Easy Bake Lovin'

by Maggie Wells

  “They’re pouring cement for a new on-ramp by the house…” He dropped his voice into a truly horrendous gangster impression. “We can have him fitted for cement shoes and make a hole in the river.”

  She laughed again, snuffled wetly, then turned her cheek into the pillow to catch the tears. “You’re sweet.”

  “No, you’re the one with the kazillion-pound bags of sugar,” he pointed out.

  “I thought he was different. I thought he wanted me for me,” she said in a whisper.

  “Was he only after your, uh, boobie cookies?” he asked with exaggerated sympathy.

  “Boobie doughnuts,” she corrected. “Boston Cream Bosoms, if you want the proper name.” She sighed and mopped mascara from her face with her fingertips. “And no. I wasn’t…good enough.”

  “Bullshit.”

  The word popped out of her carefully coached brother with gratifying swiftness. She couldn’t help but defend Mike. Mainly because fools who fall in love defend the men too stupid to live. “I mean, I’m not what he wants. I don’t fit his life.”

  “Then he’s an idiot.”

  Georgie smiled again. “You are the best.”

  Gerry cleared his throat. “No, if I were the best, I’d be better than him, and I’m not.”

  “Politics is perception,” she whispered, repeating the words they should have had emblazoned on the family crest.

  “And perception is bullshit,” Gerry hissed. “You’re the best of us, Georgie. You’re the only one of us who’s not afraid to be who you want to be. I wish I could make you understand how much I admire you.”

  “Oh, Ger—”

  “Cara does, too,” he interrupted. “At least twice a week she threatens to dye her hair purple or green… Any color but red, white, or blue.” He paused for a moment. “Part of me is hoping she will one day. I dread the thought of her ever turning into Mom.”

  “Cara could never be Mom. She has a beating heart.”

  “If this guy doesn’t see you for everything great you are, then you are better off without him.”

  Georgie sniffled, warmed by his stalwart support. “The problem is, I have a heart, too.”

  “Having a heart isn’t a problem, Cupcake.”

  “Feels like one at the moment.”

  He chuckled. “These goons are some really big guys. Of course, most of them are pushing seventy now, but you can have them. They’re only a phone call away.”

  “You’d better get back to Trey’s tea party,” she said, pushing herself up to sit. Blinking blearily into the sunshine streaming through the windows, she used her sleeve to wipe her nose. “Have a good day of pandering.”

  “See ya, sis,” Gerry replied, and as per usual, wasted no time in ending the call.

  Tossing her phone aside, she watched as the notifications at the top of the screen flashed. Calls, voice mails, texts, e-mails. Mike was really pulling out all the stops on the electronic communications. Snatching the phone up again, she swiped at the screen, careful not to activate any of the apps currently under attack. A text that said simply, “Talk to me, please,” flashed imploringly.

  She winced and set her jaw. A few taps later, all was quiet. While she couldn’t quite bring herself to block him, she did mute all notifications and alerts. She would talk to him if and when she wanted to talk.

  Why?

  Her mother’s perennial question thrummed in her head.

  Why can’t you have normal-colored hair, Georgianna? Why won’t you take those things out of your face? Why do you have to be so contrary? Why can’t you fit in? Why won’t you do this one thing for me? For your father? For your brother?

  Abandoning the phone again, she flopped face-forward into the pillows with a groan. Could she for Mike? Would she? Should she? Regardless of her surname, she’d never been anyone or anything other than herself with him. If he couldn’t love her as she was, then she was better off without him.

  Hot tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes, but Georgie didn’t bother wiping them away. She’d wear these mascara streaks as a badge of honor, she decided. She may be wounded, but she wouldn’t be defeated. She would rise, as she had time and again.

  She lay unmoving, watching the glare of afternoon sunlight soften to evening’s rays of old gold. The dust motes trapped in those streaks made her ponder the possibility of an air purifier, but she dismissed the notion. She liked her life messy. There was order in her chaos, even if she was the only one who saw it. She was the only one whose opinion mattered.

