by Beth Ciotta
His teasing tone stroked her libido and chafed her nerves all at once. A confounding sensation. “Get over yourself, Rambo.”
He didn’t answer, but she sensed his smile, damn him.
“I have to go,” she said. “Daisy’s on her way over. She wants to talk to me about future engagements for the Cupcake Lovers.” And I want to pick her brain about your family.
“About that,” Sam said, “I’m thinking about resigning.”
“From the Cupcake Lovers? That’s crazy. Forget it. They need you. I need you.”
“Yeah?”
“Professionally.”
“Mmm.”
His suggestive tone knotted her already nervous stomach.
“What are you wearing?”
“Seriously? Real sex is out but phone sex is in?”
“Get over yourself, Harper. I just want to make sure you’re dressed in something conducive to your first lesson in self-defense.”
She fell back on snark to combat a case of butterflies. “Should I dig out an umbrella?”
“Not today,” he drawled, making her weak in the knees. “Today’s hands-on.”
TWELVE
“Here’s the plan, Speedy.”
“You mean it’s changed?”
“Strategically, I’m thinking it might be better if you didn’t come inside.”
Vincent slowed the vintage Caddy to a stop, just behind Harper’s rented wheels. He shifted the column gear stick into park and sighed. “So much for being your partner in crime.”
Daisy’s conscience kicked. Especially since, unbeknownst to Vincent, she’d already acted solo. Late last night. An impromptu opportunity with Peppy. Daisy had acted on a whim, but not without strong intuition and “a sign.” Still, it had been a bold call and Daisy had thought it best to see how phase one played out, if at all, before filling Vincent in on that particular matchmaking endeavor.
Now here she was, yet again, ditching her wingman.
Chagrined, Daisy started to soothe her beau’s feelings then realized they weren’t really hurt. His mouth was pursed in a crooked grin. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was smiling or frowning behind that big bushy beard. Sometimes, like now, it was obvious.
Vincent squinted at the renovated farmhouse then looked to Daisy. “You’re thinking this matchmaking scheme might work better if it’s just you girls.”
Daisy stifled a snort. She hadn’t thought of herself as a “girl” in a long, long time, although last year she had traded her fuddy-duddy Jackie O wardrobe for bohemian hippie duds. She’d grown particularly fond of gypsy skirts and tie-dyed peasant blouses. She’d also adopted the habit of dyeing her hair various vibrant shades. Why should the kids have all the fun? In fact, early this morning she’d tinted her springy curls electric blue in honor of the forthcoming summer’s blue skies. Between her free-spirited fashion sense and her determination to live life to the fullest, she supposed she was sort of girlish. Or at least young at heart.
“Just give me a half hour to plant the romantic seeds,” Daisy said, “then swing back to help me fertilize the love grove.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
She smiled. “It’ll be fun.”
“Unless it’s a disaster.”
“According to Rocky who heard it from Luke, Sam invited Harper to Sunday dinner,” Daisy said. “Those dinners are for close friends and family. Rocky said Luke said those two were pretty chummy yesterday over lunch. I didn’t imagine the attraction. It’s real.”
“Then let nature take its course.”
“Nature, smature. According to my horoscope—”
“You don’t really believe that mumbo-hooey, do you?”
“Only when my stars are aligned.” Daisy didn’t know the ins and outs of astrology and she wasn’t what she’d call a staunch believer, but she did put stock in positive thinking and she was positive she was right about Harper and Sam. All they needed was a hearty nudge. “According to my horoscope, I should trust my instincts in matters of the heart.”
“I believe whoever concocted the hooey is referring to your heart,” Vincent said. “Not the hearts of friends and family.”
“If you ask Harper, a professional publicist, it’s all in the interpretation.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes, his pursed lips flattened, and Daisy sensed his good humor was suddenly taxed. “I know you like Harper,” he said. “And I know you think she runs deeper than the shallow flatlander she’s shown herself to be. But, bottom line, Petunia. That woman makes a living by twisting words and painting illusions. Are you sure she’s right for Sam and the kids?”
