“Does Josh know she’s considering retirement?”
“I don’t know, but look at The Aisle. Everybody else our parents’ age is talking retirement. And his parents are in their late sixties. He’s smart, Lindsey. He looks and acts like Josh-o Suave, but he’s also super educated and he was uber-quick to turn everything upside down and make it smell like roses when I tried to embarrass him by pretending we were dating. And he stands up to my mother. He could do real damage in Bliss if he put his mind to it.”
“And he has the resources to bankrupt you with a court fight if your mother isn’t following every bit of their agreement to the letter.” Lindsey sighed. “You’re sure he wants to pull Heaven’s Bakery into Sweet Dreams?”
“No. But what else could he want?”
“No idea,” Lindsey murmured.
“I can’t let him take over Heaven’s Bakery. I can’t. But I don’t know how to stop him. I’ve been trying to Kimmie him to death, but it’s not working. Every time I throw something at him, he doubles it and throws it back. The next thing I’m throwing is my cookies, except I won’t be throwing them, I’ll be tossing them. I just want to bake cakes. In my family’s bakery. Is that wrong?”
Her phone buzzed.
She froze.
It was on vibrate. Every call, every text buzzed the same. But it was Josh.
She could sense it.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and did a one-eyed squint at the readout, both looking and not looking.
Yep. It was Josh.
I need to see you. Where are you?
“That him?” Lindsey asked.
Kimmie handed over her phone.
Lindsey frowned at it. “The person in me says you should let him know you’re okay, but the lawyer in me says you should wait for further contact until you know his mother’s okay.”
Kimmie dropped her head to the table. “Oh, fugglemuffins.”
Two distinct plinks sounded on the table.
Arthur stood at the side of the table in a Cubs jersey, jeans, and a warm smile. “Hi, there, Kimmie. Glad you could join us.”
“I had a dream that I was wearing legwarmers made of porcupines and walking the runway on The Aisle in a high school fashion show. I was playing the planet Saturn.”
Arthur patted her shoulder and slid into the empty seat at the table. “Great day for a ball game. Too bad Nat wouldn’t let Noah come.”
Groans erupted around them. The big-screen TV in the corner of the room showed a replay of a home run. Arthur clapped. “Go, Cubs, go!” He chuckled. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to having a Braves fan as a son-in-law, but these moments make it worthwhile.”
Lindsey returned Kimmie’s phone. “You got another text,” she said.
My mom’s worried about you, Josh’s message said.
“Oh, thank the sugar gods,” Kimmie said. If his mom was coherent enough to worry about Kimmie, she was probably okay.
General Mom would string Kimmie’s beans at how horribly Kimmie was bungling her job of getting back the bakery, but at least Josh’s mom was okay.
Esme was nice. Mischievous, but nice. And motherly. Like the mythical mothers who baked cookies after school and who read their children Dr. Seuss stories instead of an ancient copy of The Complete Confectioner, Pastry-Cook, and Baker.
Kimmie’s phone vibrated again.
So am I, Josh texted.
“Right,” Kimmie muttered. “Lemon-faced sugar-sinner.”
Arthur peered at her. His dark hair had considerably more white streaks since he’d become friends with Kimmie’s mother, but his brown eyes were sharp as ever. “I hope that’s not your new beau.”
“Wrong number.” Kimmie jammed her phone in her pocket, then reached for the lemonade Arthur had brought. It wasn’t a Kimmie colada, but then, Kimmie didn’t need help with the dreams she was sure to endure tonight. Especially if General Mom got wind of what Kimmie had done. “Who’s winning?”
“The Cubbies.”
“Early in the game yet,” one of Will’s crew said.
“Yeah, don’t get too comfortable,” another added.
“Aw, let him have the win,” a third said. “We still got the rings.”
A round of laughter erupted.
“Watch yourselves, boys,” Will said. “Ain’t the best tactic to insult a team on their turf.”
“Plus you’re poopy-heads,” one of the smaller kids said.
