“You poor thing. Is it really bad?” Marcy enveloped her in an expensively scented hug and then poured herself a cup of coffee.
Lotta tugged at her baggy man’s shirt, feeling dishevelled, unkempt, and like she shopped at a thrift store. Well, she did shop at a thrift store, seeing no need for an expensive wardrobe that would only get covered in flour.
With a shake of her head at the silliness of comparing potato rolls to croissant, Lotta settled at the table with a piece of paper and sketched out a schedule. “The guy thinks there’s a plumbing leak in the wall behind the ovens. He’s gone off to get more tools.”
“Shit, that’s not good. Who did you call?”
“Jake’s Contracting, but he’s sick and his crew is busy, so he sent over a friend.”
“What’s his name?”
“Um…Mitch something.” Damn it, why were her cheeks getting hot?
“Oh, yeah? You thought he was cute?” Marcy giggled.
“He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I could barely speak I was so nervous.”
“Darling, you barely speak at the best of times. But I don’t blame you. Mitch Calhoun is six feet of dark haired, nicely built male.”
“Calhoun – that’s it. Have I met him?”
“You would if you had ever left your house. He’s always been part of our crowd. He’s been friends with Doug since kindergarten or something. I’m surprised you haven’t met him at one of my parties.”
“I thought I’d seen him before.”
“Yeah, that’s one man you never forget.” Marcy fanned herself theatrically.
“Do you two have a history?”
“High school dating, nothing serious.”
Lotta had met Marcy their freshman year of high school yet didn’t remember her friend dating one Mitch Calhoun.
She glanced at the clock and stood. Her to-do list wasn’t clearing itself. And if she didn’t stay busy, she’d worry about her life crumbling like, well, a cookie. “I need to get the dough from the bakery.”
“I’ll help if you lend me an apron.”
After only three trips they had all the tubs of dough on the kitchen table and a stack of baking trays piled on a chair. While Lotta formed rolls, Marcy sold houses.
Chapter 4
Wednesday, about an hour later…
Since she’d been listening for the sound of tires crunching on her gravel driveway, Lotta was already standing at the door when Mitch knocked. He’d changed into faded jeans that sat low on his hips, and a rock-band t-shirt molded his torso nicely. Very nicely indeed. Broad shoulders, impressive biceps. The left leg of his jeans had been cut off above the knee to accommodate his cast, giving her a glimpse of a knee dusted with dark hair. The skin on his leg wasn’t as tanned as that on his forearms. Lovely, strong, muscled forearms.
“Lotta, can I come in?”
She jumped, recalled to the here and now, not the fantasy world where Mitch was pulling her into his wonderful arms, against his impressive chest, enfolding her in his heat and manly scent. The same fantasy world where she’d be eager for all that to happen, and not terrified, at risk of succumbing to a panic attack.
“Yes, sorry, thinking about—stuff.” She backed up and let him precede her to the kitchen, allowing her a few seconds to suck in some oxygen and regain her equilibrium. It also gave her the opportunity to check out his fine physique from the rear. And quite a fine rear he had. His wide shoulders tapered to a trim waist, narrow hips, and nicely-shaped ass.
“Hi, Marcy, how’re you doing?” Mitch tucked his sunglasses into the front of his t-shirt.
Bella emerged briefly, approved of Mitch’s presence, smart girl, and curled up again with her sheep.
“Hey, Mitch, I’m good.” Motioning to his leg she said, “Sorry to hear about your tumble. Puts a dent in the lobstering.”
He shrugged. “I could pilot, but Dad wanted a vacation anyway, so the timing worked out. You all ready for the big day?”
Marcy sighed. “I hope so. This disaster is a pain in the ass.”
Lotta heard more vehicles pull into the driveway. “Who could that be?”
“I scrounged up a couple guys to help.”
“I’ll unlock the bakery.” She went through the door and instinctively reached for the light switch before remembering that all power had been cut off. Thank goodness it was a clear day. There would be enough light coming through the large windows on the south side, over the sink and prep area, to allow the guys to work.