  A sharp double beep from the control panel by her door gave her warning of movement in the bakery below. Georgie glanced at her discarded phone and sighed as she dismissed the impulse to call the police and have the intruder arrested. She’d known his appearance was only a matter of time.

  While seeing Mike cuffed and questioned might be amusing, she’d have to own up to giving him a key and not changing her code. Now, he was here, and a part of her wished she had more time to prepare. Don some armor or something. She glared at her cell phone as if this intrusion was its fault.

  “Georgie?”

  She didn’t sit up, but she did give her face a couple furious swipes. “May I help you?”

  Mike exhaled long and loud. Like he was the put-upon party in this scenario. The sound alone lit a fuse inside her, but Georgie tamped down on the urge to blow him up. Better to bide her time. She closed her eyes as his footfalls drew closer. He stood at the foot of the sofa. She could sense him there. Smell his aftershave. Feel the intensity of his gaze.

  “Georgie, what I said—”

  She opened her eyes and pinned him with a stare. “About not seeing us going anywhere long-term?”

  “I was… I didn’t want to talk about us with other people,” he said haltingly.

  She watched warily as he circled the end of the sofa and sat on the old trunk she used as a coffee table.

  “I’m barely ready to talk about us between us.”

  “No shit,” she said flatly.

  He winced, then nodded, acknowledging the hit. He laced his fingers loosely between his knees and ducked his head to hold her gaze. “But I want there to be an us.”

  “For now.”

  One shoulder rose and fell. “I’m not a real big believer in forever anymore,” he said gruffly.

  “I never said I wanted forever.” But she did. She wanted forever so bad she ached.

  “But you believe it exists,” he answered with a sad smile. “You deserve a guy who believes in forever, too, but I’m not noble enough to give you up for your own good.”

  Georgie chortled. “Good, because I’ve never cared much for doing things other people thought were ‘for my own good.’”

  “Believe it or not, I figured that much out.” Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he smiled enticingly as he withdrew a string of faceted plastic beads threaded on green thread. “Chrissie wanted me to bring this to you.” He leaned in and slipped the string of beads around her wrist. “Said I ‘hafta’ bring you a present if I want to make up.”

  Georgie watched as he deftly tied the ends of the string in a snug knot. “She’s a smart girl.”

  “I would have been here sooner, but I couldn’t—” He pushed an impatient hand through his hair. “In the movies, the guy takes off after the girl no matter what. And the crazy thing is, I could have. I could have ditched my kids there and hopped in the next cab to come along. I had a half-dozen people there who would have taken them in a heartbeat, and maybe I should have… I don’t know…”

  “I would never want you to ditch your kids to run after me.”

  His smile was sad and weary, but warm. “I know.”

  “But, Mike, I have to tell you, there are certain phrases a woman isn’t crazy about hearing about her relationship. ‘Not his type’ and ‘Not long-term’ pretty much top the list.” />
  “I’m sure,” he admitted. “But, Georgie, I have to say you are my type. I didn’t realize you were right away, but you are.”

  “Nice,” she sighed.

  “As for the other, I felt…cornered. I’m not ready to make promises.”

  “I don’t need promises. Or Hollywood-scripted grand gestures,” she said, sending him an admonishing look. “Or presents.” She lifted her arm and admired the clashing colors strung on the bracelet. “But this is pretty fabulous.”

  This time, when he smiled, his eyes crinkled. “Chrissie said you’d like it.”

  “She’s a young lady of discerning taste and has a flair for style.”

  “She thinks you’re magical. Maybe even more magical than Princess Clarissa.”

  “No!”

  He scooted to the edge of the trunk and leaned over to look directly into her eyes. “I do, too.”

  Her hand fluttered to her throat. She pressed against the tangled knot of emotion trapped there, but there was no stifling the croak. “I’m not magical,” she managed to whisper. “I’m me.”

