In the Mood for Love: A Cupcake Lovers Novel (The Cupcake Lovers)

by Beth Ciotta

  “Cabinet to the right of the sink. Top shelf.” Chop, chop, chop. “See them?”

  “Yep. Damn.”

  Adam turned. She was standing on her tiptoes, straining to reach the top shelf. Her tee had hiked up revealing two inches of bare skin between the hem and her waistband. The small of her back. Nothing racy. Still.

  Adam bit back a groan, abandoned the knife. “You’ll pull a muscle, reaching like that. Hold on.” He moved fast, moved in behind her and reached up over her head. She tensed and froze and Adam realized that he had her pinned between his body and the counter, his front flush to her back, his groin pressed against her ass. The only thing between them … his erection.

  Great.

  Just. Freaking. Great.

  He handed her the filters and stepped back.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Sure,” he said. He went back to chopping. Considered hacking off his most beloved personal part, because he was pretty sure “George,” as Adam sometimes called him, was crazy. Peppy wasn’t his type. She wasn’t grounded. She wasn’t even nice. Although today she was subdued. Not friendly exactly, but subdued. Then again she had cried herself to sleep. The guy she’d been with last night, had they argued? Or maybe they were a steady thing and they’d broken up?

  Don’t ask.

  He made the omelets and toast.

  She made coffee and set the table.

  They worked in silence, until they finally sat down. Him in jeans and a tee. Her in monkey-face pj’s.

  “For the record,” she said as she stirred way too much sugar into her coffee. “I’m not interested.”

  Oh, hell. “Me, neither.”

  She raised a brow.

  “George has a mind of his own.”

  “You named your penis?”

  “Every man names his penis.”

  “News to me, but okay. Tell George I’m not interested.”

  “Talking to my dick at the breakfast table would be weird.”

  “This whole conversation is weird.”

  “You brought it up.”

  “Actually George brought it up. Not that I’m not flattered.”

  “Are you?” Adam asked. “Flattered?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “Sure. I mean look at you.”

  Now Adam’s brow shot up.

  “It’s just. It wouldn’t be smart. I mean we’re roommates. And I’m not looking for a serious relationship.”

  Adam was, but he held that thought. “So the guy last night. Not a steady boyfriend?”

  “Who … Oh. No. That was Jerry. Cost me a fortune.”

  Adam choked on his coffee. “You paid him?”

  “He jumped me and a bunch of other stuff, gave me a bill. What was I supposed to do, stiff him? A whole night’s pay shot to hell.”

  “We can’t be talking about the same thing.”

  “Jerry. From Triple A. My car stalled. My grandpa had given me his Triple A card for emergencies and … What did you think I was talking about?”

  “Never mind. If you had a Triple A card, why did you have to pay? Wait. Because Vincent’s name was on the card instead of yours?”

  “Yep. Grandpa’s card covers him not family, but don’t tell him. I didn’t want him to be upset or try to give me money. Hey, at least it got Jerry out there. Hard to find help at almost three in the morning.”

  “You could have called me.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “You didn’t know Jerry.”

  “True, but … Listen. I’m sorry I was rude when you called last night. It was kind, actually. You just caught me at a bad time. I’ve been having a run of crummy luck. I’m frustrated and, okay, a little discouraged, but I’m not down. I’ll bounce back and bounce back big. I have plans.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’d rather not talk about them. I’ve got some irons in the fire. I’d rather not jinx them.”

  “I get that.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure.” He felt the same way about his dream goal. Talking about it might jinx it.

  “You make a good omelet.”

  “You make good coffee.”

  “I live on coffee,” she said.

  Maybe that’s why she was inhaling breakfast. Maybe she’d skipped dinner last night to save money. Probably got free coffee every club she played. Plus it would keep her alert for those late-night drives.

  He offered her toast, watched her douse it with butter spray.

  “I guess you don’t use the real stuff, given you’re a health nut and all.”

  “Who says I’m a health nut?”

  She snorted and gestured as if to say, “Just look at you.”