“See?” Will said. “Can’t have poopy-heads on my crew. Also, you’re offending my wife-to-be.”
“I’m not offended,” Lindsey said. “I’m plotting revenge. There’s a difference.”
“Technicalities, lawyer lady.”
Kimmie’s phone buzzed again, but she ignored it. This whole pretending-to-be-Josh’s-girlfriend thing was too stressful. She needed an afternoon off. Time and space to be herself with no expectations or deceit or games.
Except the baseball game.
She’d played softball for a few years in grade school, when Lindsey and Nat’s mom had volunteered to get her to practices.
Her face suddenly went hot.
She’d done nearly the same thing to Arthur then as she’d done to Esme today, except she’d hit Arthur decidedly lower. “I’m never playing sports again.”
“Never say never,” Lindsey said.
Usually Kimmie would agree, but not today.
She squirmed her way through the game. Lindsey offered to find her a slice of coconut cream pie, but Kimmie wasn’t hungry, and her right arm was starting to ache from all the tennis.
Lindsey steered the conversation to normal topics. Arthur kept a running commentary on the game and the players. By the end of the sixth inning, Kimmie had almost lost the urge to use the bathroom as an excuse to sneak out of the stadium and go home.
Random people associated with Billy Brenton stopped to talk to Lindsey occasionally, so Kimmie almost missed it when Bruno, the burly bouncer General Mom had introduced her to at the cakemageddon wedding, leaned in to whisper something to her friend, his gaze on Kimmie.
Lindsey coughed. “Excuse me?”
He whispered it again. Then both Bruno and Lindsey looked at Kimmie, Bruno with the same kind of suspicion he’d had when General Mom introduced them, Lindsey with the kind of contemplation that made Kimmie’s stomach flop like an interrupted soufflé. “Let him in, but tell Billy,” she said to Bruno, even though her gaze was firmly focused on Kimmie. “He’s been wanting to meet Kimmie’s fiancé.”
Kimmie bolted out of her chair.
Josh had found her, and he was taking their game to a new level.
“In fact, I’ve been wanting to meet Kimmie’s fiancé too,” Lindsey said.
“I have to pee,” Kimmie blurted.
“Any man who can talk his way past Wrigley Field security and make it far enough inside to talk to Will’s crew here will find you anywhere. Would you prefer that meeting happen in private or with your family here?”
Kimmie’s eyes had lemon juice in them, and her nose tickled like she’d inhaled sugar dust. Family.
Bliss was her family. Lindsey and Nat and Arthur were her family, even if Arthur never married General Mom.
They couldn’t solve the bakery problem, but they loved her.
The door opened, and Bruno gave Josh the eyeball of I will enjoy squeezing you like a marshmallow if you displease me.
Josh didn’t blink.
Instead, he walked in and swept a quick gaze about the room until his attention settled on Kimmie.
It took one step for his confident, arrogant Snack Cake Romeo swagger to appear. And while Kimmie had grown used to the determination and drive that always lurked in the square of his jaw and the focus in his brilliant blue eyes, now there was something deeper.
Something new.
And Kimmie didn’t know if it meant he’d added some chocolate to his potential, or if she was about to get squished.
She squared her shoulders—General Mom would’ve been prou
d—and marched up to him. She pointed to the nearest door and said, “There.”
He didn’t say a word, but he took her elbow and firmly steered her to the little side room.
The men’s room.
Almost appropriate.
Kimmie clenched her stomach muscles and tried to keep her breathing steady, even though her pulse was pinging around like a squirrel on a triple shot of espresso. “Fiancée?”
He backed her against a wall, his arms on either side of her, his broad shoulders and rich, earthy scent blocking out the world.
She gulped.
“Fiancée works much better for getting answers than girlfriend does. And I needed to find you.”
I needed you.
Holy frosting buckets.
“H-how’s your mom?” she asked.
He muttered a word that would’ve earned Kimmie a week of dish duty if she said it in her mother’s kitchen, then pushed away and jammed a hand through his hair. “My mother is fine. But your mother—”
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
All of Kimmie’s secret places flared to life.
