“I promise not to eat anything before we get good pictures.” He plugged in the light and worked at positioning it in the best location.
Surprisingly, they were soon working in concert, Lotta measuring and mixing, and Mitch snapping ten times more photos than she ever did. There had to be a few good ones among the lot. And he didn’t seem to need conversation, thank goodness. Her fount of small talk had dried up pretty much after “good morning”.
While the chocolate and dried cherry wedges were baking, she plugged the camera into her laptop and scrolled through the pictures. Way better than the earlier batch. In fact, they were the best ever, even compared to the sessions in the bakery. Maybe she should get one of those light thingies.
He leaned over her chair to view the pictures as well. His warm breath tickled her ear. The heat of his body warmed her from head to toe. He was standing too close, again, and yet it didn’t seem too close. In fact, his presence was oddly comforting. “Hey, I did pretty good.”
She heard the smile in his voice. If she turned her head a smidge she’d see the smile, the kind that lit up his whole face, displaying a dimple in his left cheek, and a chipped front tooth. He must have been one of those rough and tumble boys, always getting into a scrape. One of the crowd taking boats out without permission to have parties on Tuttle Island. Those kids were wild and carefree, and she’d been so jealous but too scared to join in the fun. Even when Marcy urged her to tag along, reassuring her it was safe. But there were too many of them, a pack of untamed beasts. Who knew what might have happened?
Who knew what might happen now? Alone, with a stranger.
“Yes, these are lovely photos.” She slid off the chair and peeked in the oven. No reason to check, but she had to get space to breathe, and think. She glanced at the clock. Heck, he’d been there for almost two hours. When would he leave? How could she politely tell him to get out because he was making her uncomfortable and she really, really, really needed to be alone? Oh, to be alive back in the Middle Ages when becoming a hermit was an acceptable career choice. Or, better yet, to be able to reach out and grab this chance. She’d seen the way he looked at her, too. She had enough experience to figure out when a guy was interested. So why the heck wasn’t she doing something about it?
“So when those wedge things come out of the oven you’ll put on the topping?”
She turned from the oven to find him standing a few feet away. She took a giant step back. “They need to cool first.”
“Right. So what can we do while we’re waiting?” He limped even closer, filling her field of vision. The counter pressed into her back. She had nowhere to retreat. Why was he so close? All the oxygen had been sucked from the room. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to control her breathing. In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four, in-two-three-four, out—
“Hey, are you okay? Maybe you should sit.” A large hand grasped her upper arm, strong and yet gentle. She let him lead her to a chair and trusted there was something under her when she sat. Keeping her eyes closed, she propped her elbows on her knees and let her head drop forward. Fainting would be good, except she’d feel like crap when she came to. Thanks to training and therapy she hadn’t actually passed out in years. Why did this have to happen now?
“Should I call someone? Let me get you some water.”
The tap ran and a glass of water was placed in her hand. Please let a hole open in the floor so I can jump in. “I’m fine. Maybe you should go.”
“You sure? Do you need medication?”
She shook her head. Why couldn’t he leave? “I’m fine.”
“Look, I’ve gotta run home for a minute. Let me write down my cell, in case you need me. Uh—do you have a pen?”
“That drawer.” She pointed to the junk drawer.
He’d scrawled his number on the corner of her schedule. “I won’t be gone long, but you call if you need me to come back sooner.”
“It’s really not necessary.”
He gave her shoulder a squeeze and was gone.
She dropped her hands to the table and then her head into her hands. Thank God the panic attack hadn’t materialized. That had been embarrassing enough.
Chapter 5
Wednesday, lunchtime…
Mitch sat in his truck in his parent’s driveway. He shouldn’t have left her alone. What if she was epileptic, or diabetic? But she’d assured him she was okay. Actually, the word she’d used was “fine”. From his personal experience, when a woman said she was fine, she usually was anything but.
