“I said, excuse me.”
He’d heard her. Still didn’t like it. “What’s the hurry?”
“I’ve got to be somewhere.” She checked her wrist, then must have realized she hadn’t put her watch on. She tapped her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “I’m running late.”
Something else was up. She wouldn’t make eye contact. Was this because of his quick departure and week-long absence from The Dough Knot? He cleared his throat. “Listen, about last week . . .”
She didn’t give him a chance to explain—not that he’d totally figured out the right words to say, anyway. Avoiding his eyes, she shrugged, gaze glued to the floor. “Forget it.”
“No, I clearly hurt your feelings. I want to make it right.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
She was trying to move past him again, and if he didn’t relent soon, he’d just be a jerk. Still, he wanted her to hear him out.
But what excuse did he have that he could actually voice? “I left in a hurry, and it was rude. I’m sorry.” The facts, if nothing else.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” She cut him a sharp glance, one that made him wish she’d go back to averting her gaze. “You owe me nothing.”
Ouch. “I thought we were friends.” He wanted to be more than that. Didn’t he? He didn’t know anymore. He only knew that the thought of Charlotte holding anything against him made him want to fix it. He already missed the friendly banter they’d created over his weeks of Tuesday visits to The Dough Knot. The thought of losing that made his head throb. “Aren’t we friends?”
She lifted her chin. “You’re my client.”
That one cut even deeper. He silently stepped aside. She slipped past him without a backward glance.
He knew, because he watched her leave.
“Why are all men the same?” Charlotte struggled to keep her voice down as she rinsed out a mixing bowl in the industrial kitchen sink.
It was Tuesday afternoon, but Zoe was in the dining room, eating a chocolate-chip bagel and baking pretend cupcakes. She’d been out of school for the day for teacher conferences, so Charlotte had set her up at one of the tables with a rainy-day toy baking set she’d stashed for just such an occasion.
“Is that a rhetorical question?” Julie paused to swipe a lick of cheesecake batter from a spatula before tossing it in the other side of the sink. “Or are you actually expecting an answer?”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte dried the bowl and set it on the counter. She needed to zest the lemons for the next batch of lemon bars. Needed to put the leftover cake pops from the Hannigans’ birthday party in the front display case. Needed to sort through inventory for their upcoming order. She was pretty sure they were running low on bakery boxes.
But all she could think about was whether or not Will would show up at 5:40 and what on earth she would say if he did.
“Rhetorically, I agree.” Julie ran hot water over the dirty dishes, then shut it off. “But technically, it’s not really true. You just had a bad experience.”
“Bad experiences.” Charlotte emphasized the plural.
“Every guy isn’t the same as Zoe’s dad.”
“I know.” Maybe. But Julie didn’t know the whole story. Didn’t know that Charlotte had been the other woman. Didn’t know about Will and the mistake she’d almost made—again.
Unless Charlotte was terribly mistaken, Julie didn’t have any major mistakes in her life that she was still trying to atone for. She wasn’t a single mom struggling to overcome a bad reputation—one so mottled she still wasn’t entirely sure which stories were lies anymore.
She grabbed the grater and pulled a lemon from the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. Zoe’s sing-song voice carried from the front of the shop as she made up a poem about her toy cupcake. My cupcake is big, my cupcake is yummy, my cupcake will go straight to my tummy.
Zoe deserved better than this. Better than a mom who still carried a Scarlet Letter of shame. Better than a mother who was still somehow drawn to the Wrong Guy.
My cupcake is glad, it never has a frownie, my cupcake is marrying the crumbly Mr. Brownie.
Better than a dad who allowed his fiancée to talk him out of his daughter’s life.
Her grater worked faster over the lemon. Would she and Zoe ever be able to settle down with someone predictable? Safe? Committed?
“Careful there, Boss.” Julie’s voice rang a warning as she started digging through their pile of bakery reject cookies. “Don’t want to add knuckles to the ingredient list in those lemon bars.”