  He was a sports instructor so, yeah, he was in great shape. Plus he enjoyed sports in his off time, enjoyed his morning runs. He ate healthy, lived healthy—mostly.

  Peppy … She wasn’t the athletic type. She was the creative type. Instead of a gym, she burned calories on stage. She was slim enough, but soft. Soft angles, soft curves. Not that that was a bad thing.

  “I have an okay body, right?” she asked while stirring sugar into her second cup of joe. “At least George thinks so.”

  Adam’s lips twitched. “George has good taste.”

  “But it could be better. My body.”

  It was one of those questions that made a man cringe. Like when a woman asked, “Do these jeans make my ass look big?” Phrasing the answer carefully was key. “If you’re talking definition, healthier heart…”

  “The definition thing, yeah. My heart’s fine. So did you mean it?”

  “Mean what?”

  “What you said about rent including three months’ access to a personal sports trainer—which I assume is you.”

  Huh. “The offer stands.”

  “Great. Let’s do it.” She wiped her face with a paper napkin. “I want a body like Ivy’s.”

  “She’s a lot taller than you, different build.”

  “Huge boobs. I know you can’t help me in that department. But the toned-muscle part, the hard stomach that drives guys wild every time she wears a crop top.”

  “I can help with that.”

  “When can we start?”

  One more sip of coffee and she’d be bouncing off the walls. “Later today. I need to drive to Pixley General this morning. A friend’s wife’s having a baby.”

  “Daisy’s business partner. Chloe. I know. I was hoping to pay my respects, too. Even though I’m in and out of Sugar Creek a lot, I know the Monroes pretty well. And of course, Grandpa is awfully fond of Daisy. Mind if I catch a ride? Not trusting my car.”

  Adam marveled that this chatterbox was the same sulky brat who’d given him hell two days running. “Not a problem.”

  She bounced up. “You cooked. I’ll wash the dishes.”

  “That’s okay. I have my own way. You shower and dress.”

  “Right. Great. Thanks. I won’t be long. Oh, and Adam,” she said as she zipped toward the door with a big-ass smile, “When you see George, tell him I said thanks for the pick-me-up.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “I can’t believe how late we slept.”

  “That’s the fifth time you’ve said that.”

  “And I still can’t believe it.”

  Harper hurried out of the house ahead of Sam. She hitched her purse and laptop briefcase over her shoulder as he locked the front door. They’d showered and dressed in a hurry. His hair was still damp and he smelled strongly of soap. His shirt was clean, but wrinkled. She would have ironed it for him, but there hadn’t been time. Even though he looked sort of rumpled, he looked damned good. She’d always had it bad for Sam physically, but since last night her desire for this man was off the scale.

  “We’ll be fine,” Sam said as he escorted her down the steps—always the gentleman. “And you look great,” he added as she fussed with the sash of her dress.

  “I’ll do,” she said with a genuine smile. At least she looked professional today. She’d s
nagged a dress from her closet, a lightweight leopard-print pullover with an A-line skirt. The sash cinched her waist and the hem fell just above her knees. She stepped into a pair of black heels and pulled her long hair into a low ponytail. Just now she shoved on big trendy sunglasses. It was a beautiful sunny day. A beautiful day for the birth of Chloe’s baby and a blitz on the Cupcake Lovers’ social sites. Even though they’d be getting to the hospital later than Harper had wanted, Sam was right, they’d make it before the scheduled surgery. They were fine. It’s just that she had so much to cover, including hotel accommodations for all of the Cupcake Lovers traveling to Vegas. Just as she’d hoped, production would cover expenses, but there were still a lot of details to handle.

  “Did you just skip?”

  Harper looked over her shoulder. “What? No.”

  “I know a skip when I see one. Mina skips all the time. It means you’re happy.”

  Harper turned, heart in throat. “I am happy.” She placed a hand to Sam’s chest, fingered his collar. “Last night wasn’t easy for me.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t like to think about it or talk about it, but I’m glad I did because, well, it helped. You helped. I feel a little better, definitely calmer.”

