by Anna Argent
"I'm ready to face my punishment," Mason said, his buzzed head hanging low in repentance.
He sat on Saxon's couch, a bottle of water dangling from his hand, rather than a beer, as was their usual after-work ritual.
Saxon came to a stop, remembering that he'd invited his brother over to talk after work.
He glanced at the clock. He'd told Gemma he'd be there at six. It was ten ‘til now.
Based on his brother's posture and tone, Saxon wasn't going to make it to dinner.
He pulled in a deep breath, remembered all the times that Mason had pulled Saxon's ass out of the fire, remembered how devastated he was over Diana, and then sat down.
"Are you going to tell me what happened? You've never been in trouble in your life."
Mason's head lifted, revealing red-rimmed eyes. Had he been crying, or was he still hungover?
Saxon couldn't tell, but neither were like his always-in-control brother.
Mason focused on the black screen of the TV. "She never loved me, and I couldn't tell. I think that's the part that got under my skin."
Saxon stayed silent, giving Mason space to purge the poison.
"I always thought she loved me, you know? She said so all the time. She was sweet and attentive. Mostly."
Saxon didn't agree. He remembered too many times when Diana would leave town when Mason could have used an extra pair of hands. She was often gone for family parties, leaving Mason to make excuses. She frequently promised she'd do things she never would follow through on, all the while making more promises that everyone but Mason knew she wouldn't keep. Saxon could not think of even one time when she'd apologized for letting Mason down, even though he always forgave her anyway.
"She had her flaws," Mason continued, "but we all do. I know how much it annoyed her that I worked too much when she wanted to go have more fun."
"Have you talked to her today?" Saxon asked.
Mason ran a hand over his stubbly scalp. "I'm done talking. There's nothing else to say."
"You were with her for years."
He gave a hard, cold laugh. "I was with her, but she wasn't with me."
"What happened last night?"
"Got drunk. Got angry. Picked a fight." Mason shook his head. "It was stupid. It won't happen again. I'm over it. Over her."
Saxon let out a heavy sigh. "You know that's not true, right? I mean, I know you want it to be true, and one day it will be true, but it's not yet. It was a hell of a blow to see the woman you loved with someone else—doesn't matter that it was another woman." For all Saxon knew, that might even make it worse—more of a blow to Mason's ego. "You're going to have some healing to do."
"Fuck that. All that touchy-feely crap is for chicks. I'm too busy."
"Busy or not, you're going to have to deal with what happened."
"I told you, I'm over it." The words came out in a near growl of suppressed rage.
Saxon held up his hands to ward off his brother's ire. "All I'm saying is that it's your M-O to throw yourself into your work whenever your life goes to hell. The problem is, all of that baggage you tuck away is still waiting for you after the project is over and the buildings are built. I'd rather see you face this now than save it for later."
Mason's mouth drew into a tight, flat line. "Have you told Mom?"
"Haven't said a word to anyone."
"Good. Don't. She was expecting grandkids soon. I'll need to find a way to let her down gently."
"Mom will be fine. You need to worry about yourself. Maybe take a vacation and go fishing in Costa Rica for a couple of weeks."
Saxon knew his brother would reject the idea before it even left his mouth.
"Too busy. New office building to bid on. And a shopping center in Springfield. If I get both jobs, I won't see a vacation for two years."
"See? It's exactly what I said. Your pattern is to bury yourself in your work."
"Yeah? Well I think I proved last night that I can't bury myself in a bottle. I'm a sloppy drunk. At least work is productive."
"How about I go to Costa Rica with you? We could ogle the bikini-clad babes together." Saxon didn't have much interest in bikinis on anyone else but Gemma, but if it got his brother to face his pain, Saxon would take one for the team.
"No, thanks."
"At least stay here and hang out for a while. There's probably something on TV."
Mason hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe for a little while."
Ten minutes later, Mason was sacked out and snoring on the couch and Saxon knew that all of his fantasies about getting Gemma in his bed were going to have to wait for another night.
Tonight, his brother needed him.
***
Saxon's text came through at ten past six. Sorry, but I can't make dinner. My brother needs company.
Disappointment stripped away the shimmer of excitement she'd been carrying around all afternoon. She went to the front windows and peered across the street.
Saxon's truck was there. So was Mason's.
She texted back. Is he okay?
He will be.
Anything I can do? Still want dinner?
Yes. Starving!
She grinned at that. Seemed like he was always hungry.
Then she remembered the way he'd looked at her, like he could eat her all up and go back for seconds.
She shivered against another wave of arousal.
I'll bring enough for two.
Thanks, honey. I owe you.
I'll spend the evening thinking of ways you can make it up to me.
There was a long pause.
I can think of at least seven using only my tongue.
Her shiver deepened, and her grin widened. She didn't know if she would survive Saxon's sexy teasing or not, but she was going to enjoy finding out.
She went to the kitchen, piled two plates with roast beef, potatoes and carrots, and a third plate with a sampling of the mini pastries she'd begun making for her appointment at the café tomorrow.
She arranged everything in a wide, flat box, then walked it across the street.