Even though Daisy was hopped up on horoscope, intuition, and good intentions, Vincent’s earnest concern and honest observation was hard to ignore. She thought about her family bucket list, about all the names listed, the names of people she loved or, as in the case of Peppy, cared about because that girl was loved by Vincent. Life was short and even shorter for Daisy since she was already three quarters of a century old. Not to mention she’d already lost one husband and several other assorted kin to illnesses and accidents over the years. Her son Jerome had barely escaped the clutches of the Grim Reaper during a recent battle with cancer and her daughter Kelly might as well be dead since she lived all the way out in Nevada and rarely communicated with family. Daisy just wanted everyone to be happy. And in her mind, life was all the more joyful if you had someone to share it with. Although, granted, it had to be the right someone.
Reassessing her plan, Daisy sniffed and nodded. “Instead of planting the seeds, I’ll dig deep and get to the point.”
Vincent raised a brow. “No stealth matchmaking?”
“Nope. Either she’s interested in Sam or she’s not. I’ll ask straight out. If she is, I’ll ask if she’d be willing to move to Sugar Creek for good because if she’s not, what’s the point, right?”
“Right.”
“But if she is interested and if she is willing—”
“You’ll fertilize the love grove.”
The gleam in Vincent’s eyes and the slight upward tilt of his mouth was as good as a thumbs-up. Smiling, Daisy hooked her patchwork handbag over her shoulder, ignoring the arthritic ache in her bones and an irritating bout of heartburn. What were a few physical maladies when you were blessed with a loving partner? Because she knew it would bring him joy, Daisy gave Vincent a cheeky salute. “I’ll be in touch, Speedy.”
“Hold up,” he said on a chuckle. “Let me get your car door.”
Daisy saw Harper open the front door of the house. She stepped onto the porch and waved at Vincent as he rounded the hood of the Caddy. He waved back then helped Daisy out. “See there,” Daisy whispered to her beau. “That was friendly of her.”
“She’s talking on her phone.”
Daisy patted his chest and smiled. “There’s something to be said for multitasking.”
“Not in my book.” But then he smiled and kissed Daisy’s forehead. “Good luck, Petunia.”
If it weren’t for her stiff hip, she would’ve kicked up her metallic sneakered heels. “Who needs luck when my stars are aligned and you’re on my side?”
* * *
By the time Daisy Monroe arrived at the Rothwell Farm, the gingerbread cupcakes were cooled and frosted, mimosas were made, and Harper had decided to approach the woman point-blank. No fancy wordplay or dancing around the bush. By the time Sam arrived, Harper wanted a firm grip on the dynamics of his family as well as a friend in the field. Daisy was eccentric, but she generally shot from the hip and she not only knew the dish on her own family, but on most everyone in town. A valuable ally, especially since Sugar Creek would be Harper’s new home base. As of last night, she’d decided to bail on her efforts to reach the powers that be at Spin Twin Cities in an effort to reverse their decision. She still hoped to salvage her relationships with her former clients—even if only for the sake of her pride and reputation. If they were truly parting ways, she preferred to do so on good terms and
not because they felt she’d failed them or because the firm had promised to hook them up with a better publicist. The more Harper thought about that betrayal, the easier it was to move on.
“I didn’t realize you weren’t driving,” Harper said to the colorful senior as she scaled the front steps.
“My reflexes aren’t what they used to be,” Daisy said. “At least that’s what my family tells me.”
“You seem spry enough to me,” Harper said then gestured to the boat of a car backing out of her driveway. “Vincent’s more than welcome to join us.”
“That’s kind of you, Slick,” Daisy said, “but he has some errands to run. He’ll be back.”
“You changed your hair,” Harper said as she ushered Daisy into the house. Between living in a big city and being ensconced in the entertainment industry, Harper had seen it all. But for a small and conventional town like Sugar Creek, Daisy’s penchant for neon hair color and bohemian fashion was pretty radical. As far as Harper could tell, the woman was fearless.
Daisy patted her bright blue curls. “You like?”
“Bold and dynamic,” Harper said as she led her toward the kitchen. “Just like you.”
