Making Whoopie

by Erin Nicholas

  She didn’t like that part. She’d admit it. She’d never imagined being someone who would marry for anything less than true love and forever.

  But interestingly, Grant didn’t laugh or smile or even nod agreement with her statement.

  “I hope you’re compliant and get better quickly because I hate seeing you not feeling well,” he said. Sincerely.

  That. Was. Romantic. Dammit.

  She sighed. She wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t be. She wasn’t even falling in love with him. Yet. But she wanted to fall in love with him.

  “I’m going to brush my teeth. And change into my pajamas.”

  “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  It was going to be a long night lying next to her romantic-even-though-he-didn’t-mean-to-be, saving-her-ass, mostly-naked, sort-of fiancé.

  11

  It had been a long night.

  He had not only spent it in a queen-sized bed—Grant couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in something smaller than a king—but he’d spent it next to the woman he wanted more than he’d ever wanted a woman. Who wanted to have sex with him. Who he was, basically, for all intents and purposes, engaged to.

  She smelled good. She looked good. She felt good.

  She’d snuggled right up next to him in the night as if they’d been sleeping next to one another for years. Her sweet ass pressed right into his crotch, her head tucked right underneath his chin, her feet sandwiched right between his. As if that was her spot and she’d never been more comfortable in her life.

  He didn’t know if she’d done it to torture him—since she’d kindly skipped the striptease—or if she was just a cuddly-touchy-feely type even when she was unconscious but… it was the most heavenly hellish way to spend the last three hours of his night.

  He guessed it was the cuddly-touchy-feeling-type thing, honestly. She was bold and stubborn at times, but Jocelyn Asher was not vindictive. He didn’t know how he knew that with such certainty, but he did.

  When her alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m., she stretched like a cat, rubbing that ass—and the rest of her—against him, probably without even realizing it.

  Until she felt his erection pressing into her.

  And became aware of his body snuggled tightly up against hers. His arm draped over her waist, his chin resting on the top of her head.

  She froze. Then slowly turned. Her eyes widened, and she quickly whipped her head back to face away from him. Then she scooted out from under his arm and to the edge of the bed, nearly jumping off the mattress.

  He blinked. “Um, good morning.”

  She ran a hand through her hair and gave him a little smile. “Hi.” Then she spun on her heel and practically ran from the room.

  Okay. So she hadn’t snuggled up against him on purpose. She’d seemed shocked to see him in her bed as a matter of fact.

  Grant stretched and yawned and also got out of bed. Though less as if his ass was on fire and more like a normal person. He was dressed, but shoeless when Jocelyn came back into the room wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair in a ponytail.

  He watched her for a sign about how to proceed here.

  “So… hi,” she said again, this time with a smile.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, moving around the edge of the bed. Maybe she’d felt sick and had run to vomit.

  She nodded. “I’m not used to waking up with men… well, people of any gender… in my bed.”

  He came to stand in front of her. “Can’t say I’m not happy to hear that,” he told her honestly.

  She gave him a small smile. “I panicked about the morning breath.”

  He nodded. “Understandable.”

  Her eyes went wide, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Was it bad?”

  He caught her wrist and chuckled. “No.”

  He started to lean in, but her hand went to his chest.

  “I brushed my teeth,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “You haven’t.”

  Right. He grinned and straightened. “On my way.” He stepped around her but paused in the doorway. “Just for the record though, there’s lots of places I could kiss you in the morning where you won’t notice—or care about—morning breath.” Then he continued on to the bathroom.

  It must have taken her a second to recover from that because as he was closing the bathroom door he heard her call, “There’s a new toothbrush in the second drawer!”

  Grant chuckled. In fact, he found himself smiling through the entire teeth-brushing process and a quick shower.

  By the time he made it to the kitchen, Jocelyn was dressed, had another apron on, and was making what appeared to be French toast.

  Any man who claimed that the adage about getting to his heart through his stomach wasn’t true was a damned liar. At least in part. There was nothing bad about sleeping with a woman who could cook. Except maybe the extra couple of miles he’d need to add on to his daily run.

  “You probably shouldn’t eat that,” he said, leaning onto the kitchen island, loving everything about watching her in the kitchen.

  She looked over her shoulder. “I’m not. This is for you.”

  “You’re making it just for me?” he asked, surprised and stupidly touched. She was just being a good hostess.

  “I am.” She turned from the stove with a spatula holding two pieces of French toast and slid them onto a plate. They were perfectly golden brown. She turned to take a small saucepan from the stove and proceeded to spoon syrupy, cinnamon-smelling apple slices over the bread. Then she reached into a bowl and took a pinch of powdered sugar, dusting it over the French toast before pushing it in front of Grant.

  Then she went for the coffeepot.

  Grant just stared at the plate in front of him. This wasn’t just plain old French toast. Of course it wasn’t. This was Jocelyn Asher. Nothing was just plain old with her.

  “Wow,” he finally said as she set a cup of black coffee in front of him. “This looks amazing.”

  She nodded. “I know you go for scones and the simpler muffins at the bakery, but I’m determined to win you over to the decadent side of life.”

