by Tawny Weber
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, glancing around the room and seeing what her friend probably saw. Holy cow. It did look like a bakery had relocated to her kitchen. “I have no idea what I’m going to do with all of this.”
She’d been so focused on baking to avoid her thoughts, she hadn’t considered what to do with the results.
Macy backed away as if the very question opened the door to the possibility of her eating it all. Then she stopped, sighed and scooped up another taste of coconut frosting.
“You won’t burn yourself out before you need to make my wedding cake, will you?”
Genna laughed for the first time in three days. What was Macy going to obsess over after mid-May?
“Of course not. I love to bake. I can’t imagine ever burning out on it.” Of course, she hadn’t been able to imagine her heart being stomped on and her dreams trampled while she was still quivering from a mind-blowing climax, either. So what did she know?
“Will you be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Better than fine, actually, since all she wanted right now was to be left alone. She didn’t want to talk, she had no interest in sharing her heartbreak or hearing advice. And if Macy wasn’t here, she could turn off the phone altogether. After putting in a call to the EMT center to let them know to ignore her mother, of course.
Nope, she’d rather be alone, baking and contemplating the useless dissatisfaction that was her life.
Fun, fun.
“Go, live with your fiancé,” she said, shooing Macy out of the kitchen before she gave in to self-pity and changed her mind. “Have wild sex, play house, try togetherness on for size.”
“Genna,” Macy protested, blushing. “We don’t have wild sex.”
What was the point of getting married, then?
Not wanting to prolong the departure, Genna kept that question to herself. Instead, she wiped her hands and helped Macy carry a half dozen bags and boxes to the car. A quick wave, a few warnings and reminders to call her mom from Macy, and voilà.
Peace and quiet.
Exhausted but not willing to go to bed at―she glanced at the clock and winced―7:00 p.m.? Pissed off, miserable and frustrated made for an exhausting cocktail.
She stepped back into the kitchen and looked around.
It did look like she was stocking a bakery with goods.
Maybe she could set up a stand in the front yard. Three cookies for a dollar. A few hundred dozen and she might have enough money to afford a sheriff-approved storefront.
Playing with that dream, a nice distraction from her earlier thoughts, Genna returned to building her cheesecake crust. Butter, graham crackers, ground almonds. All yummy goodness.
She was entertaining the mental debate over decorating her dream bakery in modern teal and brown, or going with a fun black-and-pink palette when there was a rap at her back door. Loud enough to make her jump and almost drop the cream cheese. Her heart pounding just as loud now, she shifted to the side of the kitchen to look out the window.
Brody?
She blinked, moved closer to the window in case the porch light was casting illusions, then looked again.
Tall, sexy and gorgeous. Yep, that was Brody all right.
She scowled. What did he want?
She debated for all of three seconds before checking to see that the lock was engaged, then jaw set, took the cream cheese back to the mixer. When the knock came again, she flipped the mixer on high to drown it out.
“It’s usually better to hide in another room if you’re pretending not to be there when someone knocks.”
Genna jumped, but managed to contain her scream. She was so proud, she gave herself a couple seconds for her heart to slow again before turning off the mixer. Had he learned lock-picking in SEAL school? Or was that a leftover from his badass days? Pasting on her most distant expression, she tossed a cool expression over her shoulder.
“It’s usually better to take the hint. When someone doesn’t answer the door it means they don’t want to see you.”
“I’ve never been good with subtleties.”
No question about that. Brody and subtle didn’t even belong in the same sentence. Genna pulled her gaze back to the creamy mixture in her bowl, wishing he didn’t look so good. A quick glance told her he’d lost some of that pallor, the crisp evening air and scent of the outdoors adding to the healthy impression.
Too bad.
She’d been imagining him wasting away with guilt, miserable over having rejected her and pining away to nothing.
“Saw your old man tonight,” he said, letting the door slam shut behind him. “So what’s the deal? You tell your daddy I’m being mean to you?”
“Wow, not subtle or polite,” she said, pretending to measure the vanilla instead of just pouring it into the bowl to give her face time to cool off. Damn her father.
“Genna?”
Pressing her lips together, she finally turned to him. And immediately crossed her arms over her chest. Both to keep her hands to herself, and to hide the instant evidence of her body’s reaction.
He was so damned sexy.
His leather jacket did nothing to disguise the breadth of his shoulders, and instead of sweats he was in jeans tonight. Jeans that molded nicely to his hard thighs. Whew, it was hot in here.
“Well?”
Well, what? Did he want her to say it out loud? That he was gorgeous or that she went into instant meltdown just being in the same room as him.
Then she replayed the conversation and grimaced.
“I didn’t say anything to my father. He was at the meeting when the mayor asked if I’d contacted you again. I said no, my father said never, I walked out. End of story.”
Brows furrowed, Brody stared long enough to make her want to squirm. Then he nodded and looked around the room. His eyes got wider as they passed from counter to tabletop to counter.