  Mike snagged a piece of her hair—a pink streak—and wound the lock loosely around his finger. “Come home with me for a while? I conned Rosie into watching the kids so I could come here. They sent me here. The kids. They want to hang out with you.” He paused for a second. “I’d like you to spend time with them, too.”

  “Thank you.” She hesitated a moment, trying to determine if she was ready to give in and forgive him yet. Which was a joke, because she’d done so the minute he used his key privileges to breach the security he’d set up for her. “I don’t—”

  “Ty said to tell you we’re having dino-nuggets and micro-mac for dinner. He meant the last part as an enticement,” he added with a weak smile.

  Georgie smiled, hope reigniting deep inside her and burning hot as a flare. Not every man could seduce a woman with processed chicken and nuked noodles. “I’d love to.”

  * * * *

  “I donnlike catchup,” Chrissie announced, wrinkling her nose as her older brother squeezed a steady stream of ketchup over his entire plate.

  Georgie watched in amusement as Tyler added an extra spurt before relinquishing the bottle to his father. “No?” she asked, watching the dinner scene unfold as if watching a show on television. “I like it, but not as much as Tyler does.”

  “He does it to make me crazy,” Mike grumbled as he placed the bottle well out of his son’s reach.

  Georgie grinned when she spotted the glint of affirmation in the boy’s eye. “Works, huh?”

  Tyler looked up, his face a mask of blank innocence. “I like ketchup.”

  “On everything,” Mike grumbled. “It’s disgusting.”

  Tyler speared some noodles coated in bright orange cheese and dragged them through the tomato-y bloodbath on his plate. “Delicious,” he countered with a brow quirk all too much like his dad’s, then popped the mess into his mouth.

  Georgie laughed, unable to contain her delight. Watching Mike and his Mini-Me match wits was a revelation.

  Using the side of her fork, she quartered the breaded stegosaurus on her plate and dipped a piece into the puddle of ranch dressing she’d added to the edge. Rosie had beat a hasty path to the door the minute the bag of frozen chicken nuggets was pulled from the freezer compartment. The temptation to offer her services as chef had burned strong in Georgie, but she’d managed to resist. Mike had invited her into his world, and more than anything she wanted to stay there.

  She made it through the meal, mainly by not looking in the direction of Tyler’s plate and using what little magic Chrissie thought she had to coax the girl into eating more than a few forkfuls. Tyler begged to be excused, but Mike insisted she stay seated while he cleaned up. Georgie smiled as she watched him move around his own kitchen with the easy grace of a man who had taken care of business.

  “I usually do better than this for dinner, but this has been a…an eventful day,” he concluded, wiping his hands on a towel.

  Georgie looked up from her careful perusal of Chrissie’s bead craft case. “We have a new superhero in town…Master of Understatement.” She plucked two pale blue beads from the box and added them to the pile in front of Chrissie. “There. Now, hand me the string. I’m gonna make one for you.”

  Chrissie did as she was asked, her tiny body quivering with excitement while she kneeled on the seat of her chair.

  Georgie ignored the prickly feeling Mike’s stare stirred up as she threaded the beads onto the string and secured the end with big loopy knots. “There.” With a flourish, she tied the friendship bracelet onto the girl’s tiny wrist. “Girl power!” she cried, thrusting her own bejeweled arm into the air.

  “Girl powa!” Chrissie followed suit with such fervor she almost toppled off the chair.

  Mike chuckled as he pulled his daughter back from the brink, swooping her up into his arms and squeezing her tight. With a loud, smacking kiss, he settled her back onto her feet. “Okay, go find your shoes and jacket. We need to drive Georgie home, then get back here in time for baths and bed.” Chrissie groaned, but Mike had already raised both hands to ward off the protest. “I told you the deal earlier, remember?”

  “I ’member,” she conceded, pouty lip protruding.

  Obviously immune to her tactics, Mike simply nodded and repeated his instructions with firm patience. “Shoes and jacket. Tell your brother, please,” he added as she slunk from the room.

  Georgie smiled as she rose from her chair. “I like your kids.”

