by Skye Jordan
The Mulligan estate in the hills of Wildwood included a five-thousand-square-foot, Spanish-style house on fifty gorgeous acres of vineyards. Now, nearing 8:00 p.m., the land lay in the cool Northern California darkness. From where the gathering took place under a veranda on the patio, with gas heaters cutting the chill and thousands of tiny white lights creating an intimate kind of joyous atmosphere, Avery let her gaze drift over the aqua pool glowing in the dark.
“Uncle Bill is allergic to nuts.” Tiffany Mulligan, the bride-to-be and a friend of Avery’s since grade school, frowned at her mother. Tiff hadn’t changed much over the years. She was still a pretty, freckled blonde. And Avery had been thrilled to discover Tiffany’s big heart had only grown with age. “I don’t want him swelling into a balloon at my wedding.”
“He’s been allergic his whole life.” Nancy batted away her daughter’s concern like a fly. “He’s used to avoiding foods that aren’t good for him.”
“He’s walking me down the aisle, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t have to avoid my wedding cake.”
“And I won’t have the remaining five hundred forty-nine guests settling for an average cake they could get at any wedding because one person is allergic to nuts. Avery’s carrot cake is exquisite. Like nothing I’ve ever tasted. No one will be forgetting that cake as soon as they leave the reception.”
Avery smiled and offered a soft, “Thank you.”
The Mulligans could have easily hired a ritzy cake designer from Napa or Marin or San Francisco, but Tiffany had insisted on using Avery, which, every time she thought about it, still created a warm spot beneath her ribs.
She tried to keep her mind on this beautiful moment for Tiffany and Sean, both down-to-earth, damn good people. But her mind couldn’t keep from comparing this gallant wedding affair with her own hasty elopement before David had entered basic training. Or her own desolate marriage and how jaded she’d become toward the union as a whole.
So she turned her mind to Wild Harts. Only that brought up an immediate burn of stress. God, she had so many things to finalize—menus, protocols, staff, bookkeeping. And that didn’t even touch on the fact that her new, commercial-grade equipment hadn’t arrived yet—$20,000 worth of appliances, the installation of which was holding Trace back from finalizing the kitchen construction.
And dammit, there he was again—Trace—in her head. His tongue stroking her fingers. His lips sucking the cinnamon-and-cream-cheese frosting off her skin.
The memory of their sudden and intimate moment three days before wound through her like a spiral of heat. Heat that turned into an uncomfortable burn when she thought back over how he’d been acting since—preoccupied, evasive, distant. Like he wanted to be anywhere but around her. After years of experiencing the same syndrome in her marriage, Avery recognized what was happening with Trace perfectly.
Man, do I know how to pick ’em or what?
“Avery.” Tiffany’s plea brought her thoughts back. “Tell my mother she can’t feed nuts to a man with a nut allergy.”
Fatigue made Avery a little snarky. “Depends.” She grinned at Nancy. “How well do you like him?”
Tiffany’s jaw dropped. “Avery.”
Nancy started laughing.
“I have to admit,” Avery went on with mock seriousness, “it would really put a damper on the wedding to lose someone to a nut allergy. I mean, for years to come, there would be a bevy of nut jokes—”
“Avery!” Tiffany said, half-shocked, half laughing.
Avery shook her head and shooed the idea away as if they’d all been considering it in the first place. “Really all around better if we just skip it.”
And Nancy was still laughing.
“I have a solution that should please you both,” Avery told them. “Nancy, your brother probably isn’t the only person attending the wedding with a food allergy. Nuts, gluten, wheat, dairy, and eggs have become real problems in recent years.”
Nancy’s happiness turned to frustration, and she threw her hands up in surrender. “Oh, for God’s sake. I’m so damn sick of having to be so politically correct. I know, Tiff, let’s just forget the cake altogether. What shall we serve? Rice crackers and Cheez Whiz?”
Tiffany covered her face with both hands and groaned.
