Love Takes the Cake

by Betsy St. Amant

  Was that his voice, so husky? He sounded like he had strep throat.

  He rocked back off the barstool so forcefully that it clattered to the floor. He had to get out of this bakery. Before those cake samples went flying and he did something really stupid and totally wonderful.

  Like kiss Charlotte Cantrell and forget all his obligations and promises to his sister.

  It’d been a week since Will had flown off The Dough Knot’s barstool so fast that he hadn’t even picked a wedding cake flavor. Charlotte wasn’t sure if she should call him, wait for him to contact her, or just go ahead and pick a flavor by herself. He hadn’t even come in for his customary Tuesday cookie purchase. What had gone so wrong that he propelled himself out of the bakery with little more than “Gotta go, see you later”?

  She had replayed their conversation over and over in her head, but couldn’t see where she’d offended him. She had embarrassed herself, for sure, by connecting with him . . . really connecting . . . only to remember he was taken the moment he said the magic word, snickerdoodle.

  When would she ever learn?

  On the one hand, she was glad he’d left so fast, glad something—whatever it was—had broken the spell. That felt a lot safer than all their laughing and joking and bonding. Safer than the way she’d felt her heart bloom under his praise for her baking. Safer than noticing how his eyes lit with extra fire when he looked at her.

  Fire. See? Time to quit playing with it, before she let her heart go up in smoke.

  After she’d tortured herself with all the possible reasons for him to leave so quickly, in the end she had done nothing. Nothing but stall in making a decision while checking her watch, playing Candyland with Zoe, and hosting a pretend baking contest for her daughter’s plethora of stuffed animals.

  And now, in a few minutes, the decision would most likely be made for her.

  Charlotte maneuvered the two giant trays of cinnamon pecan petit fours out of the back of her van, grateful Julie was with her this evening for the delivery. Thankfully, the engagement party started after the bakery closed for the day, so one of them didn’t have to stay to man the counter. After last week’s confusing and emotional interaction with Will, Charlotte was grateful for her friend’s company and the distraction she offered.

  And thankful for the extra set of arms.

  “Anything else, Boss?” Julie teased as Charlotte set the second covered tray of petit fours into Julie’s arms and shut the door to the van. She pretended to stagger under the weight. “I could juggle or spin some plates for you real quick.”

  “Very funny.” Charlotte took the second tray back, and motioned for Julie to walk first up the walkway to the house—no, on second glance, make that mansion—that was hosting the party.

  “What a house,” Julie mumbled as they made their way up the bricked path to the monstrous red door. “They better tip well.”

  “Julie!” Charlotte tried to infuse a touch of shock and offense into her tone, but couldn’t quite pull it off since she’d just been hoping for the same thing. If she had to see Will and deal with the awkwardness between them, it had better be worth it.

  Her stomach twisted into a nervous knot. Maybe when she saw Will, she’d realize her silly crush had been just that, and had passed. Merely a temporary physical attraction to a handsome man who frequented her shop.

  Julie shifted her tray to her shoulder and rang the doorbell. Charlotte tried to look at her watch, but couldn’t risk tilting her own tray. When they pulled up in the van, the clock had read twenty til time for the engagement party to begin. They had deliberately come early to put the petit fours out before the official start, but apparently, the party was already in full swing. Music, heavy with bass, thumped from inside the house, and loud laughter rang from the backyard.

  The door swung open, and a middle-aged woman in a white blouse directed them to the kitchen. Charlotte focused on the end goal as they traipsed through multiple rooms, all decorated with black and white balloons and ornate signs congratulating the happy couple. Hopefully they could just leave the disposable heavy trays in the kitchen and head out before she even saw Will.

  “Brittany asked if you ladies would please arrange the desserts on the silver holders.” The woman gestured to several sterling tiered stands on the table.

  No such luck.

  They set down their trays and began arranging the petit fours, which seemed to multiply by the second, onto the decorative stands. The woman bustled away.

  “Was she a servant or someone’s mom?” Julie whispered.