  He nodded. “Done.”

  “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

  “I licked cake batter off your naked body. It doesn’t get much more decadent than that.” He picked up his fork as her mouth fell open.

  He cut into the French toast and took a big bite.

  Yep. Decadent. That was a pretty damned good word for it. He groaned.

  Jocelyn gave a happy sigh.

  He met her eyes as he chewed and swallowed. “You look happy.”

  “I love making people make that sound because of my food.”

  He almost made a quip about making him make that sound with other things, but he didn’t. He just nodded. Cooking and baking, creating things that made people happy, was her life. She clearly did love it, and she was very, very good at it. “You keep doing this for me and this marriage is going to work out just fine,” he told her with a grin, cutting into his breakfast again.

  Her smile faded just a tad. If he hadn’t been watching her, he wouldn’t have even noticed.

  “We can probably make it through my whole breakfast and brunch rotation once before it’s over. But I have a lot of great recipes,” she said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to divorce you before I’ve tasted them all,” Grant teased, trying to keep the moment light. “But I wouldn’t mind extending it to include this at least one more time.”

  Her smile was definitely smaller, but she nodded. “I can slip it in again, I’m sure.”

  She turned back to the stove and made him three more pieces, which, of course, he had to eat regardless of calories or fat content. Not that he minded.

  She started doing the dishes as he ate.

  “What are you eating?” he asked.

  “I already had some toast and some berries,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I�
�m fine. I’m feeling good today.”

  “Okay. Good. I don’t want you skipping meals because you’re afraid it’s going to flare up though.”

  She nodded, reaching for the dish towel. “I’ll admit it’s in the back of my mind, but I’ll be good. I can be careful for a few days.”

  Grant studied her. She was so trim. Not a bit overweight. Yet she clearly loved food. “Working around sweets all day doesn’t make you crave them less? You don’t get sick of them?” he asked.

  She laughed at that. “No way. I love everything about baking and cooking and decorating. I don’t think I’d be as good at it if I didn’t like eating it all too. How could I make the raspberry filling perfect or put the right amount of butterscotch chunks in something if I didn’t appreciate how delicious it all was and could be with just a few more chunks or just a little bit more vanilla or just a dash more of cinnamon?”

  Grant lifted a brow. “Aiden said that Zoe is a stickler for following her grandmother’s recipes at the bakery. In fact, he’s been a little frustrated by how adamant she is about not changing things down there. That’s why you guys doing cake pops and pies in a jar are such a big deal, right? Because it’s a change.”

  Jocelyn nodded, her eyes on the pan she was drying.

  “Are you telling me that you sometimes change the recipes, Jocelyn?” Grant asked, teasing, but curious about this woman.

  Her cheeks were pink, but she still didn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t change them. I might tweak them a bit.”

  “But Zoe doesn’t know.”

  Jocelyn looked up. “Zoe isn’t as… particular about her baking as I am.”

  He couldn’t help it. He grinned. “What does that mean?”

  “She follows the recipes to a T. And they’re awesome. So there’s nothing wrong with that,” Jocelyn said. “But she doesn’t sample everything, and she doesn’t pay that much attention. So she… doesn’t know when I tweak things.”

  “And your tweaks make them better?”

  She nodded. “They do.”

  “Better than tried-and-true recipes that have been used and become famous in this area for half a century?” He wanted her to say yes. With confidence. He loved seeing her sure of herself and her talents and willing to defend them.

  Jocelyn thought for a moment. Then she said, “Yes.” She hesitated. “But you can’t tell Zoe.”

  “I’ve already promised to keep your secrets,” he told her. “I’m one hundred percent Team Jocelyn. I like that you know when to tweak something, when to lean on your talent and knowledge.”

  She took a deep breath. Then gave him a small smile. “I’ve never told anyone that. No one knows that the butterscotch bars and the raspberry thumbprint cookies are so damned good because I actually changed the recipe slightly.”

  “They give the credit to Zoe?”

  “Well, to the family. Her grandmother, I guess, technically. Everyone knows that we use Letty’s recipes faithfully.” She shrugged. “Semi-faithfully.”

  “Does it bother you that they don’t know it’s you behind the deliciousness?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she said after a moment. “I consider Buttered Up my business too. Its success—or failure—impacts me directly. So I want it to do well. If people love the butterscotch bars, for whatever reason, it’s a good thing for all of us.”

  He nodded. What she said had merit, of course. He just wasn’t used to people not wanting to be acknowledged and applauded.

  “Is that also partly why you liked having the business on the side?” he asked. “Because then you can make whatever you want however you want to?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. It really didn’t start that way. It really started as a way to help the people out who needed that stuff last minute or needed things that we don’t make at the bakery. We don’t make French-toast casseroles for brunches,” she said, pointing at Grant’s empty plate. “But a woman wanted to take one to her aunt’s house for Easter brunch. She’s a terrible cook but wanted to bring something homemade and asked if I could make it for her. She supplied the recipe and said she’d pay anything.” Jocelyn grinned. “I love trying new recipes, so it was a win win.”