“I think you’ll like my idea better,” Avery assured her with a hand on her friend’s arm. “I’ll make the cake of your dreams, Tiff—a tiered carrot from scratch, with ginger-cream-cheese filling and fondant icing, decorated with exquisite, handmade, crystalline sugar flowers in your wedding colors”—cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching, the pair had chosen some of the most expensive specialties available—“and I’ll also make a dozen single-serving cakes for guests with allergies. They’ll look like mini-versions of your cake and taste so good, the guests won’t know they’re any different. Instead of feeling shortchanged because of their allergies, they’ll appreciate your concern over their individual issues. I’ll reserve one of those for your uncle.”
Tiffany clapped her hands beneath her chin. “That’s perfect.” She turned to her mother. “Isn’t that perfect, Mom?”
“Phoebe told me if anyone could make this work, it would be you, Avery.” Nancy glanced at Tiffany. “Go ahead and fill out the order form. We’ve still got presents to open.”
With both Mulligans returned to their buoyant, pre-shower bliss, Avery stood, lifted a wine bottle from the bar nearby, and strolled toward the table where Phoebe sat with several other women, including Willow Holmes, the amazing, mature-beyond-her-years, eighteen-year-old Avery had hired as the manager of the café once it opened, and Willow’s mother, MaryAnn.
Avery felt so lucky to be getting Willow. The girl had been working in their family restaurant since she was six years old—a steakhouse just outside town—and had all kinds of experience Avery didn’t. Avery could create recipes and bake and build clientele, and, yeah, she could do the basics at a restaurant, but running a café and a bakery while also taking on specialty orders was a whole different animal.
In that way, Willow’s year off between high school and college, and her desire to become a pastry chef, was an absolute godsend to Avery. Definitely a win-win for both of them.
As long as the overprotective MaryAnn stayed out of it.
Avery reached over Phoebe’s shoulder to refill empty wineglasses, and her aunt grinned up at her. “You managed to keep that little explosion between Tiffany and Nancy under wraps.”
Avery smiled, proud of herself. God, how long had it been since she’d truly been proud of herself? Years?
“They just needed to work out the bugs.” She smiled at Willow. “Getting excited to start?”
“Yes,” she said, her face alight with excitement. “Totally. I’ve been researching business practices to see how cafés run things differently than restaurants, and I’ve got some great ideas.”
“I can’t wait to hear them.”
“And I’ve been trying out some new recipes at home—”
“And I swear I’ve gained twenty pounds,” her scarecrow-thin mother teased, raising laughter around the table. “Just remember, Willow’s taking the job so she can stop working seven days a week at our restaurant. So you can’t work her the way you work, Avery, sixteen hours a day, seven days a week.”
Don’t work Willow too hard. Don’t take advantage of Willow’s experience. Don’t keep Willow at the hostess station. Don’t, don’t, don’t. Every time Avery saw MaryAnn, she got some kind of warning.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Avery assured MaryAnn. “Willow and I have her schedule all worked out.” She smiled at Willow. “We should get together about a week before opening day. Sound good?”
“Perfect,” Willow said, her excitement palpable.
Tiffany tapped Avery’s arm and handed her the order form with a huge smile of relief. “Here it is.”
Avery stepped away from the table and glanced over the form. This cake was going to amount to a mint. And it would cost Avery at leas
t three sixteen-hour days of work, a mountain of stress, and very, very little sleep. Luckily, the wedding was a few months off, which meant she could have the café up and running smoothly before she tackled this job.
A little flutter of accomplishment winged up her chest, making her smile.
She could do this. She continued to have doubts daily. Hell, hourly. But right now, yeah, she could do this. And the sparkle of independence at the end of the tunnel gave her something to hold on to during these long workdays.
She grinned at Tiffany. “This is going to be one unforgettably spectacular cake.”
Tiffany wrapped her arms around Avery. “Thank you so much. This could have turned into such a fiasco without your levelheaded guidance.”