He plucked his phone from the center console, scrolled through his contacts, and called Marcy. He finally remembered that she and Lotta had been inseparable since the ninth grade. Except for parties and bonfires on the beach. Lotta hadn’t attended those, not that he could remember.
“Good afternoon, Coastal Realty, how may I help you?”
“Hey Marcy, it’s Mitch.”
“Hi, what’s up? Weird running into you at Lotta’s place. Did you find the leak?”
He explained about the mold and waiting for the insurance inspector. And then got to the real reason he called. “Listen, something happened a few minutes ago and it’s got me a little worried.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was helping Lotta take pictures, for her blog, and then she—I don’t know—I thought she was going to faint. Do you think she’s okay?”
Marcy’s exhale hissed in his ear. “I’ll tell you this much in strictest confidence, by which I mean I’ll kill you if it gets out. She has a panic disorder. I imagine all the stress from this morning pushed a few buttons. How did she seem before it happened?”
“Great! We were having a good time with the project. The chocolate cherry wedges were baking, and we talked about the next step. I asked what we could do to fill time while they cooled and that’s when she—”
“Did you put the moves on her?”
“Like I said, we were having a good time. I wouldn’t have been adverse to exploring our mutual attraction.”
“How do you know it’s mutual?”
“A guy knows.”
“Did you try anything?”
“For heaven’s sake, all I did was walk toward her. I didn’t even touch her.” Why was he feeling so damned defensive? He hadn’t done anything wrong.
“In my experience, it doesn’t take much to set her off. And like I said, having this happen to her bakery two weeks before my wedding … Maybe I should talk to her about finding someone else to do The Cake. To take some pressure off.”
“I think that would be a bad idea.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Where is she now?”
“At her place. I came home to get my pain meds and some lunch, but I don’t like leaving her alone.”
“I’m sure she’s feeling better with you gone.”
“Thanks a lot!”
“You’re a big guy with a strong personality. You make all the ladies quiver.”
“Yeah?”
“Stuff it, Mitch. You’re not God’s gift, merely a nicer-than-average man. Don’t worry about Lotta. I’ll swing by when I get off work.”
He said goodbye and ended the call. Still not feeling reassured about leaving her alone, he stepped into his parent’s kitchen. And his mom’s loving embrace, literally. It was like she hadn’t seen him in years. “Change of plans.”
“Has something happened, Mitchell?”
“Would you mind if I took my lunch ‘to go’? I’m helping a friend with a disaster.”
“Jeepers, I’m sorry to hear that. Of course, I’ll prepare a plate. Should I make up a plate for him, too?”
“He’s a she. It’s Lotta over at The Trellis Bakery.”
A sly grin fell over her face. “I didn’t know you knew her. She’s a lovely girl. Her Aunt Florence ran the bakery before her, you know. Of course, it was a much larger operation back then. I used to get all my bread from her. Now she only supplies a few restaurants, Lotta does, I mean. Florence passed on, o
h, must be twenty years ago. Is that right, Frank?” Not waiting for a reply from her husband, she took a breath and continued. “How long have you known Lotta?”
Mitch shook his head. It had been a mistake to mention a woman’s name. Unless the female was a child, or a senior citizen, his mom got ideas. Annoying ideas. “She’s friends with Marcy.” Hopefully, that would put an end to the grilling. Mom had never approved of Marcy, thinking she was too ‘fast’, too sophisticated. And while she clearly wasn’t the woman for him, she’d been part of his crowd and they got along fine. “About that lunch?”
“Yes, dear. I made chicken and dumplings. Does Lotta have any food allergies?”
“How would I know?”
“Yes, dear. I’m sure she’s fine with gluten. And there are no mushrooms or anything exotic in my stew.” She filled two bowls with dumplings and chicken. Then she started to laugh. “Oh, my land, I was about to ask if you wanted to take over a couple slices of my apple cake, but I imagine there are plenty of sweets at her place. It’s a wonder she stays so slim. She has a lovely figure, don’t you think?”