“Once upon a time I was demure and conservative. Practically invisible.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Sometimes we stuff down our true nature in order to keep the peace, or to please others, or because we’re intimidated or, heck, brainwashed. I came out of the closet four years ago.”
Harper tripped over the kitchen threshold. “Excuse me?”
“I released the inner child. The real me. Spoke my mind. Took chances. Had fun. I’m sure my once beloved, dearly departed husband is spinning in his grave.” Daisy hooked her handbag over a ladder-back chair, sniffed. “Gingerbread?”
Harper blinked. “Yes. I, um, baked a treat to go with our mimosas.” Still absorbing Daisy’s ramble, Harper revealed a platter of orange-frosted gingerbread cupcakes and the pitcher of orange juice spiked with champagne. The same beverage she’d been sipping prior to the spa shooting. She considered it a conquest that she’d been able to mix the cocktail this morning without flashing back and obsessing. Staying focused on the future had helped, part of a mind game Sam had taught her the day before in an effort to instill cool confidence.
“I’m sure they’re as delicious as they look,” Daisy said. “You impressed the club when we met here in February. You’re a fine baker, Harper.”
“Coming from a senior Cupcake Lover, that’s an epic compliment. Thank you.”
“If you lived here all the time, in addition to being our publicist, you could be a full-fledged member. Which, if you ask me, would be pretty spiffy since Mary Rothwell was a founding member and since you’re living in her house. Although it’s your house now and a fine house it is.” She gestured to the refurbished cabinets and floor, the retro knickknacks and crockery. “You’ve worked magic on this place.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Rocky and Sam,” Harper said, her heart tripping as Daisy led the conversation in the very direction Harper wanted to go. “Would you like to have our chat and refreshments on the back porch? It’s a beautiful day.”
“I’ll grab the cupcakes and napkins,” Daisy said, springing into action. “You pour the mimosas.”
By the time Harper joined Daisy outside the woman had already dished out their cupcakes and was now resting comfortably in a bright red Adirondack chair. Harper set their flutes on the matching table. They held silent as Harper dropped into a second Adirondack, both gazing out at the vast lawn and the rippling pond beyond. Colorful wildflowers sprouted everywhere, their vibrant petals fluttering in the warm breeze. The temperature was mild, the sun bright, and the sky a vivid blue with scattered fluffy white clouds. If one looked beyond the fields and the surrounding woods, you could see a long stretch of rolling green mountains. Rothwell Farm, Harper’s farm, was surrounded by nature. A far cry from the asphalt, glass, and steel surrounding her small apartment in a bustling section of Los Angeles. She didn’t miss the crowd and chaos now, but in a week? A month? Once she’d conquered her phobia and the anxiety attacks, would this isolated property feel like a prison? Half a dozen pulse-tripping what ifs manifested, but Harper pushed them back by thinking ahead.
“About Sam—”
“Speaking of Sam—”
Harper smiled. “You go first.”
Daisy cast a curious look over the purple rims of her rhinestone glasses. “I heard he invited you to Sunday dinner.”
Harper passed her guest a mimosa. “I know how intimate those dinners are, Daisy. I feel like I’m intruding.”
“Do you have eyes for Sam?”
So Harper wasn’t the only one intent on being direct. “I, um, yes. That is, there’s an attraction.” Why lie? As Sam had said, it would make their hasty marriage less jarring.
Daisy gave a fist pump. “I knew it!” She clinked her glass to Harper’s. “To my intuition.”
They both sipped and Harper wondered how many other people had heard about the Sunday invite and Harper and Sam’s touchy-feely lunch at the Shack? TMZ had nothing on the Sugar Creek gossip vine.
“Next question,” Daisy said after another sip. “Do you think you could be happy living in Sugar Creek full-time because I don’t think Sam would do well with one of those long-distance relationships. He had enough of that when he was deployed overseas and separated from Paula. Plus you have to think about Ben and Mina. Sam and the kids are a package deal.”
“I’m no longer working for Spin Twin Cities,” Harper blurted. This conversation was moving along at breakneck speed, which was usually Harper’s speed except she wasn’t as quick on her feet with her own problems as she was with those of her clients.