She hugged Tiffany back. “Thanks for taking a chance on me, Tiff. I won’t let you down.”
Tiffany leaned back. “I have absolutely no worries whatsoever. You have my two hundred percent confidence.”
Avery laughed and fanned her face. “If you make me cry, I’ll kill you.” When Tiffany only hugged her again, Avery pulled away. “Let me get you a total for this so you can get on with your night.”
As she turned toward the house, Nancy strolled up beside them, a glass of wine in her hand. “I have to hand it to you, Avery. When Tiffany said she wanted to use you as her wedding cake designer, I told her it was bad timing, that it wasn’t a good idea. But you’ve proved me wrong. You’ve outdone yourself, and I’m so completely impressed at how you’re handling your own situation and not letting it impair your work.”
This wasn’t a new sentiment. Since Avery had returned home, she’d gotten these backhanded compliments a lot. Everyone seemed stunned at how well she was functioning through the divorce, insinuating she should be falling apart, when she had always been the strong one. She was the one who had fought for their marriage long after David had given up.
But she did what she always did—she took the high road.
“David and I may have been married on paper for several years, but the divorce wasn’t a surprise.”
“Not the divorce, honey,” Nancy said, her voice sincere. “I meant David’s engagement.”
En—what?
Avery’s stomach dropped and her throat closed, leaving her speechless.
“And so soon after the divorce,” Nancy went on. “You know what that means. He had someone in the wings. Probably someone he worked with. Most likely someone he was deployed with. Both my sons are military. I know how it works.”
“Mom, stop it,” Tiffany said, her expression aghast.
Nancy waved her away. “Regardless, I’ve been divorced long enough to know that no matter how your marriage ended or how long ago it happened, news that your ex is getting remarried is always a blow. I just want you to know that, having been there, I applaud your ability to move on and stay positive.”
Tiffany took her mother’s arm and lifted the wine from her hand. “I’m sorry, Avery. I think Mom’s one over her limit.”
“No.” Avery had to force the word out, her chest now coiled into a hard knot. “It’s all right.”
Tiffany leveled an apologetic—possibly even piteous—look at Avery and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” As she led her mother away, she said, “I’ll call you.”
Avery nodded, but she remained rooted in that spot while the guests rose from their tables to gather in a seating area that surrounded a fire pit, where gifts had been stacked on and around a chair.
In one way she felt numb. In another, she swore she was on fire. A million thoughts spiraled in her brain, thousands of emotions clashed in her chest. But an overwhelming sense of betrayal clouded everything.
There had been a million things about her divorce and her marriage Avery hadn’t understood when they were happening. Things she still didn’t understand now. But after all the fights, all the counseling, and all the tears, she’d come to believe that David was simply more committed to his life as a soldier. And that a soldier’s life would never be congruous to a wife and family. Avery had believed his reason for wanting the divorce: because his heart belonged to the US Army.
But it was now obvious his heart had belonged to someone else as well—and it hadn’t been Avery.
She took a slow, deep breath. The air stuttered into her lungs, and tears stung. Her brain was already busy stuffing the hurt into dark corners to protect her heart. The pain didn’t stem from losing someone she still loved or still wanted. This was pain born from the deepest kind of betrayal. She’d dedicated her entire adult life to making David happy, to supporting his dreams and goals, to seeing him succeed—even while sacrificing her own—because they’d made a promise.
Until death did they part.
Which was when she had an epiphany. One she should have had a hell of a long time ago: promises meant shit.
Her parents promised they’d always love each other—lie. Her mother promised she would always take care of Avery and her sisters—lie. Her oldest sister, Delaney, promised she would keep the family together after their mother left—lie. The boy Avery had loved promised escape and everlasting happiness—lie. The man that boy had become had promised their divorce was because of who he’d become in the army, not another woman—lie.
Lies. All lies. Every important turning point in her life had been based on one lie or another.