He gave a baffled shake of his head. “Do you run your own bakery? Or are you supplying treats for the Fifth Fleet?”
Starting to get a baking complex and wondering if she should look into a twelve-step program, Genna followed his gaze and sighed.
Then, not willing to relax her guard since the minute she did all those schoolgirl dreams would come floating right back, Genna gave him an arch look.
“Why are you here?”
All the way in the room now, he was peering from tray to plate, then chose a butter pecan cookie and popped it into his mouth.
“I told you,” he said around the cookie. “Your father came to see me.”
“And told you I said you were mean?”
“Actually he warned me to stay the hell away from you.”
Genna closed her eyes against the humiliation. She was twenty-seven and her father warned away guys he didn’t like. Her mother called her three times a day and sicced emergency personnel on her if she didn’t respond. Could her life be any more pathetic?
Forcing herself to meet his gaze again, she offered a stiff smile and a shrug.
“Okay. So he warned you. That shouldn’t be a big deal since according to you, you don’t want to be anywhere near me anyhow.” She waited, but his expression didn’t change. “So I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”
“I told you. Because your father told me to stay away.”
“Seriously? You’re here to defy my father?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Why not?”
Genna was pretty certain she wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d stripped naked and asked her to eat cookies off his body.
* * *
IT WAS ALL BRODY could do not to laugh.
The look on Genna’s face was priceless. Baffled fury, coated in a pink wash of embarrassment.
She was ado
rable.
And he was pretty sure that was the first time in his life he’d ever used the word adorable.
The kitchen timer dinged. After a couple of blinks and a bewildered shake of her head, Genna grabbed a cloth and hurried to the oven. As soon as she opened it, a spicy rich scent filled the room. Giant cookies, the size of his hand and studded with chocolate, covered the tray. His mouth actually watered.
“Let me get this straight.” She set the tray of cookies on the counter, opposite Brody and too far for him to sneak one. A frown between narrowed eyes, she gave him a long look. Strikingly similar to her father’s look, actually. Brody’s lips twitched. She probably wouldn’t want to hear that.
“I write to give you bad news, and you hit on me by mail. I come to see you to pass on an invitation and a message—neither of which are from me—and you feel me up then kick me out. And today my father, clearly overstepping both his parental and legal bounds, warns you to stay away from me.” She paused, as if waiting for him to dispute anything she’d said so far. Since she was pretty much on track, he just shrugged. “And now that I am, according to someone who has no say in it, off-limits, what? You want me?”
“I didn’t say I wanted you,” Brody corrected quickly. No point giving her the wrong idea. Or in this case, the right idea that he planned to ignore.
“Ah, my mistake.” She tossed her hands in the air, the move sending the scent of fresh-baked cookies through the room. Brody’s stomach growled. Risking her glare, and the spatula she was currently smacking against her palm, he snagged a cookie from the closest tray.
It melted in his mouth, rich molasses goodness coating his tongue and sliding down to create a celebration in his stomach.
Incredible.
He lifted the small piece left in his hand, peered at it, then looked closer at the trays around the room. He knew these cookies.
“I’ve had this before.”
“I brought you a plate of them less than a week ago.”
He shook his head. “I tossed those out.”
“You threw out my cookies?” Outrage and shock rang out, her voice rising with each word. Eyes wide, mouth half-open, she kept trying to say something but the words seemed to be stuck somewhere. Instead she shook her head and gestured, tried again, then settled on a low growl.
Brody smothered a laugh.
Well, well.
He’d intimidated her.
He’d groped her.
He’d put on his meanest face and tried to scare her.
And she’d had a sassy comeback every single time.
But now he’d finally done it.
He’d rendered Genna Reilly speechless.
All it’d taken was to insult her cookies.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud.
Shock faded, leaving Genna’s expression blank before it slowly shifted to fury. Red washed over her cheeks and her eyes sparked enough fire to turn the cookies to charcoal.
“I’m sorry?” he offered, trying to smother his laughter. It was hard, though. She was so damned cute with her outrage.
“For...?”
What? She wanted a detailed list? Oh, no. He might limit his experience with women to the length of a long weekend. But he wasn’t stupid. The minute he started confessing, she’d start keeping score. Since she was ahead of the game anyway, he wasn’t about to hand her that kind of ammo.
“You know,” he said slowly, changing the subject. “Every month my gramma sent me a care package. Wherever I was, I’d get a box of cookies. Sugar cookies in Cairo, spice cookies in Dubai. In Korea I got a box of chocolate chunk that were so good, the entire SEAL team was licking crumbs out of the box.”
“So?” Her expression didn’t change. But the way her eyes lit with pleasure assured Brody he was right in his suspicions.
“So, for the last eight years, I’ve been getting cookies from my grandmother. Except they weren’t from her.”
“Did she say they were?” Genna asked, moving the cooled cookies to a rack before turning back to whatever other delicious concoction she was whipping up.