  Charlotte tucked another petit four into place. “I was wondering the same.”

  Julie giggled. “I can’t even imagine all this chaos and expense once I get married. If my wedding or prewedding events cost more than my first house, please promise to slap me.”

  “I promise.” At this rate, Charlotte didn’t have to worry about securing the same guarantee. Always a baker, never a bride. For now, that seemed the safer route, for both her and Zoe.

  She glanced at Julie’s progress unloading the petit fours. “Try to hurry. I’ve got to pick up Zoe from her after-school babysitter.” That was part of why she was rushing, anyway. Not a total lie. She cast an anxious glance toward the picture window displaying the yard, but couldn’t see well enough to know if Will was anywhere in sight.

  “Are they here yet?” Brittany’s strident voice preceded her entrance into the kitchen by mere seconds. Not nearly long enough to brace for the onslaught.

  “Finally. Better late than never, I guess.” Brittany swirled the contents of her champagne glass and raised it in acknowledgment.

  Beside her, Julie stiffened at the insult, and Charlotte quickly handed her another petit four to place on the stand before her friend could voice the thoughts rolling through both their heads. “Ignore her. She’s tipsy,” she whispered.

  “That’s still not an excuse to be rude.”

  Charlotte snorted. “You should have seen her sober.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Brittany’s voice slurred, and she pointed with her glass, nearly spilling the contents on the kitchen floor. “Hey, if those square thingies don’t taste good, do I blame you? Or Will?”

  Great question. Not that she particularly cared, though Brittany seemed legitimately confused about the potential dilemma. Right now, Charlotte just wanted to finish arranging the stupid things and get back to the van before she saw him. Wanted to pick up Zoe, go home, make popcorn, and watch some mindless show on the Disney Channel while snuggling her little girl and reminding herself of all the reasons why they were better off this way.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure how to answer Brittany, or if she even should.

  Didn’t matter.

  Brittany tilted her head back and bellowed toward the backyard. “WILL!”

  No. No, no, no. Charlotte drew a sharp intake of breath. Julie shot her a questioning look.

  Brittany pouted, her glossy red lips exaggerated. “He can’t hear me.”

  Julie smirked, muttering under her breath as she secured another petit four on the stand. “Can’t everyone? Like, on every planet in the solar system?”

  Charlotte bit back a laugh and nudged her friend in warning, but Brittany appeared to not have heard. Before she could decide how to change the subject, Brittany grabbed her wrist and began to tug. “Come outside. We’ll ask him.”

  “No, really. That’s not necessary.” Charlotte struggled to free her wrist as politely as possible, but Brittany was on a mission. She really didn’t want to cause a scene at the party, so all she could do was shoot Julie a pleading glance as Brittany propelled them out the backdoor.

  “I’ll just finish up in here!” Julie called before the door swung shut behind them.

  Great. Always the model employee.

  Charlotte caught a glance of her friend in the picture window, giving her a wide grin and a thumbs-up. Why hadn’t she filled Julie in on Will before the party? Then maybe she
could have had a little backup. Now Julie was probably thinking this was a great matchmaking opportunity.

  Not that Charlotte would have ever expected this to happen. She squinted as a sudden gust of wind raked her hair off her shoulders and shook the tree branches overhead. Maybe she could just blow away.

  “Hey, Will!” Brittany’s voice screeched across a wide expanse of manicured lawn, lit with various-sized tiki torches. Groups of twenty-somethings, sipping from polished glasses and wearing everything from jeans to cocktail dresses, stopped and stared as Brittany dragged Charlotte around a flower bed and a gurgling birdbath.

  She stopped short near a table laden with wrapped gifts. “Oh, look. Bed Bath & Beyond.” She let go to check the name tag dangling from the silver package. “I hope it’s that blender I registered for.”

  Charlotte sidestepped away from the crazy bride, rubbing her wrist. Who’d have thought a baker would need to incorporate hazard pay into her billing? Now, if she could just sneak back into the house, maybe Brittany would keep ogling gifts and forget the whole thing.

