eyebrows rose in interest. But she quickly shook her head. “It’s a nice idea, but I don’t think Cassie or I should be taking on a project like that right now. Not with the renovations and the wedding. Maybe sometime down the road we can—”

  “I’ll do it,” Grant blurted before thinking it through.

  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but—”

  “I should have added that I’ll do it for free. Consider it a favor from a friend. You did say you were fine being friends, right?” He grinned, hoping she couldn’t hear the heavy thundering of his heartbeat.

  “Yes…” Her brow furrowed as though considering it.

  “There isn’t any reason we can’t work together, is there?” Even as he asked the question, Grant could think of a thousand reasons. His rekindled feelings being reason number one.

  “None that I
can think of.”

  Grant noticed Eliza wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Great. Then it’s a deal.” He held out his hand to shake on it.

  But as soon as her fingers slipped through his, sending shocks of electricity coursing up his arm, Grant realized he’d made a monumental mistake.

  Chapter 8

  The gentle creaking of the porch swing acted like a soothing balm on Eliza’s troubled heart. Ever since she’d agreed to let Grant build them a website, she’d been plagued with regrets. She needed to keep him far, far away. Not have an excuse to be in regular contact. And she definitely needed to make sure she never danced with him again.

  Eliza tucked her feet beneath her on the swing while Cassie used her heels to gently rock them back and forth. Only a few months ago, Frank Barrie’s front porch had been a desolate wasteland of cracked, splintered boards and layers of dust and grime. A single rocking chair teetered in the wind as if to say, There’s no room for you here. Not that many people ever ventured past his uninviting entrance overgrown with wild blackberry brambles.

  Now Frank’s porch not only boasted two rocking chairs, but a wicker porch swing adorned with cushions hand-stitched by Beverly Lawrence. The sweet, soft-spoken librarian had breathed new life into Frank, slowly chipping away at his gruff exterior. Seeing the two lovebirds find each other so late in life gave Eliza hope, even if only fleeting.

  “What’s on your mind?” Cassie gently nudged Eliza’s shoulder.

  Stirred from her thoughts, Eliza sighed. “Grant came by the bakery last night. But then, you already know that.”

  “Sorry. He caught me off guard when he asked about you.” Cassie scrunched up her nose, offering an apologetic grimace. “But I thought it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world for you two to talk.”

  Eliza picked at a loose thread on her ripped jeans, worn in by years of chasing after Ben. She still hadn’t untangled her thoughts on last night’s encounter. On one hand, she no longer lived with the guilt of believing Grant hated her for breaking up with him. On the other hand, the flutter in her stomach when he’d held her in his arms didn’t bode well for protecting her heart.