“Nope. Not once did she say, ‘Brody, I made these cookies myself,’” he acknowledged. “But neither did she ever mention they were from someone else.”
He waited a beat while Genna poured white batter into what looked like small pie tins.
“Any idea what’s behind the covert cookie care package?” he asked as soon as she set the bowl down.
“Maybe you should ask her,” Genna said, leaning forward so her hair swung down, hiding her face as she arranged the tins in a pan of shallow water.
“I’m asking you.”
Genna slid the tray into the oven, then with a sigh deep enough to do interesting things to her apron ruffles, she faced him with a shrug. Her shoulders hunched and she dropped her chin to her chest.
“I made the cookies,” she confessed with more guilt than most insurgents he’d watched be interrogated.
“No! Really?”
Some of the shame faded as her lips twitched. But the odd look didn’t leave her eyes. Like she was hiding something still. Something ugly. What? Since he hadn’t dropped dead, he knew she hadn’t poisoned the cookies.
“Why?” he asked. When she pressed her lips together, he shook his head. “C’mon. Why would you send cookies all that time through my gramma? How’d you get her to go along with it? She’s not known for keeping secrets, but she never hinted. Even when I thanked her to her face for the treats and told her how much the guys loved them.”
“She told me that,” Genna said softly. He assumed her affectionate smile was for his grandmother. Then, after giving him a long look and probably realizing he wasn’t going to give it up, she lifted both hands in the air.
“Look, it’s no big deal. I’d just moved in here and was going around meeting the neighbors. I took Irene cookies and when I realized how lonely she was, I started taking them by each week. She mentioned once that you’d loved cookies when you were a little boy. So I gave her extras. What she did with the extras was totally up to her.”
There was more to it than that. But Genna had that stubborn tilt going with her chin, so he knew he wouldn’t get the rest of the story. Yet.
Just as well.
The idea of her sending him cookies, of her thinking about him every single month for the last eight years. That did something to him. A warmth Brody had never felt spread through him, soft and gentle. Probably heartburn from eating so many sweets on an empty stomach, he told himself.
Still, better to drop the subject than risk feeding that feeling.
“So, seriously. What’s with all the food? Is that what you do when you aren’t playing messenger for the mayor? You have a bakery?”
“No. And I’m not the mayor’s messenger. I’m the community liaison. I work with the various businesses and organizations on things like outreach, civic issues, beautification and events.” She looked around the room and must have noticed there was three square inches of counter space available, so she pulled out a big bowl and started gathering ingredients.
“That’s your real job? I thought it was something you did like volunteering. You know, being a good citizen and all.” He grabbed a muffin, figuring if she was baking something else she could use the room.
“Why are you here again?” she asked, lifting her chin and giving him as cool look. “You just wanted to visit because my father put me on the off-limits list? Or did you get lonely there in that tiny house all by yourself with nobody to insult?”
Brody grinned. He loved her claws.
But she had a point.
And while he wasn’t big on apologies, he did owe her something after the way he’d treated her before. He looked at the muffin in his hand and grimaced. He hated explaining himself. Especially when he didn
’t really understand why he was here. Just that he’d needed to see her.
“I didn’t realize how hard things might be for you,” he said slowly. When she frowned and shook her head in confusion, he clarified. “Here, after. I figured you’d skate through, you know? Pampered princess and all that.”
She pulled a weird spoon thing made up of wires out of a drawer, running it through her hands as she considered his words.
“After? You mean when my father shanghaied you into the navy?”
Brody almost choked on his muffin laughing.
“Yeah. After that.” Leave it to Genna to tell it like it was.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in the world who thinks I’m a pampered princess,” she said, rolling her eyes and ignoring the rest of his words.
So. She didn’t want to talk about what it’d been like.
Too bad. Brody did.
“What happened? I thought you were going to some fancy college. Didn’t Joe say you’d gotten into Stanford?” Not that Joe bragged about his sister. If Brody remembered correctly, Joe’d been bitching that Genna’s accomplishments were putting pressure on him. Apparently their parents were starting to nag that he get off his ass and do something with his life.
Genna pressed her lips together, all of her attention on the milky sugar mixture she was stirring with that weird spoon. After a few seconds, she shrugged.
“That didn’t work out. I ended up staying here and did the community college thing instead.”
Maybe it was because all he’d ever wanted to do was get the hell out of Bedford, but Brody just wasn’t buying that she’d given up so easily on leaving.
Or maybe it was the way she refused to look at him.
Deciding this was going to take a while and he might as well be comfortable, he pulled out one of the ladder-back chairs, turned it backward and straddled it.
“Comfy?” she asked, the sarcasm as thick as the cream she was stirring.
“I could use something to drink,” Brody responded. “But otherwise, thanks, I’m pretty comfortable.”
After a long look, she walked over to the sink, took a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with tap water. Since it gave Brody a great view of her butt, he couldn’t complain. Except that he wasn’t here to look at her butt, he reminded himself. He was here to find out what the hell had happened to her life after he’d left.
