by Vanessa Vale
“Flour?” he asked.
The realization I’d been sitting here with flour on my face had me blushing and I pushed my glasses up out of habit. It was a reality check because there was no way Thatcher was going to go down on me in anything but my fantasies. “Oh, um… thanks. Job hazard.”
“It’s better than spilled beer,” he replied, his gaze roving over my face as if… memorizing it?
“That’s right. You own the Lucky Spur. I’ve only been there a few times. For lunch,” I admitted. “I work all the time and am in bed early because I have to be up to bake at four.”
“On the weekends, that’s when I go to sleep,” he admitted. “So, a date to your sister’s wedding?”
The auditorium was emptying quickly now. Only a few people remained chatting.
Right. He was a bought date. Nothing more. Which was exactly the point. A string-free, emotionless business arrangement. But as I looked at Thatcher, I realized that might be hard to do. Why had Aunt Jean chosen him specifically? Why not Graham Armstrong with whom I had zero connection?
I nodded, remembering he’d asked a question. “Next Sunday. I’m not in the wedding party so it won’t be too bad for you. Like being caught in wedding pictures or a receiving line.”
“Your sister’s getting married and you’re not a bridesmaid?”
I glanced away, moved an empty glass that had been left on the table. “Oh, no. I don’t fit into the dress she picked out for them.”
He frowned, then looked me over. I tried not to squirm as he did so. I wasn’t a supermodel. Hell, it was more like I’d eaten a supermodel. I was short and curvy. Very curvy. Boobs and hips and ass. I’d won the trifecta of big body parts, unlike my sister, Amy. And my mother, the former Miss Western Montana.
“What the hell does that even mean?” he asked.
I waved off his question because really, what woman wanted to have to say out loud that her family thought she was fat? That she had a job that kept her that way?
Neither of it was true. I’d been… big boned all my life. Exercise wasn’t going to make my boobs any smaller or make me grow six inches taller.
I was content in my body, except where my family was concerned.
“Don’t worry, I’m not looking for a relationship or anything,” I added quickly. “That’s why I thought this auction thing would work. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, that I’m desperate or clingy. This way—”
“I’m paid for my services,” he finished for me.
My mouth fell open and my heart began a double-time beat realizing I may have offended him. “I’d never—”
He laughed. “I’m messing with you.” Leaning in again, he looked left and right as if to ensure no one was nearby. “But if you were seeking additional services, I can deliver those too. On the house.”
I stared. And stared. And then blinked.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Your aunt didn’t have to buy me.”
“We talked about it,” I told him. “What I was going to do about the wedding. The fact that I wanted to bring someone. When I first heard about the bachelor auction, I thought buying a date would solve my problems. I’d been joking. Sort of. I didn’t think Aunt Jean was actually going to bid, although I should have known.”
Everyone underestimated Aunt Jean. Being the town librarian since the dawn of time, she was considered an old maid, a virgin with delicate sensibilities. If they only knew. She made me look like that. I wasn’t a virgin, but it had been so long, and not very good, that I might as well be.
“Like I said, you didn’t have to buy a date with me. You could have come by the bar and asked. I’d have said yes.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “There’s no way I could have asked you out. Ever.”
He cocked his head. “Why not? I’m not that bad, am I?”
Him? Bad? I studied him, perhaps a little too thoroughly, because I realized I’d been doing it for a long number of seconds. So of course, I flushed. Again. I licked my dry lips. “No. Not bad at all.”
Perhaps almost too good to be believable. My family would wonder how someone like me could snag a guy like Thatcher.
He leaned in. It seemed to be something he did, giving someone his complete attention and focus. “It’s really important that you take a date, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” I countered, impossible to keep the bitterness from my voice.
“Why?”
“Because my ex is going to be there,” I grumbled. I’d known this for months and it still sucked. “He’s… the best man.”
He winced, as if in sympathy. “Shit. I can see how that would make for a miserable time. You’re not over him?”
I huffed and crossed my arms. “Oh, I’m very over him. But… well, you’ll see next Sunday, if you say yes.”
I practically held my breath as I waited for him to give me his answer.
He nodded once. “Done. Next Sunday, I’ll be the best bought date you ever had.”
I was elated, and a little freaked because what if he was right? What if a guy my aunt bought for me at a charity bachelor auction really was the best date I ever had?
3
ASTRID
Saturday
“Yes, Mother. I will have the cake done on time.”
I had my cell squeezed between my shoulder and my ear as I changed piping nozzles, then began to add a border of buttercream to the top tier of the cake I was finishing. Mary, the woman who worked for me part time, came into the kitchen and rolled her eyes at my half of the conversation. She’d been working for me for a year and knew my family well. Knew of them since they’d never once come into the bakery. They didn’t come to The Bend, preferring to stay in their little rich and crazy bubble in Cutthroat.
“Do you think you can create the flowers we talked about?” she asked. “I emailed you a photo of them.”
“I got the—”
I heard fumbling, then my sister. “It’s crucial they match the bridal bouquet.”
Taking a deep breath, I paused in my piping, not wanting my frustration at Bridezilla to mess up my work. “I know, Amy. You’ve told me several times.”