Mitch’s cheeks warmed. Yes, in fact, he did think she had a lovely figure, what he could see of it. It was hard to tell under the baggy shirt and large apron, but there were curves there. Curves he’d like to see more of.
“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.” He pecked her cheek and escaped before she could ask about wedding plans, and whether Lotta would make a good mother for her grandchildren. He propped the bowls on the passenger seat and drove carefully back to the bakery.
Chapter 6
Wednesday, a short half hour after Mitch left…
A vehicle drove into the driveway as Lotta chopped chocolate for the ganache. Perhaps the inspector was earlier than planned, which would mean the guys could get working sooner than expected, and she wouldn’t have to worry about The Cake becoming a complete disaster. Despite all Marcy’s assurances, she wasn’t convinced the bakery would be back to rights in time. Waiting for the doorbell to ring, or for a knock, she jumped when Bella gave a woof. She turned to see Mitch stepping into the kitchen.
“I brought lunch.” He placed two steaming bowls on the table before searching for cutlery.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Why was he here? To take care of her? Gah, she hated being babied. She wasn’t sick, she simply preferred to be alone. Most of the time. Truth was, she did get lonely. Bella wasn’t much of a conversationalist. She gave excellent cuddles, but not such great advice.
“I needed to eat something besides sugary sweets, and you’re too busy to cook. Do you have napkins, or do you use paper towels like I do?” He winked. A flutter filled her chest that had nothing to do with panic.
“Third drawer.”
He pulled out two linen napkins and raised his brows in question. “Aren’t these for special occasions?”
She smiled sheepishly. Others would think her silly, but she liked using her aunt’s damask napkins, and she liked ironing them so they were smooth and crisp. She might dress in second-hand men’s shirts, but she liked dressing her table in pretty linen, fine porcelain, and silver cutlery. “No, they’re the ones I use. But you don’t have to—”
“Come and get it while it’s hot.” He pulled out a chair.
She hadn’t eaten all day, except for tastes and nibbles while baking, and something did smell delicious. She rinsed chocolate dust from her hands and sat in the chair he held. Heavens, this was civilized. One might think they were on a date. She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. Sure, Mitch Calhoun asking little Lotta Wilson out on a date. And the pigs were flying in on their annual migration.
“My mom knew your aunt. Used to buy her bread.”
Lotta used the excuse of having to chew and swallow her mouthful of yummy stew to delay answering. Of course there would have to be small talk. They couldn’t sit here and eat in complete silence like cows chewing their cud. Too bad she hadn’t turned on the radio as a distraction. “Aunt Florence made fabulous bread.”
“Mom was saying it’s too bad you didn’t keep up that side of the business.”
“Aunt Florence had two people working with her.”
“How come you don’t? I imagine you’d have plenty of customers. Not that you’re doing badly with what you’re doing.”
“Hmm…” If she gobbled down her lunch maybe he would leave and they could stop talking about her bakery. And why it was smaller than it used to be. And why she worked alone.
“I was wondering, that’s all. Have you ever had employees?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
“I like it the way it is, okay? I don’t need to make heaps of money, I’m not starving. I prefer to keep the bakery small, so I can run it on my own. I’m not comfortable having tons of people around.” She stared at her bowl, no longer hungry.
He reached out like he was about to touch her but rested his hand on the table. Being touched by him would have been nice. But also scary. But also nice.
“That’s cool. I was just curious. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Marcy said—damn.”
“What did Marcy say?” Oh, God, what had Marcy told him? When had they been talking about her? Why had they been talking about her? The stew in her stomach turned to cement.
“I was concerned, I called her and mentioned your—incident. She explained about your panic attacks, that’s all. In strictest confidence.”
Damn. Blast. Who else had she told in strictest confidence? “I told you I was fine. You should have left it alone.” She let her spoon clatter into the bowl and crossed her arms over her chest. She hated this conversation.