She unlocked the door and propped it open. She drew in a deep breath of the fresh, salt-tinged air rushing through the opening. Her neck and shoulders relaxed as some of the tension drained away.
An older fellow got out of a pick-up. “You must be Lotta. I’m Phil Daniels. Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”
Thank goodness he seemed ready to get to work and didn’t fill time with chitchat. She didn’t do chitchat.
“Nice to meet you, Phil. Thanks for helping.”
“Glad to give Mitch a hand. And my wife is relieved I’m out of the house.” He grabbed an armful of drop cloths from the back of the truck and, once inside, started draping her equipment, her tools, her very existence. Oh, man, tearing down a wall was going to make such a mess.
Wait a minute. She pulled in another calming breath. This was a momentary setback, nothing major, not like an earthquake or a tornado. Her business might take a hit, but it was temporary. Yes, a minor speed bump. What other inane metaphors could she think of?
She wiped the film of sweat off her forehead and pasted on a smile as a young guy climbed out of his car. She couldn’t call him a man, he looked too young. He was evidently a gear head if the red-rimmed wheels and matte paint finish on the low-slung hatchback were any indication.
“Hi, ma’am, I’m Connor.”
She waited, but he appeared to be a person of little words. She wanted to sit him down and give him a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. Which would probably embarrass him to death. Instead she asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
If he kept calling her ma’am, she’d search her head for grey hairs.
Connor joined Phil and they were soon shifting the ovens and generally dismantling her universe. Unable to watch, she returned to the kitchen to find Mitch and Marcy still reminiscing about the good old days, which had somehow passed her by. High school had been the worst years of her life.
“Phil and Connor are here, ripping my bakery apart.”
“Oh, honey, it’ll be okay.” Marcy clasped her hand.
Mitch also reached for her, but stopped before contact was made. “I’d better get started then, find that leak.” And he was gone. It seemed he’d taken the sunshine with him.
“Okay, what gives?” Marcy capped her pen, clearly ready for a heart-to-heart.
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, I’m not blind. What’s going on with you two?”
Blast.
“Nothing.” She turned her back, ostensibly to grease the loaf pans, but really to hide the color rising from her neck in a wave of heat.
Marcy snorted. “You don’t want to tell me? Fine.” She shuffled a few papers. “Forget that, you do have to tell me. I saw the way he was looking at you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I met the guy an hour ago.” But wow, it would be a long time before she forgot him, if ever. The combination of her sexually frustrated body and a man who oozed sex appeal sent her imagination into overdrive. She was ‘in lust’, not something she wanted to share with her friend. Not right now. “I have work to do. I’m an hour behind.”
Lotta formed the bread dough into loaves and covered them with a towel for their final rise. The timing would be tight, but the entire order should be risen, baked, and ready for pick-up by ten-thirty, right on schedule. Not able to sit waiting for the bad news from the other side of the wall, she pulled butter from the fridge and started
on the recipe she planned to make for the next day’s blog post, a variation on three-layer bars.
“Well, I should get to the office, much as I hate leaving you on your own.” Marcy gathered her planner, cell phone, and several file folders into her oversized purse.
“Thanks for stopping by and giving me support in my hour of need.” Hopefully, an hour would be all that was needed to fix her bakery. Otherwise, she’d have to rethink baking The Cake. Gah, the pan for the base layer wouldn’t even fit in her oven. But the wedding was two weeks away. She gave her shoulders a shake to relax the muscles. Plenty of time to patch one little leaky pipe.
“Don’t worry, they’ll have it fixed in no time. I’ll call you later.” Marcy’s look telegraphed that she wouldn’t let the Mitch issue drop. Then she was out the door and on her way to her well-ordered world.
Lotta smoothed her apron and returned to making the shortbread base for the bars. She’d top it with a layer of fudgy, chocolate brownie, and then a layer of caramel and pecans. Her mouth watered, this would be tasty. Good thing she was usually too busy baking to eat, otherwise she’d need to buy extra extra-large aprons.