  “And you made it even better than the recipe, right?” Grant asked, knowing the answer. “You added something extra to it?”

  She smiled. “I did. And when the woman called to tell me how everyone raved about it, it made me feel so good. I love when I can help people out, but also, of course, love hearing how much people love what I create. It’s just…” She shrugged as if having a hard time finding the words. “It’s very fulfilling.”

  Grant couldn’t help but smile back. She was so fucking beautiful and sweet. Yes, a little sassy too. But he was finding he liked that. A lot. That sauciness made her add extra butterscotch chunks to the butterscotch bars at the bakery. Behind her best friend’s back, maybe, but it wasn’t hurting anything. If anything, it was Zoe’s fault for being so damned stubborn. Grant had heard Aiden rant—affectionately but exasperatedly—about his fiancée’s obstinacy, so it wasn’t just Jocelyn that dealt with it.

  But Jocelyn’s sweet side was very addictive. Even more so than her French toast.

  “So, anyway, I don’t think I could ever be sick of the stuff I make.” She tilted her head and studied him. “But I couldn’t imagine spending every day doing something I didn’t really love and believe in. Isn’t that how you feel about your work?”

  Grant didn’t have to think about that for long. “It is. I know it sounds superficial since I’m the money guy with Fluke, but I believe in the guys and the company, and they need me to be as successful as they are. So I’m doing my part. But that’s why I do the seminars too,” he added. “That’s really fulfilling for me. I know how you feel about doing something that makes other people happier and better.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “I can’t wait to hear more about those,” she said. “I think. Are they about money and stuff?”

  He chuckled. “They are.”

  “I will try to be interested,” she said. “I promise.”

  “Not your thing?” A lot of the women who came to his seminars didn’t think money and numbers were their things either. He wasn’t worried.

  “Not even a little,” she said. “That is one reason I’m glad I’m not Zoe’s partner. She has to worry about all of that stuff.”

  “Would you like to be Zoe’s partner?”

  She shrugged. “I sometimes think so. But I think I am in all the ways that really matter. We work together to make the bakery the best it can be. Everyone knows I’m a part of it.”

  “They don’t know how much you’re a part of it,” he couldn’t resist pointing out.

  “They know I decorate all the cakes,” she said. “Zoe is great about that. She praises me all the time. Makes a huge deal out of it. She’d be lost without me. She could never do the cakes that I do.”

  “But you don’t make the money that a partner would make. You don’t make decisions, like healthcare plans, that a partner would make.” Grant told himself he shouldn’t push like this. It wasn’t his business. Not really. He was solving her immediate problem. What happened long term was not his concern.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be a very good partner,” Jocelyn said, pushing away from the counter. “I don’t like the money and business part, and if I had to review healthcare plans I’d fall asleep by page two, I’m sure.”

  Grant bit his tongue. He couldn’t make her want to be Zoe’s business partner.

  “Anyway, I need to get ready for work.” She started out of the kitchen.

  “Right. As if you’re not being swept off on a surprise romantic weekend trip by your new boyfriend.”

  She stopped and turned to look at him. “Are we officially calling you my boyfriend?” she asked.

  “What else would I be?”

  She shrugged. “I guess fuck buddies don’t go out of town together?”

  She asked it as a question indicating that maybe she’
d never had a fuck buddy before. Grant liked that.

  “I suppose they could,” he said. “I mean, that’s a lot of what weekend getaways are comprised of, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But…” Fuck buddy didn’t seem right as a label for Jocelyn.

  Sure, that’s what they’d done. Sure, that’s what he hoped they’d do again. And again and again and again. But there was more here. He couldn’t explain it. He wasn’t the in-love-with-love one of the two of them. But he felt something more, something softer and deeper, for her than just a desire to get naked.

  “I like boyfriend better,” he finally said simply.

  She seemed surprised but she nodded. “Okay. If I need to call you anything other than Grant, that’s what I’ll say.” She turned and started for the doorway again.

  “I mean, at least until you’re back on Monday. Then you’ll be able to call me your husband.” He wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to add that.

  She stopped again and turned back. “Right.” She looked at him for a long moment, then added, “But maybe just sticking with Grant as much as possible would be good all around.”

  She didn’t want to call him her husband?

  It was ridiculous for that to bother him. This was a short-term fix to a money problem. That was it. It probably took even really-in-love couples time to get used to calling each other husband and wife. By the time he and Jocelyn adjusted, her gall bladder would be healed, and she would have been his assistant for the three seminars or whatever she would agree would make them even financially.

  But as he watched her leave the kitchen and listened to her climb the steps and move around on the second floor while he drank his second cup of coffee and then washed his plate and cup in the sink, he didn’t miss how domestic it all seemed.

  And how nice it was.

  Plus, that French toast? Definitely worth loving and cherishing her, if not until death, at least for a while.

  “Hey, Josie, do you—”

  Josie jumped and dropped two eggs on the hard tile floor of Buttered Up’s kitchen.

  Make that two more eggs. Because she’d dropped three earlier when Zoe had barged through the swinging doors with an order for three-dozen pumpkin-spiced muffins that Mrs. Andersen needed tomorrow.