“I couldn’t do that. I was worried—”
“Why? Why are you worried about me? You don’t know me.”
“I’d like to.”
“What? You’re not serious.”
“I’m very serious. I think you’re cute. And funny, when you relax.”
She pushed from the table and strode to the window. He thought she was cute? Well, that made it mutual because he was the cutest guy she’d ever seen. But he couldn’t be serious about wanting—what? What exactly did he want from her? She turned and rested her butt on the windowsill. “So, you want to go out on a date or something?” She snickered. Right, that was going to happen.
“I’d love to. Are you asking me out?” He leaned back in his chair, that dimpled grin lighting up his eyes again.
“No, I thought you were asking me out.” The flutter in her chest spread to her belly.
“Lotta, will you go out with me?”
“Where?” She frowned. Why was she continuing this conversation? She had no intention of going out with this guy. He was too—everything.
It had been so long since she’d dated. Not since that one guy in college. The one she’d latched onto, and gave whatever he wanted so he wouldn’t leave her. What did people do on dates these days? A movie? A crowded bar? Her palms started sweating at the thought of all those people. Pressing close. Watching her.
“How about a picnic tomorrow?”
The perfect, romantic date. Just the two of them, away from other people, away from town. Strangely, extremely strangely, she wasn’t nervous. Well, a little nervous, but not fainting dead away terrified.
The flutter returned, expanded, and travelled north to her head, forcing her lips into a smile, and south, to her girlie bits. Alone with Mitch, on a blanket, somewhere private – who knew what might happen? “Maybe…”
“Hopefully, Phil and Connor can finish the demolition of that wall.” He stood and stacked the two bowls and folded the napkins along their creases.
“Sounds perfect.” She uncrossed her arms and let her smile grow.
He hobbled a few steps closer. “Shall we get started?”
Whoa! “What?” She cowered against the window. No, no, no—the date was tomorrow, when she’d had a few hours of self-talk to prepare.
“The topping for the wedges? Are they cool enough?”
Gah! She wanted to kick herself. She was such a ninny.
Releasing a shaky breath, she moved to finish chopping the chocolate. Making the ganache took but a few minutes, minutes used for deep breathing until her hands stopped shaking. She poured the silky, dark, luscious liquid over the wedges and grinned. She loved the look, so sophisticated, and yet so easy. Simply chocolate and hot cream, stirred until it’s all melted and smooth, and poured over almost anything – brownies, cakes, cream puffs. Or heck, just eat it with a spoon.
“That looks amazing. Can we try some now? Or does it have to cool again.”
She laughed at the impatience in his voice. “It is difficult to wait sometimes.”
“Terrible cliché, but sometimes the best things in life are worth waiting for.”
He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at her lips, with a look of hunger in his eyes that was exhilarating in its intensity. And frightening. Intriguing. Holy cow. The picnic tomorrow might be a mistake.
She averted her gaze. Stay calm. He wants to kiss me. That’s all. “They’re clichés because they’re true. And no, we don’t have to wait.” Before he could get the idea she was talking about anything besides eating, she slipped a wedge onto one of her aunt’s Jasperware plates. The pale blue color complimented the dark chocolate perfectly. “Can you get a shot from a few angles?”
He did so, moving the portable light around to get the best sheen on the ganache.
“I usually take a bite at this point, or fill a fork.” She twirled a silver dessert fork, another treasure she’d inherited, then handed it to Mitch. “Here, you’ve earned the first taste.”
“I can’t wait for my first taste.” Again, he was looking at her lips. He stood close enough for his scent to overpower the aromas of baking with chocolate. His fingers brushed hers as he plucked the fork from her hand, starting a tingle that ignited her entire body. Okay, stop thinking about his hands touching other parts of your body. He speared a large piece and popped it into his mouth. He groaned. “Oh, ho, that is freaking amazing! How do you do that?”
Welcome to Serenity Harbor Page 14