Some days, Charlotte felt like a reject cookie herself. Good enough for someone to be attracted to initially, but not worth selling out for. “It’s just . . . you know Will?”
“From the Bridezilla wedding? Of course.” Julie popped one of the too-crispy-to-sell cookies in her mouth and mumbled around it. “Your very own Mr. Darcy.”
“Hardly. Mr. Darcy isn’t available. But you wouldn’t have known it from the way he flirted at that engagement party.” Just remembering that crowd of women gathered around him twisted her stomach. But not from jealousy—just out of respect for Melissa. That was all.
“Wow, really?” Julie reached for another reject, eyes wide as she absorbed the news. “You wouldn’t have known it from the way he interacts with you here at the bakery.”
Charlotte’s hand stilled on the next lemon. “What do you mean?”
“You haven’t noticed the way Will looks at you?” Julie asked incredulously. “I thought it was obvious. That’s why I always tried to leave you two alone. I was playing cupid.”
Cupid aiming at the wrong heart.
Charlotte began to zest again, her thoughts racing. Was Julie right? She’d automatically assumed she’d been leading Will on in her attraction to him. Apparently, that was what she did, if the accusations of her ex and his fiancée had any merit. Was it possible Will had been coming on to her instead?
But Julie didn’t say flirting. She’d said “the way he looks at you.” Which to Charlotte, went a lot deeper than mere witty conversation or banter.
Eyes didn’t lie.
Either way, she didn’t want to be that woman. No, wait. She wasn’t that woman. Why did she keep forgetting that she hadn’t known about her ex’s fiancée? She definitely hadn’t been living a lifestyle she was proud of at the time, but she would have never cheated on someone she loved—or helped someone else cheat. Still, the accusations from years ago lingered. She was . . . stained.
Charlotte had to avoid any man the least bit like Zoe’s charming, attractive, flirty father. It was too risky, too complicated. Too dangerous.
She dropped her grater and grabbed a reject cookie for herself. “Cupid needs to quit fooling around and bring me suspenders and a bow tie.”
“What does that mean?”
“Suspenders and a bow tie. You know, a nice, predictable, stable nerd.”
Julie stopped chewing and stared at Charlotte as if she’d completely lost her mind.
“Doesn’t matter,” Charlotte said. She tossed the remainder of the cookie into the trash can. “Doesn’t matter at all.”
It wasn’t quite 5:40 yet.
Will hesitated outside the front door of The Dough Knot, lingering just out of sight of the picture window that boasted the bakery’s name in gold script. A little girl sat at a table inside, head down as she scribbled on top of a—was that a toy cupcake?—with a pink marker. Other than that, the bakery appeared empty. Charlotte must have been in the kitchen, or on the other side of the counter that he couldn’t quite see from this angle.
He paced back and forth on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, braced against a sudden gust of September wind. The temperature was starting to change, some days dipping lower and hinting at the coming autumn, other days burning hot and clinging tight to summer. Like the world couldn’t make up its mind if it was going to transition or not.
He knew the feeling.
If he went inside The Do
ugh Knot and told Charlotte everything that his heart wanted to say, he’d be free falling through transition himself.
But if he didn’t . . . well, how could he keep this up? He’d have to buy cookies for Melissa elsewhere, and that was the least of his problems. He saw Charlotte’s face every night before he closed his eyes and woke with her the first thing on his mind.
Yesterday at the gym, he was trying to teach old Mr. Conrad how to lift weights without throwing his back out. Adam had been there, following him around and bending his ear about Charlotte.
“Go for it, man,” Adam said. “You know we’ve been trying to set you up with someone for months now. Don’t you want the bliss me and Brittany have?” He winked.
Conrad, a feisty old geezer who had to be ninety if he was a day, seemed to have an opinion on everything—including Will’s love life. “Sounds like this girl’s a keeper,” he huffed between bicep curls. “You better make your move or somebody else will.” He grinned, showing a mouthful of perfectly white, straight dentures. “Or if you don’t, give me her number."