Saxon must have seen her coming, because he slipped out onto the porch, easing the door shut behind him.
As always, she was struck by how handsome he was. His hair was damp and tousled, like he hadn't bothered running a comb through it after he'd showered. She could smell the scent of spicy soap lingering around him, and had to resist the urge to lean close and breathe him in.
His jaw was shadowed with stubble, but his eyes crinkled with pure joy when he saw her.
She couldn't remember the last time a man was so genuinely happy to see her—and she wasn't even here for sex. Food, yes, but that bright, needful look of his didn't happen over a plate of food.
"Mason's asleep," he whispered.
"Is he okay?"
Saxon nodded. "Just a rough patch. Woman trouble."
Mason had been dating the same woman for years. Gemma couldn't remember her name, but she was tall, thin, and stunningly beautiful.
"If there's anything I can do to help…"
He took the big box from her arms. "This is more than enough. Thank you."
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. It was brief and light—barely a peck—but even that had the power to weaken her knees.
"Can I call you later?" he asked.
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to. I just don't know if I'll have the chance. I don't want you to think I'm blowing you off."
She pressed a hand to his cheek. "It's okay, Saxon. Really. I have a lot of work to do tonight anyway. Focus on your brother. We'll talk tomorrow."
He stared at her for a long time, his gaze moving slowly across her face as if memorizing her. "You're a hell of a woman, Gemma Fortier. As soon as I get the chance, I'm going to rock your world."
She laughed at the cheesy way he said it, as if mocking himself, but deep down she knew the truth.
He already had.
Chapter Twenty
Gemma
's tasting at Wanda Jessup's café did not go as planned.
Lulu stood beside her mother, the family resemblance obvious. Both were thin and pretty, with long golden blond hair and hazel green eyes. If someone had shown Gemma pictures of the two women, she would have guessed them to be the same person's picture taken twenty years apart.
The café was clean and tidy, with few decorations mounted on the walls. The yellow-and-white checked curtains matched the table cloths on the bistro tables. The chairs were swirling metal painted a soft linen white with smooth maple seats. The air was scented heavily with freshly ground coffee.
Wanda Jessup slid a steaming cup in front of her, along with a crystal box of assorted sweeteners and a tiny cut glass pitcher of cream.
Lulu sat next to her mother, their motions in synch as they lifted their own cups to their lips.
The coffee was amazing. Life-altering good.
"Wow," said Gemma as soon as she could speak again.
Wanda beamed with pride. "We roast our own beans. That's the secret."
"Whatever you're doing, don't ever stop. Business must be booming."
The two women shared a look that made Gemma think that had been the wrong thing to say.
"Business isn't booming?" she asked.
"Town politics. Most people go to the diner for breakfast. Some will stop in for coffee, but many are too loyal to the Graces to even try our establishment."
"The town is big enough for more than one breakfast joint, isn't it?"
"During the tourist season it is, but the rest of the year…" Her words trailed off leaving Gemma to fill in the blanks.
"Maybe I can help," she offered, waving to the pretty arrangement of individual pies, cakes, muffins and scones she'd set on a nearby table.
"Apparently our pastries are subpar," Lulu said with acid in her tone.
"Manners, Lulu," her mother chastised. "She's our guest."
The familiar taste of shoe leather hit Gemma's tongue. She apparently put her foot in her mouth again.
She blushed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean any insult. I really only want to help."
Lulu bristled, gripping her cup harder. "You want to make money off of us so you can fix your aunt's bakery."
"I'm not looking to get rich or anything, but the repairs are extensive. While I'm here, I might as well work, right?"
"While you're here?" Wanda asked. "I thought you were staying."
"Only for a while. Once Aunt Beth is better, I'm heading back to St. Louis." Assuming she still had a job. Her boss had sent her another email today, asking when she was coming back.
Gemma still had no answer. She was getting the impression that pretty soon he'd stop asking.
"So, what?" asked Wanda. "You'll bake for us for a few weeks, then leave Lulu to do all the baking again?"
Lulu was the one making the crappy pastries? No wonder she'd taken offense.
"I'm sorry, Lulu. I didn't realize I was insulting your work."
Wanda waved her hand, dismissing the apology. "What about us? We're in a cutthroat market here. We need guarantees."
Whisper Lake was a cutthroat market? Had these women never been to a big city before?
Rather than ask that, Gemma asked, "What kind of guarantees? I don't understand."
Wanda nodded toward the lovingly displayed tray of goodies. "It doesn't matter how good your pastries taste if we can't keep getting them. We can't very well hook our customers on your muffins, then go back to our old recipes once you leave, can we?"
Gemma hadn't really thought about it like that, but she could see Wanda's point, even if she did have to squint her eyes a bit to make it out. "So, you don't want more customers if you're going to lose them later? Don't you think that once they come in and try your coffee, they'll be hooked?"
"Coffee isn't enough," Lulu said. "We want to own breakfast. We deserve it."
Gemma almost laughed, but caught herself when she realized that both women were serious. To them, this was more than just business. This was a competition.
"Unless you start serving bacon and eggs, you're never going to take the place of the diner. You can, however, carve out your own niche."