  “I’m so sorry.” Adam appeared at Charlotte’s side, holding a plate full of cheese, crackers, and mini sausages and grinned even as he shook his head. “Brittany gets a little . . . aggressive when she’s had alcohol.”

  Then why in the world would you give it to her? Charlotte forced a smile as Brittany began picking up packages and shaking them. “No problem. She must have forgotten what she’d wanted. I’ll just head back—”

  “Oh, right. Will. She had been calling for Will.” Adam turned and cupped his hand beside his mouth as he shouted across the torchlit yard. “Hey, Will!”

  “No, really, it’s fine.” Her panicked heart drifted toward her toes as she realized she was fighting a losing battle. She felt heat run up her neck and across her ears. Could this get any worse?

  Charlotte reluctantly followed Adam’s gaze and finally saw Will standing near the back fence, surrounded literally on all sides by giggling blondes—well, and one brunette. One had her arm linked through his, head tilted back, laughing as Will gestured dramatically with his can of Coke. The other flipped her hair back flirtatiously and leaned in, putting her hand on his arm and saying something softly that made Will laugh.

  All of them were tall, leggy, and gorgeous—and definitely did not look as if they baked or taste tested very many sweets.

  Not that Charlotte had a reason to be jealous. Will wasn’t hers. He was Melissa’s. And speaking of—was one of them Melissa?

  She had to know. For no logical reason—or at least, no reason she was willing to admit to herself—she had to find out. She turned to Adam and offered what she hoped came across as a casual smile. “I was hoping Melissa would get to try one of the petit fours. Where is she?”

  “Oh, she’s not here.” Adam shoved a cracker topped with cheese in his mouth and kept talking. “She doesn’t ever come to this kind of stuff with Will.”

  Really? Was she so secure in their relationship that she didn’t mind the way he acted with other women? Or did she not know how he acted when she wasn’t here?

  A voice whispered inside her head: None of your business.

  But every fiber of her being screamed otherwise. She hated for any woman to get caught up in the lies, the triangle, the heartache that she’d been trapped in for so long. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of the brunette leaning in close to Will’s shoulder and feeding him something off her plate.

  She had dodged a bullet with Will, that was for sure. He was exactly like her ex—the same kind of guy she swore never to get involved with again. She wouldn’t put herself or Zoe through that kind of torture. And apparently, she’d proven that she couldn’t trust her instincts—Will had seemed really nice at the bakery, very gentlemanly and mature.

  But maybe that level of nice was just another method of flirting.

  Her breath tightened at the close call. She’d almost done it again.

  She strode away from Adam without another word and back toward the house, half hoping Will hadn’t seen her and half hoping he had. If Melissa ever came in The Dough Knot with him . . . well, she’d have a moral dilemma to deal with then. It wasn’t her business, not directly, but seriously, how could all of Will’s friends—Brittany and Adam, especially—treat Melissa this way? Why hadn’t anyone ever told her the kind of man Will really was?

  Why hadn’t anyone ever told Charlotte about her ex?

  She rushed back into the kitchen, paused, and took a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to let the anger from the past get the best of her.

  But she could sure as heck make certain never to repeat it.

  This was why Will hated parties. A bunch of loud people who only grew louder after they’d been drinking, and perfectly made-up women who seemed to think of him as either a child to be doted on or a fish to be caught.

  Exhibit A—the girl who kept trying to feed him off her plate. It was weird, and he didn’t know how to stop it without causing a scene. And Brittany had already caused plenty of those all by herself. He didn’t need to up the tally. What had she been doing earlier, dragging some party guest through the yard and hollering, before abandoning her near the gift table?

  He caught a glimpse of the woman’s back as she headed toward the house, anger stiffening her spine. She tossed back her hair, and Will swallowed the lump of cracker lodged in his throat. Charlotte?

  His heart soared. He hadn’t realized she’d already brought the petit fours. He wanted to see her. Badly. Wanted to apologize for the way he’d acted at The Dough Knot, wanted to confess his fear and coward’s way of handling it.