“He’s right,” Adam said as he spotted Will on the weight bench. “How come you’re dragging your feet? You could do a lot worse than Charlotte, dude.”
No kidding. Charlotte easily beat every one of those superficial women who had been at the party the other night, without even trying. Maybe that was why she beat them. She didn’t try. She didn’t have to. She was real. Had substance. Was sweet—and beautiful, without having to flaunt it. She was just . . . Charlotte.
And that was more than enough.
But it wasn’t about simply not being single anymore. If that was the case, he’d be content being Free Willy for life. His priorities shifted the day that SUV crashed into Melissa’s car, and it wasn’t his decision to shift them away from her now. Over and over again he tried to explain that to Adam, who didn’t get it. After denying Mr. Conrad Charlotte’s digits and after a pointless argument with Adam, his friend had finally resorted to assuring Will that in a few weeks, all of their wedding stuff would be over and Will’s life could go back to normal.
But normal meant only seeing Charlotte every Tuesday at 5:40, and he was pretty certain that wasn’t going to be good enough anymore.
He checked his watch: 5:32.
Maybe it was time for a few changes after all.
He opened the door to The Dough Knot.
The little girl looked up, pink marker in hand, and smiled—Charlotte’s smile. Was it? Yes. It had to be. She had the same dimple in her cheek too. But how—
“Welcome to The Dough Knot.” She said it so properly, he couldn’t help but grin. She clearly had a lot of practice.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t stop staring at her. Charlotte had a daughter? He didn’t see that coming.
“Want a bite?” She held out the cupcake she’d been working on so diligently.
He hesitated, then took a step forward and accepted the offering. “It looks delicious.”
She capped her marker with a flourish. “It is.”
Confident little thing. Good for Charlotte. He pretended to take a bite of the icing and made a show of mumbling his appreciation. “Best cupcake in the store.”
The little girl’s shoulders straightened and she twisted her braid around one finger. “One day it will be. When the shop is mine, of course.”
She couldn’t be more than what . . . five years old? Six, tops? And she was already planning on taking over the world. He grinned wider. “When it’s yours, will you give me a discount on cupcakes?”
She rolled in her bottom lip, thinking hard. Then she nodded solemnly. “But only if you buy two. Then you can get a third one free.”
He leaned his head back and laughed.
Charlotte appeared through the door behind the counter leading from the kitchen. “Can I help—oh.” She looked at her watch, which made him look at his.
5:40.
They locked eyes. Charlotte tucked her hair behind her ears then crossed her arms over her flour-streaked apron. “The usual?”
“Yes.” But that wasn’t all. Not today. He strode toward the counter. “Your daughter is just like you.”
A flicker of pride danced through her eyes before the wall went back up. “It’s just me and Zoe, so she doesn’t have many other influences, I guess.”
“I didn’t realize you were a single mom.”
She grabbed a bakery box and began loading in the snickerdoodles. “Well, less than two weeks ago, you didn’t know my name, either.”
Somehow, she was right. How they’d managed to connect so quickly before ever even introducing themselves was beyond him. But that didn’t matter anymore. “You’ve done a great job.”
She glanced at Zoe, then at him, before concentrating back on the cookie order. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Will that be all?”
Forget this distant, professional thing. He leaned across the counter, crowding her space a little in order to speak privately. “There’s something else I need.”
Her breath hitched, and her neck flushed. “Oh, right. You never picked a cake flavor for the wedding. I really need to get that on the books.”
Cake flavor—oh, for crying out loud. He wracked his brain for a flavor, any flavor besides vanilla, which would just make it obvious he didn’t care anymore. Brittany and Adam were just going to smash the stuff in each other’s faces and drive away married, anyway. Wasn’t that all that mattered? “The chocolate one.”