"And what would that be?" Wanda asked.
"Coffee, definitely, but also something for those in a hurry. A grab-and-go breakfast."
"It's not good enough," Lulu said. "If we can't shut down Flora, we lose."
Were these women for real? "There's room enough for both of you. You just have to find your specialty and stick with it. Honestly, I'm surprised that coffee like this hasn't already earned you lines out the door."
"It's not good enough," Lulu repeated, shouting now. Her pretty face turned a mottled red.
"Now, sweetheart," soothed Wanda. "Maybe she has a point. Why don't we take these treats she made and put them in the display tomorrow. If people like them, then maybe we can talk again."
"That works for me," Gemma agreed, more to get away from these women than anything.
"But if people do like them, you'll have to give us your recipes when you leave."
"Fine. I have no problem with that." When it came to baking, a recipe was only half the challenge. Execution was everything.
"Good," Wanda said, rising to her feet. "Then it's settled. We'll sell these to our customers and get their feedback."
Gemma stood and thrust out her hand, glad to have this meeting coming to a close. "I look forward to hearing from you."
She stepped out into the afternoon sun, not worried at all. Once people got a taste of their coffee with her scones, they'd be hooked.
Another paying customer in the bag.
***
Lulu watched Gemma walk down the street like she owned it.
Word was going around town that she and Saxon were together, fucking in public.
Rage bubbled in Lulu's gut, churning in a hot, slow roll.
She went to the tray of baked goods and carried it over to the trash can.
"What do you think you're doing?" Mom demanded.
"Putting these where they belong."
"You set those down right now, young lady. That tray might be exactly what we need."
"Are you saying my work isn't good enough? That it's subpar?"
"Would you stop with that already? Just let it go. We both know that the kitchen is not where you do your best work."
"My baking is a hell of a lot better than yours!"
"Language, Lulu," Mom scolded. "You'll never catch a man with a mouth like that."
"The only man I want is Saxon, and that whore is fucking him."
Mom grabbed Lulu's hair in her fist and gave it a hard yank. "Filthy mouth. I don't care how old you are. My daughter will act like a lady or she'll find another place to live."
Lulu couldn't make it on her own. Her only source of income was whatever Mom decided to pay her after taking out what she thought was fair for rent. And Dad was no help. He stayed out of the house as much as possible, working three jobs so that he didn't have to put up with Mom.
Lulu didn't blame him.
"Now," Mom said, her tone calmer. "You're going to put that tray in the refrigerator until tomorrow, at which time you'll sell every one of these pastries like you baked them yourself. And everyone who buys one will know that it was Gemma Fortier's work."
"I won't," Lulu started, then yelped as Mom tightened her hold on her hair.
"You will. And you'll smile like a lady while you do it, or you will regret it. Understand?"
Lulu knew what that meant, and the stab of fear that shot through her made her shiver.
She lowered her gaze, defeated. "I understand."
Mom loosened her grip, leaving a nest of stinging wasps along her scalp. "That's better. Now finish cleaning up here. I have work to do."
Lulu did as she was told, just like always.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gemma walked down the street to the bakery, enjoying the sun on her face. The air was warm and filled with the scent of bu
dding flowers and cut grass.
She passed a tiny pharmacy that had been there since Aunt Beth was a child, an antique shop with a vignette in the front window that was a perfect replica of a Victorian lady's parlor, and an ice cream shop that was often empty until the tourist season began in earnest. On hot days, the shop would be packed from lunchtime until it closed its doors well after dark.
The sidewalk was lined with giant pots filled with pansies surrounding small, ornamental trees. The flowers changed with the seasons, always bringing a bright splash of color to the quaint downtown square.
In the middle of the square stood the town hall—a modest building by today's standards. It had been erected more than a hundred years ago when the town was founded, updated in the sixties, and again in the nineties. To Gemma, it looked more like a church than a town hall, with a steeple jutting proudly from the top. Once, that bell had wrung every hour, but now the chimes that came from it were a recording piped out through hidden speakers.
Park benches lined two sides of the town hall where local employees would take their lunch on warm days like this one. In front was a bronze statue of a little boy with a fishing pole propped over one shoulder. Beside him, an even younger boy squatted, picking up a worm. A bloodhound puppy walked between them, his long ears nearly dragging the ground.
The squeals of playing children floated on the breeze, along with the hum of a nearby lawnmower.
Gemma breathed it all in, letting sweet childhood memories flood her.
Whisper Lake in the summer was as close to a hometown as she would ever have. And while it had changed a lot over the years, it still retained that quaint, sleepy vibe that she loved so deeply.
As she neared the bakery, she could hear hammering and the shrill whine of power tools.
She walked in the front door, unable to hear the cheerful tinkle of the bell over the noise. The smell of sawdust hit her nose first. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows inside, she could see at least four men working.
Saxon was not among them.
There were tools and materials stacked everywhere. What had once been the counter where they served customers was now a gaping hole in the floor. The glass display case was tucked in the front corner with a heavy canvas tarp covering it. The tables and chairs were missing. The wooden cabinets were nowhere to be seen, leaving the room almost unrecognizable.