  Wanted to get away from these Stepford blondes who were fighting over him in that subtle, catty way only women could.

  His initial plan—to leave the obligatory party early after charming Adam, Brittany, and the other guests into forgiving his lack of sociability—had backfired. He’d intended to be the life of the party just long enough to make a quick escape. But now he had a herd of women sticking close enough to him that he was suffocating on the mix of perfume and hair spray, and he didn’t know how to bail.

  If he’d still been in his college frat-boy days, this would have been a dream. Bragging rights to take back to the frat house, full of exaggerated stories and plenty of kissing and telling.

  But those days were long over, and he didn’t miss them a single bit. Now he didn’t want a conquest. He didn’t want a story. He just wanted to leave.

  And he really wanted to try one of Charlotte’s petit fours.

  He disentangled his arm from the red, inch-long nails of the brunette gripping it, and smiled to soften the rejection for her. Maybe he could catch Charlotte if he hurried, try to smooth over last week’s bakery bailout, and load up a plate of goodies for Melissa. He couldn’t let himself get too close to Charlotte—that was still unwise.

  But taking a week away from the bakery to get her out of his head obviously hadn’t worked, given the spike in his heart rate when he spotted her a minute ago. If he couldn’t be around Charlotte without wanting more, and if he couldn’t be away from her without nearly obsessing over her—what option remained?

  She had sneaked inside his head, and was getting dangerously close to his heart. The heart he’d put on hold indefinitely. But now he wasn’t sure he could get it back even if he wanted to.

  He took a few steps toward the house. The curly-haired blonde to his left pulled him back.

  “Where are you going?” She batted lashes so heavily coated with mascara he wondered how she could manage to blink.

  “Inside.” Without a second glance, he tugged free and resumed his trek through the yard. Did women actually think this level of clinginess and control worked? Then again, in his former life, it probably would have. He shook his head in disgust over his own past. It had taken Melissa’s accident to awaken him.

  And that just made him feel all the more guilty. If he’d been a better man, maybe that accident would never have happened.

>   His steps faltered. Maybe he didn’t need a petit four. Maybe he didn’t need to find Charlotte, after all.

  Maybe he just needed to keep hiding. Right out there in the open, in that circle of beautiful, shallow females who only confirmed he was doing the right thing and missing absolutely nothing of substance by avoiding a relationship.

  Then he glimpsed Charlotte through the window, stacking giant silver trays. He opened the door.

  She looked up, windblown and clearly aggravated, judging by the tight lines around her mouth and the pinch between her eyebrows. Then he remembered—Brittany. Charlotte had been the woman he’d seen Brittany toting around outside. He’d been so glad to see her, he’d forgotten about Brittany being . . . well, Brittany. No wonder Charlotte looked as if she could smash someone in the face with a petit four.

  Which looked delicious. He stepped inside, closer to the dessert table, and smiled at Charlotte and her friend. But Charlotte’s tense expression didn’t relax. Uh-oh. Maybe it wasn’t just about Brittany.

  Her redheaded coworker’s eyes widened. She looked back and forth between Charlotte and Will and then snatched the trays from Charlotte’s hands. “I’ll load the van.” And just like that, she was gone.

  He glimpsed the anger in Charlotte’s eyes and was tempted to call the redhead back as mediator. Instead, he took a bite of an orange-topped petit four. “Wow, these are amazing. Good call.”

  He wasn’t exaggerating. It was the one of the best desserts he’d ever tasted. He’d had never thought to try the orange caramel flavor with cinnamon and pecans, but it worked. And was that nutmeg?

  Charlotte was inspiring him to want to cook again. He hadn’t thought twice about ingredients in years, but everything he tasted of hers made him want to examine it to find the best part. Find her best part.

  She softened, as if on autopilot, before quickly stiffening again. “Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.” She started to push past him toward the front of the house.

  “Charlotte.” He stepped in front of her, and her eyebrows shot up.