“Plain chocolate or the white chocolate?” She pulled a notebook from near the register and clicked a pen.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
She shot him a glare. “Will.”
“Either is fine.”
She huffed. “Did you even think about this decision?”
No, but he’d thought plenty about a different one. “Go out with me.”
Charlotte’s face drained of color.
That hadn’t come out as planned. He’d intended to be more intentional, more romantic. More like those characters in those Austen books she was always talking about. He cleared his throat. “Please?”
“Mom! Say yes!”
Oh, man. He’d forgotten they had an audience.
“He’s super handsome. And he liked my cupcakes.” Zoe grinned, her arms draped over the back of her chair.
“Zoe.” Charlotte closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. “I think Julie needs you in the kitchen.”
“Really? She never needs help.” Zoe slowly climbed down from her chair, her expression a mixture of confusion and happiness. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She ushered Zoe around the counter and through the swinging door. “Wash your hands first. Julie! Um, let Zoe help, okay?”
“Help me with wha—” Julie caught the swinging kitchen door, took one look at Will, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh. Right. With that.” She grabbed Zoe’s hand and tugged. “Come on, kiddo. Want to lick the spoons?”
The door swung shut against Zoe’s exuberant agreement.
Will rested his elbows on the counter between them, hoping she wouldn’t hear even at this distance how fast his heart was beating. “Seems I have one vote in my favor.” And a foot in his mouth, but maybe she wouldn’t notice that either.
“I can’t believe you.” Charlotte’s tone now possessed a steady sternness that threatened to rock Will back a step. Two-thirds Mama bear and one-third elementary school principal.
He blew out a short breath. “Look, I’m really sorry I asked in front of Zoe.” He lifted both hands in defense. “I wasn’t thinking. I know you probably have rules about that.”
Charlotte let out a strangled laugh. “Rules about—are you kidding me?” She reached up and briefly pinched the bridge of her nose as if gathering her composure. “Let me ask you a question. What would Melissa say about this?” She gestured between them.
He hesitated. That was the question of the hour in his own heart, but if Melissa meant what she’d been preaching at him for week
s now . . .
He calculated his answer carefully. “I think Melissa would be proud of me.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Proud of you? Of all the nerve . . .”
“You’re right. It took nerve to ask you out.” So much so, that in fact, he was starting to wonder why he had. The longer this went on, the more his pride was curling into the fetal position. “You know, a simple no would have sufficed.”
“There’s nothing simple about a practically engaged man asking me out on a date. Again!” Her face flamed so hot he could have baked a cookie on her cheekbones. With anger? Or embarrassment? He could relate to both at the moment himself.
Then her words registered. Again—what again? He’d never asked her out before this moment. Never even hinted at it. “What do you mean, practically engaged?” He hadn’t dated anyone in years, much less proposed.
“I’m not stupid, Will.”
“What are you talking about, Charlotte?”
She pointed to her bare ring finger, as if playing charades would help him comprehend. “You. And Melissa.”
She shook her head, palms landing with a slap against the countertop. “You know, I fell for this kind of thing years ago, but I won’t do it again.” Her cheeks grew redder and her voice louder the longer she ranted. “Melissa deserves a lot better than this. I don’t even know her, but no woman deserves to be tricked and manipulated and treated like—”
“Melissa is my sister.”
She stopped midlecture. Arms braced against the counter. Cheeks glowing with indignation. Mouth open. She swallowed. “Sister?”
“Yes. Sister. What did you think—” Oh. Oh. He snorted. “You thought . . .”
She dropped her head to rest on her elbows, hiding her face. “I can’t believe I assumed she was your girlfriend.”
He tried to remember all of his references to Melissa during his interactions with Charlotte. He couldn’t grasp details to give merit to the confusion, but clearly he’d never specified who his sister was.
But that still left one question. “Now that you know I’m not a total sleazebag and hitting on you while I have a girlfriend . . . will you let me take you to dinner?”
Love Takes the Cake Page 5