A couple hours later, the bread was done, the layer bars were cooling and she had one pan of rolls to finish. She checked the pictures she’d taken of each step in creating her cookies. She usually did the photography in the bakery, where the overhead lights and the natural light combined to make the perfect illumination. Her poky little kitchen faced west, so the light was rather dismal this time of day. Oh well, nothing to do about it now. She might be able to lighten a few of the shots in the photo editing.
Raising her head, she listened to…silence. She’d been so involved with her work the hammering and other noises had faded into the background. Now the lack of noise was strange. The guys must have stopped for a break.
She cut a few bars from the pan, snapped pictures of the luscious, gooey layers, and filled a plate. If the men were on a coffee break, they might appreciate a treat.
She stepped into the bakery and skittered to a standstill. Long extension cords ran to portable lights illuminating the extent of the damage. Several areas had been stripped of plaster, and the insulation pulled out. Black mold was visible on all the exposed wood.
“Oh, my God.”
Mitch was at her side, easing the plate from her grasp before its contents spilled onto the dusty floor.
“Well, we do have a bit of a problem.” Phil sipped from his thermos cup, his grey hair almost white with dust. He helped himself to a cookie bar from the plate and settled onto a counter.
A master of understatement!
“I know it looks bad. The leak was a loose joint, easy to repair, but it’s been leaking for some time.” Mitch put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She wanted to cry.
“We’ll need to get the wall dried out before we do anything else.” Phil took a bite of cookie. “Good golly, this is tasty.”
“Thank you. Is there a way to, you know, speed up the drying?” Lotta really did want to cry. Huge sobs and messy tears. She clutched her chin to keep it from wobbling. She would not cry, not in front of these men. Tears stung her eyes. God damn it.
“Yeah, we’ll find some dehumidifiers and fans,” Mitch said. “I’ll stop by the hardware store and pick up something to kill the mold. I’ve got a sprayer I can use.”
Why was he staring at her? She smoothed a few wisps of hair from her face, and surreptitiously wiped her cheek. Did she have chocolate smeared around her mouth? She had licked a spoon.
“Buddy’s dad has dehumidifiers.” Connor mumbled around a full mouth, working on his third bar.
Phil drained his cup and screwed it back on the thermos. “Do you need any of this equipment moved into your house?”
“Since this won’t be fixed by tonight, I’ll need the large mixer.” She fought to keep her voice even.
The men all eyed the monster.
“I’ll call Buddy. He lifts.” Connor grabbed a cookie bar on his way outside, his cell phone already in his other hand.
“Lifts?” Lotta crossed her arms. Damn it, this was taking too long. All of it. Too much talking, and too much of Mitch watching her. She stepped back a few feet, closer to the door, and escape.
“I’m assuming he means his friend lifts weights and so is stronger than the average bear.” Mitch smiled, all the way to his eyes, deep blue, the color of blueberries, or the ocean at dusk.
She needed air. And distance from this man who could make her forget everything with his smile.
He plucked a cookie bar from the plate and consumed half in one bite. A little crumb lingered on his lower lip practically demanding that she be the one to wipe it away. And then continue to explore his lips. He caught the crumb with his tongue and her knees went weak. “Wow, that was delicious.” He gestured toward the mixer. “I can’t put extra weight on this leg otherwise the three of us could have managed.”
Dang, with a broken leg he shouldn’t be doing as much as he was doing. “Should you be working at all?”
He smiled again. That wonderful, warm smile that involved his entire face. Her insides felt all squiggly. “I’ll take it easy. The important thing is to keep your business running. As soon as Buddy gets here, we’ll get the mixer shifted and get the rest of this wall down.”
“I should empty the cooler.”
“You mean this refrigerated room? I hope nothing’s spoiled.”