  Mike snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “They like you.”

  As good as being close to him felt—as good as he smelled, and looked, and, damn, felt—she resisted the embrace. “Mike, they’re—”

  “Going to take at least twenty minutes to pretend to look for their shoes and jackets,” he finished for her. “Which, if you recall stepping over them as we came in, will be in a heap in the foyer where they left them.”

  Delighted by the confidence underpinning his acerbic comment, she curled into his chest and let out a soft hum of satisfaction. “You’re a good dad.”

  His arms closed around her and held fast. “A good dad would have made them hang them up.”

  “A good dad knows which battles to fight.”

  Mike rested his cheek atop her head and sighed soft and long. “I hope I’m picking the right ones.”

  “Shoes and jackets aren’t critical matters.” She squeezed him hard. “They’re nice, polite kids, despite the rampant condiment abuse. I like them. They have your eyes.”

  Mike pulled back enough to make her lift her head. When she did, he kissed her slow and deep. The kiss was both a plea and an apology. A kiss she knew she’d be tasting all night long.

  “Ew.”

  The word was groaned with such disgust and conviction, it flattened the moment as effectively as an anvil dropped from a coyote-piloted airplane. A high, squeaky giggle rang through the air as the two of them jumped away from one another.

  “You kissed her,” Chrissie said in a triumphant singsong. “We sawed you.”

  “And we heard you,” Mike replied. His cheeks and ears flared neon-red, but his voice was freakishly steady. “Your shoes and jackets are right where you left them in the front hall.”

  A quick glance at the kids huddled in the doorway revealed Mike had been right in predicting their inability to find said articles, even if he’d grossly underestimated the timing.

  “Now.”

  The single word was spoken with unquestionable authority, and Georgie found herself instinctively straightening in response.

  “And wait for us there,” he called as the kids scampered off.

  She turned to look at Mike. The blush was subsiding, but his mouth was drawn into a thin, taut line.

  “I guess we’ve blown the ‘W
e’re good friends’ thing, huh?” she ventured.

  Mike blinked as if snapping out of a trance, then turned toward her, a furrow bisecting his brows. “What?”

  “The kissing. Kind of blew our cover.” She smoothed her hair back, then tucked the waves behind her ear. “Sorry.”

  “I kissed you,” he pointed out.

  “Right, but…”

  “And what do you mean ‘cover’? We have no cover.” He took a step closer to her.

  She tilted her head, studying his sober expression carefully. “No? You didn’t tell them I was auditioning to be a babysitter or something?”

  Mike’s eyes narrowed. “What? No! Why would I tell them you’re the babysitter?”

  Georgie had nothing more than a shrug for an answer. “Easy out.”

  He closed the distance between them, and when they were standing toe-to-toe, he stared straight into her eyes. “No. No easy out. No excuses. No babysitting auditions. I told them I like you. I like to do things with you. And, sometimes, I want to go out with you.” He untucked her hair, then ran his fingers through the tangles. “I may have used the words ‘boyfriend-girlfriend thing’ in the actual description, but there’s no recorded evidence.”

  A hot flush of pleasure chased away any lingering doubt or anger she might have been harboring. He might not be ready to talk to the world in general about them, but he’d talked to the two people who were his world. And in the best possible terms. “Boyfriend-girlfriend thing, huh?”

  “I was catering to my audience.”

  The touch of defensiveness melted the rest of her reserve. She hugged him hard, squishing her cheek against the solid warmth of his chest. “I like the boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”

  “Me, too.” Mike ran a hand over her hair. “I’m sorry. I screwed up bad.”

  “You did.”

  “But I can fix this. Fixing things is what I do. My whole life, I’ve been covering up one mess, then brushing over another.”

  Reaching for his hand, she threaded her fingers through his. “You can’t fix everything. Sometimes, you have to let the mess be a mess, Mike.” She pulled his knuckles to her lips and brushed tender kisses across the rough skin. “Sometimes, a person has to stay out of the fray and let life sort itself out.”