Daisy’s penciled eyebrows shot to her hairline. “You quit?”
“We parted ways. I’m going to freelance. I hope this won’t have a negative bearing on my relationship with the Cupcake Lovers. I still have my contacts and my skills and the same, no, an even stronger determination to get things done. In fact, I called in a favor and I think I might be able to get the Cupcake Lovers a feature on Brice and Kaylee—Live!”
Daisy choked on her drink, massaged her chest.
Harper patted her back. “Are you okay?”
“The Brice and Kaylee?”
“I only know of one,” Harper said with a smile. She understood Daisy’s shock. Brice Kendall and Kaylee Davis had risen to fame on the talk show circuit somewhere near the height of popularity of Regis and Kelly. Then Regis had left and Kelly had scrambled to retain favor with a new cohost while Brice and Kaylee soared higher. Considering their nationwide viewership, landing a guest role on their show was a very big deal. “It might not happen until the fall,” Harper said. “But I’m ninety-nine percent sure it will happen.”
Daisy jabbed a scrawny finger in Harper’s direction. “You, my dear, are a miracle worker. And you wonder why I call you Slick!”
“Not a miracle worker,” Harper said. If she was she’d go back in time and handle things differently with Andrew.
“What’s wrong?” Daisy asked. “A cloud just passed over your face.”
Harper shook off dark thoughts. Ever since the spa shooting, ever since Edward’s last taunt, she’d been bombarded with memories and regrets from the past. Focus on the future. “Just wishing I could make the talk show appearance happen sooner.”
“Any time’s a good time in my estimation. National exposure for the recipe book and our causes. We’ll take it! So … since you’re no longer with that L.A. firm, does that mean you’re free of L.A.?”
Harper wouldn’t say that exactly since she’d yet to shake the gloom of the spa incident, but she was absolutely free to relocate. And because Sam was marrying her, it meant she could stay in the States. “I’ll be making Sugar Creek my main residence.” At least until I have my green card. She couldn’t think beyond that. She could look ahead a week, a month, but she couldn’t think in terms of forever. E
specially since it would be a loveless marriage. A marriage of convenience. Which screamed of a very rocky road if not a full-scale disaster. As a way of making the situation bearable for all concerned, Harper was committed to make the best of it. Learning about Sam’s background and that of his family was the first step in smoothing the way.
“Hot diggety! One for two so far. I might as well attack the next name on my family bucket list since Vincent was right and nature got the jump on me with Sam.”
Harper frowned. “Why are you working on a bucket list? Are you okay? I noticed you rubbing your chest.”
“Heartburn,” Daisy said. “Nothing a cupcake won’t cure.” She bit into one of Harper’s creations and moaned. “Heaven,” she said after chewing. “Dark rum? Golden raisins?”
Harper nodded.
“Ginger syrup?”
“Crystallized ginger.”
“You’re a natural-born Cupcake Lover, Slick.”
Harper wasn’t sure why that statement made her so happy except it gave her a sense of belonging. For the first time in a long time, Harper reached out. “I need a friend, Daisy.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she licked cream cheese icing from her thin smiling lips. “I can be your friend.”
Thinking back on all the coworkers and acquaintances who’d simply tolerated her, Harper swallowed an emotional lump. “I’m not an easy person to like.”
“Sure you are,” Daisy said, her old face shining with compassion. “You just have to look past the bluster to the nice person trapped inside.”
THIRTEEN
Adam prided himself on a few things. First and foremost being a stand-up guy. Ask anyone in Sugar Creek, except maybe Jayce Bello, and they’d sing Adam’s praises to the moon and back. Yet he’d gone to bed and woken up feeling like a world-class jerk.
He blamed Peppy Redding.
Or rather their awkward exchange.
He felt guilty for hurting her feelings which was crazy because it hadn’t been that big of a deal. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. She probably dealt with crap like that all the time. Part and parcel of performing in bars. Dealing with schmucks like him. Not that Adam was a genuine schmuck. Ask anyone. Except maybe Jayce and Peppy.