  He palmed her hand, squeezed. “I’m glad.”

  “I’m not running, but I’d like to put the past to rest.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’d like to move forward as quickly as possible. Together.”

  He held her gaze, stroked her knuckles, waited for her to explain. God, she loved his patience.

  “Why wait until Tuesday night to seal the deal?” she asked. “Why not tomorrow? As soon as we land in Vegas? I’m sure we could find an excuse to steal away. I know you wanted to take advantage of the ‘got-drunk-and-ended-up-married’ cliché. A smoke screen for the real reason for our haste. And I still see the wisdom in that. We could follow through with that pretense Tuesday night, after the filming of the show, but let’s do it for real tomorrow.”

  He didn’t answer and Harper tensed. She was rushing things, even more so than before, but Edward’s post on her FB page had spooked her, along with the feeling of being watched. The sooner she and Sam were officially married, the sooner they’d secure her legal right to stay in this country. She considered telling Sam about Edward—he’d been so understanding about everything else—but her pride reared. She’d allowed herself to be bullied all these years by a lonely bitter man. The power he’d held over Harper shamed her. She’d handle Edward Wilson on her own. She just had to figure out how.

  “Would it make you happy?”

  Harper blinked back to the moment, to Sam. “Deliriously happy.”

  He smiled a little and her stomach flipped. “Then we’ll get married tomorrow. Indoors or outdoors?”

  She assumed he was talking about the ceremony. With Andrew she’d envisioned an elegant church wedding. Even though her parents weren’t traditional (hell, neither one had taken real interest in Harper’s engagement), she’d dreamed of an old-fashioned, fairy-tale wedding. Now that dream was tainted. “Something simple.”

  “Done.”

  Harper threw her arms around Sam and hugged tight. Yes, she was big on control, but when it came to their wedding, she didn’t want any part of the planning. The venue, the dress, the flowers … none of that should matter. It had mattered far too much with Andrew. The possibility, no, the probability, that she’d been more in love with the idea of a wedding … more in love with the thought of marrying a brave soldier than with braniac Andrew Wilson himself, tore at Harper’s soul and triggered more shame. “We should hurry,” she whispered in Sam’s ear. Hurry to the hospital, to Vegas, to us.

  He hugged her back, kissed her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. “I need to do something,” Sam said. “It’ll take some time, not sure how much, but I need to do it now. You can come with me and wait or you can go ahead to the hospital and wait there.”

  “Can you give me a clue?”

  “Paula’s parents. I need to tell them about us. Not the deportation part. Not our business arrangement, no details. But I owe them the heads-up on our marriage. And the kids…”

  “I understand.” Harper’s heart swelled. “I’ll drive ahead. This is personal and—”

  “Are you sure?”

  She realized then that she hadn’t driven off the property on her own in days. Because of her agoraphobia. Because of her fears. Sam was worried about her. She loved and hated that he was worried. “Of course I’m sure. I’ll see you at the hospital. Later. Bring the kids. They’ll get a kick out of seeing the baby. Everyone loves babies.” She hugged Sam again then swung away before she lost her nerve. Harper strolled to her rented car (she’d have to purchase one soon) then tossed her purse and laptop into the passenger seat.

  She gave her Serenity bracelet a couple of twirls then keyed the ignition.

  She could do this.

  Heart full, confidence high, she drove off the property, turned onto Swamp Lane, and made a beeline for Pixley. No sweat. No anxiety. She imagined Sam’s smile and punched the gas.

  * * *

  Sam had sweated skirmishes with hostiles less than this confrontation with Paula’s dad. No, not a confrontation, Sam told himself. Charlie wasn’t like that. He’d voice understanding and he’d mean it. Still, Sam had come to this very house to ask Charlie Kessler for his only daughter’s hand in marriage. Now Paula was gone and Sam was preparing to marry another woman. Surely the Kesslers would at least feel a sting.