With her head spinning in confusion, her heart swimming in hurt, Avery turned toward the kitchen and pushed through the swinging door. Staff the Mulligans had hired for the night busily filled pitchers with drinks, arranged trays with more of Avery’s desserts, and whisked in and out of the kitchen with wine and coffee. Thankfully, they let Avery have the quiet moment she needed to pull herself together.
She pressed her hands to one of the granite counters, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to ease the stabbing pain in her chest.
“Congratulations, honey.” Phoebe’s voice startled her, and Avery jumped, turning toward the door where her aunt had followed her in. She looked so young and fresh in a pretty violet dress that pulled out a purple hue in her blue eyes. Her silver hair was down, styled in loose curls to her chin. “Sorry, sweetie. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I was just thinking about this cake,” Avery lied, forcing her gaze to the paper in her hand. “It’s going to need structural support.”
“Maybe Trace can help you out.”
Trace. Avery barely resisted rolling her eyes. Another disappointment. Another rejection. At least he hadn’t broken a promise. Yet.
“This is a great foot in the door to the wedding business,” Phoebe said, squeezing Avery’s shoulder. “Nancy’s already raving about you.”
Avery nodded, trying to pull herself out of the murky hole she’d fallen into. “Weddings bring in a lot of money.”
“And they lead to other events. The Hadleys want to talk to you about catering their daughter’s baby shower in July.”
“Great.” Avery had to admit, Phoebe was a marketing dynamo. Luckily, Avery was also quite good at pretending nothing was wrong. She should be; she’d been pretending for years. Pretending as long as others had been lying. Did that make her a liar, too? “These special events will really help float the café for the first year.”
Phoebe patted her hand. “Come out when you’re done here, and I’ll introduce you to the Hadleys.”
“Phoebe?” Avery said as her aunt pivoted to leave. When Phoebe turned with an expectant smile, Avery said, “How about if I set up a private meeting with them, upstairs at the café so they can see how pretty the event space is coming along. Maybe they’ll choose to have the shower there. I’ll create a selection of my best pastries and serve sparkling wine. Can you just get a few good dates for the meeting? I’m exhausted and starving, and if I don’t sit down and eat something without sugar in it, I think I’m going to faint.”
Phoebe laughed. “Of course, honey.”
On Phoebe’s way out, a figure beyond the swinging door caught Avery’s eye. She did a double take just as T
race put his big hand against the wood to hold the door for Phoebe, but his gaze held on Avery.
Her stomach jumped, flipped, and fell. God, he took her breath away, even when she saw him again after being gone only a short time. They’d both been on the job site together all day, and she’d seen him a dozen times in passing, but he was showered and dressed in clean jeans and a gray, long-sleeved Henley with LINKIN PARK emblazoned on the front. His hair pitch-black, his eyes electric blue, his body hard as rock.
He definitely released butterflies in her belly and drew her attention away from the lingering sting of betrayal.
“Hi there, Trace,” Phoebe said. “Here to pick up Pearl?”
Pearl was the grandmother who’d raised Trace off and on while his mother had been dying of cancer and his father had been hopped up on painkillers.
“I am.” His gaze held on Avery’s face, then slowly skimmed downward, taking in the dress and heels she’d borrowed from Delaney for the night.
When she’d been standing next to her sister in front of the mirror at the house Delaney shared with Ethan, Avery had felt mildly uncomfortable. The dress was too bright, too short, too sexy. Delaney had turned red trying to convince Avery she’d never looked better, but it was Ethan’s shock at Avery’s transformation that had convinced her to wear it—because Avery saw this as a transformative point in her life. She couldn’t go back, didn’t even want to go back. Which only left forward. And she knew from too much experience that if you kept doing the same thing you’ve always done, you kept getting the same results you’ve always gotten. This year, Avery wanted different results.
But now, feeling Trace’s eyes on the exposed skin of her shoulders, the deep V in the halter neckline, the swell of her breasts beneath the chiffon . . . every inch of her body tingled with heat.