I couldn’t miss the huff. “Well, I just want it to be perfect.”
I put the piping bag down on the worktable, grabbed my cell so I didn’t get a crick in my neck. “It will be perfect,” I countered. My work was never less than that. I had pride in my business, in the products I delivered.
My older sister was exceptional at passive aggressiveness. I hadn’t gone to her offering my services to make a four-tiered lemon poppyseed wedding cake. She and my mother had chosen me. Because I’d do it for free most likely. My parents and sister were rich enough to host a two-hundred-person wedding, but cheap enough to nickel and dime their own family member, then question her abilities.
“Looking forward to seeing it on Friday,” she replied.
I stilled. “Friday? I was going to bring it Saturday afternoon before the rehearsal dinner.”
“I want to see it before the bachelorette party so there’s time in case you have to fix it.”
Gritting my teeth, I glanced at Mary. “What bachelorette party?” I asked Amy.
Mary rolled her eyes.
“I didn’t tell you about it?”
No, she hadn’t told me about it, which meant she had never intended to invite me. We weren’t close, never had been. Her friends had been just that, hers. But I was her sister and at a minimum, she should have figured people would question her as to why I wasn’t there. What other people thought—besides me—was important to her.
There was a pause. “It’s Friday night. My wedding planner should have contacted you.”
“Why would she tell me about your party?”
“Because I’m so busy, silly. Bring the cake Friday at seven to the hotel.”
As if I wasn’t busy. My little business as Amy and Mother called it was booming. The Bend liked their treats and I had steady customers. The addit
ion last summer of the coffee bar meant I had people stopping in all morning long to visit with friends or grab and go a pick-me-up. I glanced at the calendar on the wall filled in with all the special orders and events already booked. Besides Amy’s cake, I had two others to complete for the following weekend. Another wedding cake and one for a baby shower.
I had my schedule planned out far in advance and shifting Amy’s cake up a day affected all my work. Even my supplies.
“And you can try on your dress. We need time to plan accordingly.”
“Accordingly for what?” While I wasn’t in the wedding, my mother had picked out a dress for me to wear. I’d been doubly hurt at first, but I’d had months to get over the fact that I wasn’t pretty enough to be a bridesmaid or that they thought I wouldn’t select something appropriate.
As Aunt Jean had said, it was better this way. Out of sight, out of mind. I hadn’t had to worry about a dress nor the implications my choice would bring.
“To make sure the dress fits. You know how you put on those pounds. Running a bakery isn’t good for someone like you.”
I didn’t put on pounds. My weight had stayed the same since eleventh grade. I’d been a late bloomer, but I’d definitely bloomed. A lot. Hips. Boobs. Lots of curves. I wasn’t skinny like Amy.
“But it’s okay for someone like you to have a sister who’s a baker because then you get a free cake?” I snapped.
She was silent for a moment. “Why do you have to be so petty? Is this about Edward? Your inability to keep him shouldn’t be taken out on me.”
I rubbed my temple because a headache was coming on. Typical for a chat with my family. I’d walked—no, run—away from my ex-boyfriend Edward when I’d learned he’d cheated on me. Keeping him meant turning a blind eye, which I wasn’t going to do. Ever. I had plenty of self-respect not to stand for that shit. I’d rather buy a date than be stuck with that loser.
The fact that Edward was going to be the best man only proved no one in my family took how much of an asshole he was into account.
He was in the wedding when I wasn’t.
“Astrid, dear.” Fuck, my mother was back. “Why do you upset Amy? It’s her wedding week.”
I didn’t say a word.
“To keep the numbers even, I’ve paired you with Franklin Pierce.”
“Franklin? You’re kidding,” I said, thinking of the guy I’d gone to school with. He’d always been a handsy sort and never shown any interest in me other than I’d had bigger boobs than other girls in my class. The fact that our mothers were friends was the only reason we got thrown together. He worked with his father in a dental practice and the only thing exciting about him was that he shared a name with a former US president.
“Since Edward will be there and you’re not together… then I had to find someone to be your date.”
“For a bachelorette party?”
“It’s coed. A joint thing.”
I frowned, not sure what that meant. “I have a date, Mother. I’m bringing someone.” The words came out unexpectedly. I’d hoped to arrive for the rehearsal dinner solo, stating that since Thatcher ran a bar that he couldn’t get away on a Saturday night. He’d show up for the wedding on Sunday and be glued to my side for the service and reception. But now… shit.
There was no backing out now. I had to take Thatcher. It wasn’t like I could find another guy in less than a week.
“Really?”
That one word was loaded with questions.
“Yes.”
“Well, then. I… well, good.”
Good. I’d get Franklin off my back, but now I had to get Thatcher to go with me not just to a Sunday wedding, but an entire weekend. Of family hell.
“Friday, Mother,” I finally replied, trying for calm. It was one weekend then I could go back to being ignored. How Amy had landed a fairly decent guy like Michael, I had no idea. Or why he put up with her.
She clicked off before saying goodbye.