  Sam moved to knock on the door, noticed his palm was sweaty—hell—and wiped it down his thigh. He paused another second, gathering his thoughts, catching his breath. Sue had taken the kids to church, and since Sam had hoped to break the news to Charlie first, the timing was perfect. He told himself he was making a mountain out of a molehill. The Kesslers had encouraged Sam to get on with his life. They knew how much he loved Paula and they knew their daughter had wanted Sam to find happiness with another woman, a loving mother for their children. That had been her dying wish, although Sam had been certain he’d never be able to grant it. Paula would approve of Harper. Sam felt it in his heart. And he imagined her up in heaven just now, rolling her eyes at him for stalling on her dad’s front porch.

  It was as if she reached down and interceded. The door swung open and Charlie stood there, bushy gray brows raised in mild amusement. “Been hovering on the stoop for five minutes, son. Figured I better hurry this along before you lost your nerve completely.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  Charlie waved him inside. The house was neat as always, with the exception of a few of the kids’ toys. Charlie motioned Sam to sit while muting the television. One eye on the Nascar race, he offered, “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  His gaze shifted to Sam. “Snort of whiskey?”

  “Look like I need one?”

  “A little.” With that Charlie settled into his worn recliner. “Figure you’ve come to talk to me about Harper Day. Whole town’s buzzin’ about the unlikely match.” His eyes flickered with amusement. “Sounds interesting.”

  Sam dragged a hand through his hair. Leave it to Charlie to cut to the chase. “I should have said something sooner, but to tell you the truth, it sort of hit me out of nowhere.”

  “Happens like that sometimes.”

  “And, as Ben would say, escalated at hyperspeed.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s not the same as it was with Paula, then again Harper isn’t anything like Paula.”

  “Heard that through the grapevine, too. Plus Ben and Mina have mentioned Harper here and there. They like her.”

  “I know.” Sam braced his forearms on his knees, leaned in and clasped his hands. “They told me if I wanted to marry Harper, they’d be okay with it. Said they don’t want me to be a lonely old man.”

  Charlie’s mouth crooked. “Sue and I don’t want that, either. So … are you here for my advice or blessing?”
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  “You’re making this awfully easy.”

  “No reason it should be hard.” Charlie drummed his chunky fingers on the arm of his chair, cleared his throat. “Listen, Sam. Sue and I know how much you loved our daughter. We saw it, felt it. And we know you’ll love Paula till your dying day. Making room in your heart for another woman doesn’t diminish what you had before. Does Harper make you happy?”

  Sam thought beyond the petty irritations. He thought about the way he’d felt this morning when she’d kissed him awake and hugged him good-bye. He thought about the tender heart buried within her bossy façade. “Yeah,” Sam said, acknowledging a warm feeling. “She does.”

  “Is she accepting of Ben and Mina?”

  “She’ll do her damnedest to make them happy.” He didn’t doubt that for a second.

  “Seems like a no-brainer then.”

  Sam smiled a little. “We don’t want to wait and we don’t want a fuss, Charlie. In fact, we’re flying out to Vegas tomorrow on business for the Cupcake Lovers and while we’re there we’ll make it official.”

  “Eloping. Tomorrow.” Charlie whistled low.

  “I’m only sharing this with you and Sue. Given the whirlwind nature of Harper and my relationship, I don’t want to give anyone time to try to talk us out of it.”

  “Didn’t think I’d try?”

  “No. You’re one of the most nonjudgmental people I know, Charlie.”

  “When do you aim to break it to Ben and Mina?”

  “Not sure.”

  “You could surprise them. Tell them after it’s a done deal.”

  “They did preapprove the match.” Sam nodded. “I could spin the surprise thing.” Damn, he sounded like Harper in slick publicist mode.

  “Tell them beforehand and they might let it slip to friends or family. You can count on me and Sue to keep your secret. Ben might hold strong, too. But Mina?”

  Sam imagined his animated daughter and chuckled. “She’ll want to tell the world.” He blew out a breath, stood. “Right then. Surprise it is. I’ll pick up the kids this evening as always, tell them about the business trip, drive them to school tomorrow morning. But could I impose on you and Sue to pick them up in the afternoon and look after them through Wednesday?”