“Butter and eggs don’t spoil overnight. I’ll have to make room in my own fridge for tonight’s dough.” Heck fire, she’d planned to make the butter-cream frosting for the cupcakes she’d be baking the following day. There wouldn’t be room for everything. The frosting would have to wait. “Maybe Marcy has space in her fridge.” She must. Most of her meals were eaten out, or at her fiancé’s house.
She carried five dozen eggs through to her house. Mitch followed with ten pounds of butter.
“Man, it smells good in here.”
“Do you want another bar?”
“No, thanks, one was enough.” He picked up her camera. “Nice. This your hobby?”
“Sort of. I take pictures of the baking process for my blog. The light in here isn’t what I’m used to.”
“You have a blog? For your business?”
“Not really, it’s more of a side thing. I’m hoping—well, never mind.”
She put the dishes and utensils she’d used into the sink and turned on the taps. He could leave now. The teeny, tiny kitchen shrank with his large body taking up so much space. And air.
“What are you hoping?”
He was standing next to her, close enough for the heat of his body to warm her skin. His interesting scent, a mix of sweat and herbal soap, filled the air. Interesting and exciting. If she turned, she’d be within one step of his body, his muscles, his strength. One step would be all she needed to press against him.
Too close. Gah, what is wrong with me?
She shrugged and concentrated on scrubbing the color from a silicone scraper. “A dream of mine, to write a cookbook.” She glanced up at him to check for a reaction. Yeah, it was a far-fetched fantasy, she wouldn’t blame him for being sceptical, or laughing. But when she met his eyes, all she saw was interest. And admiration?
“If all your recipes are as good as that cookie thing, you should have a cookbook. How long have you been blogging?”
A thrill went through her at his words. She’d had encouragement from her parents, and from Marcy, but hearing the excitement in Mitch’s voice was different. More real.
“About two years.” She had fun, and a few of her readers were also food bloggers so it was a good sense of community. She could chat ad nauseum online, it was only the face-to-face stuff that made her heart race and her tummy feel sick. Add a handsome man to the mix and it was a wonder she hadn’t imploded.
“Do you have more photography to do?”
“Yes.” She always did two recipes so she’d have one in reserve, in case something wen
t wrong, or it tasted bad. Last year, one of her experiments entered the realm of natural disaster—her cream puffs didn’t stay puffed, and the filling was more soup than custard.
“Can I borrow your camera for a sec? I should take pictures of the water damage before we destroy too much. In case your insurance company needs proof.”
“Oh.” Damn. “I should call them.”
He grinned. “That’d be a good idea. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Lotta went into her dining room that served as a home office, found the insurance info, and, with sweating palms, made the call. Thank goodness Mitch had reminded her because they wanted to send an inspector over before any more work was done. Another strange person in her house. Another delay. No way would she be using the bakery by this weekend. She wouldn’t worry about The Cake. Not yet.
Mitch returned with her camera and one of the portable construction lights. “I thought this might help with your next set of photos. What else are you baking for your blog?”
Lotta explained the recipe, her routine, and the number of shots she’d need.
“Can I help? There’s nothing to do in the bakery until the inspector gets here. Connor said his friend can’t help until the morning, so he and Phil went home.”
She preferred to work alone, always had, hence her one-woman bakery. She could hire more staff and expand her business, but that would mean interacting with other people on a regular basis. Thanks to a small inheritance and a smart investment advisor, she had enough to live on. She’d inherited the house and her ancient car from Aunt Florence, her friend, mentor, and baking teacher.
But how could she refuse his offer when he was being so helpful? Granted, it was most likely pity on his part, or boredom. Besides, he was Marcy’s friend.
“Um—sure.” She’d never worked with an assistant before. Particularly a handsome, charming, sexy-as-hell assistant. He’d probably get in the way, bump into things, bump into her. The kitchen was tight even for one person. “Thank you.” Way to be strong, ninny. Nothing wrong with saying thanks but no thanks. You should try it some time.
Welcome to Serenity Harbor Page 13