“Don’t tell me.” Mary said, holding up her hand. I’d forgotten she’d heard the whole fun conversation. She was my first and only hire, and also my closest friend. Two years ago, she’d divorced. As a newly single mom of two, she needed income and flexibility and I’d needed help. My business had taken off and while that was a great problem, I’d been working too much. Even with Mary, I still was. “She wants her fancy cake a day early.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath and eyeing the wall calendar.
She crossed her arms over her chest, covering the shop logo on her t-shirt. “Now you’re going to a bachelorette party?”
“Looks like it,” I said with a frown.
“And the cake has to be done for Friday.”
“Yup.”
She didn’t say anything else, just shook her head slowly.
“I know. I know.” I turned and picked up the piping bag. Got back to work.
“Take Thatcher with you.”
“I have to since I offered him up to my mother so I wouldn’t be stuck with Franklin Pierce for the weekend.”
She frowned. “Isn’t that a former president?”
“Yes!” I said, tossing my hands up, one holding the piping bag.
“You need backup. Support. God, I thought my family was bad. Now I know they’re just crazy.” She picked up a cloth and folded it.
“He’s a fake date,” I reminded her. She knew about Thatcher and how he was going with me. She’d been there when I shared my idea with Aunt Jean about buying a guy from the bachelor auction to go with me and had been at the community center the night before in person. “How am I going to get him to agree to go with me for the entire weekend?”
“A real date—a good one—would go with you for support. Know what a nightmare your family is—no offense—and give you lots of orgasms to keep you relaxed.”
My eyes bugged out and I started to laugh. “Mary!”
“What? You’ve got Thatcher Manning as your date. Have you seen him?”
“Uh… yeah.” Over six feet of hulking muscle and bodily perfection. Curly ginger hair. Blue eyes. A quick smile that should be considered a lethal weapon to womens’ panties.
She fanned herself.
I didn’t blame her. He was… incredible. Handsome, a gentleman and after our little chat the night before, a seemingly nice guy. Definitely a little bit of a dirty talker, too, because I’d laid awake thinking about the extra services he’d mentioned.
He wasn’t really a date. He wouldn’t have known who I was if Aunt Jean hadn’t won him. I’d shown up late because of a delivery. I hadn’t changed my clothes or even swiped on some lip gloss. Hell, I’d had flour on my cheek.
“You bought that hot cowboy.”
“Aunt Jean did for me.” I let my shoulders drop as I felt my self-confidence take a nosedive. “What woman needs her aunt to buy her a date for her sister’s wedding?”
She tapped her chin. “Um, a smart one. You aren’t the only woman who bought a bachelor last night. I’m sure none of them are complaining. Use Thatcher. For all kinds of things.”
I picked up the folded towel and threw it at her. “You’re insane.”
“You’re insane not to,” she countered, then came over to me, looked me in the eye. “It’s going to be a rough weekend, especially now. Ask him to go with you. To all of it.”
“He runs a bar and probably can’t get away.”
“Ask him,” she repeated.
“Aunt Jean didn’t bid all that—”
“Ask him.”
I laughed. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”
She shook her head. The bell over the front door jingled, indicating a customer. She left to help, and I got back to work, thinking.
I’d expected to drive to Cutthroat on Saturday night, drop off the cake at the wedding venue and then continue on to the rehearsal dinner. The wedding was at noon on Sunday, so after the reception I’d be able to return to The Bend. I’d only have to spend one night. Less than twenty-four hours with my
family… and others.
I’d dated Edward Klein while I was away at college, meeting him over the summer before my senior year. I’d returned after graduation and learned he’d been cheating on me. Needing to escape, I’d fled to The Bend and Aunt Jean, the only sane blood relation I had. That had been years ago. I hadn’t left, instead opened the bakery. I was settled here. Content.
Dateless. I was over Edward but returning to Cutthroat and dealing with my family was hard. Going back and seeing Edward on top of everything else because he was the best man… not fun.
Now I’d have to stay the whole weekend. Mary was right. I needed backup in the form of a red headed hottie. A guy who was nicer—and hotter—than Edward. Glancing at the clock, I wondered when Thatcher would be at the Lucky Spur, because I had some begging to do. Since I told my mother I had a date, there was no way I could show up to the wedding without him now.
4
THATCHER
Saturday night
It wasn’t even late and the bar was busy. The weather was good and everyone wanted to be out on the patio by the river. The garage doors I’d put in when I renovated the old mill were open. The band was setting up and the place would fill even more in an hour when they got going. I was helping the bartenders keep up with the orders and while I was focused on the beer I was pulling, my thoughts went to Astrid, as they had all day.
We hadn’t talked long after the auction, only solidifying that she’d text me later in the week with details about the where and when of her sister’s wedding. All I knew was that it was in Cutthroat next Sunday.
I could understand why a woman would want to have a wingman going to an event when an ex was going to be there. I didn’t know anything about the guy, but he must’ve done a number on her. The fact that Miss Turnbuckle was in on it validated that he was an asshole. There was more to this story. But what?
I passed off the beer to a customer and traded it for some cash, then stuck it in the till before taking the next order from a woman dressed in a top that accentuated the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra and whose skirt could also be used for a rubber band. She gave me a look that indicated she wanted more from me than a gin and tonic.