Whatever this was, it was… unexpected. Real.
Kimmie pushed herself flatter against the cool papered wall.
Josh pinned her with an intense, blue-flame gaze, and when he spoke, there was a command in his voice. “Fifty grand for five cupcake recipes.”
“No.”
The word slipped out on its own. But Kimmie didn’t want to take it back. She did want to fan herself, but she wouldn’t take back the no.
This Josh—he was real.
He held up a finger. A silent wait a minute command.
“No,” Kimmie said again.
“Fifty grand and a business plan.”
Kimmie pulled herself off the wall and poked him in the chest. “I knew it. You—you—you can’t have Heaven’s Bakery. I’ll leave. I’ll walk out. I’ll—I’ll go become a professional belly dancer in Vegas before I’ll work for you. And I don’t know how to belly dance, so I’ll be a homeless belly dancer in Vegas, but I’ll be quite happy to not be working for you.”
He stopped with another hand fisted in his hair, mouth ajar. But he snapped it shut, his eyes blazing with something else new. “A business plan for you,” he said. “To buy your mother out of the bakery.”
It was Kimmie’s turn to open her mouth, but only one of those unfortunate squeaks came out.
Josh held his hands up, but they wobbled as though he were trying not to grab her and shake her. “I stay out of your business; you stay out of mine. You take the fifty grand and the business plan, and you send your mother into retirement and get her the hell out of everyone’s lives. I take the cupcake recipes, launch a gourmet line at Sweet Dreams, and we both get what we want.”
She couldn’t stop staring at him. Nor could she find her voice.
“Putting your name on the line at Sweet Dreams would be at your discretion,” Josh said.
That would be an obvious no.
If Kimmie agreed to it.
He hunched against the sink, and he suddenly looked ten years older. And a hundred times hotter. “Please, Kimmie.”
She needed to think.
Alone.
Without this version of the Joshanova and his puppy-dog eyes. They weren’t blatant puppy-dog eyes, the kind she saw on grooms who wanted approval for distasteful groom’s cakes or banana flavoring in their buttercream. Instead, Josh wore a reluctant I-need-you, I’m-risking-my-pride, honest plea for help.
She ducked her head and skittered to the door. She needed space. Time. Coconut.
Josh was too quick, though. He slid between her and her escape. Heat radiated through her skin where his hands gripped her arms. “I went through a hell of a lot of trouble to find you. And I’ll find you again. You can face me now, or you can face me later, but I won’t give up, Kimmie.”
He’d taken off his tie. His top button was undone on his white dress shirt, but he was still in his suit coat. Lemon and silk tickled her nose. She stared at his chin. He’d shaved recently, maybe this morning, maybe yesterday, but despite his blond hair, she could see evidence of a five o’clock shadow. “What if I want your share of Heaven’s Bakery too?”
“You’ll have to earn it.”
She blinked.
“It’s Birdie’s. And I don’t like you as much as I liked her.”
That shouldn’t have stung, but she felt like someone had poured vinegar on a paper cut in her heart. “What are we, fifth-graders?” she scoffed.
“I spent the last part of my fifth-grade year scrounging for food in the streets.”
Kimmie sucked in a surprised breath.
His lip curled, and he let her go. “Go on. Run away. I found you here. I’ll find you again. But more important, I swear to God, I will stand between you and your mother as long as it takes to get her the hell out of both of our lives.”
He stepped away from the door and made a sweeping, there it is, go for it gesture.
But Kimmie didn’t move.
She couldn’t.
General Mom’s files said he’d been in foster care.
Not homeless.
But Josh made it sound as if…
She stared at him. And waited. For what, she couldn’t say. But she didn’t want to run.
She wanted to know more. About him. About the Josh under the swagger. The man under the suit.
The man who, she was beginning to suspect, didn’t use his heart not because he didn’t have one, but because he was terrified of being weak over anything.
Even his heart.
Especially his heart.
A swaggery eyebrow lifted. “Don’t tell me you ran out of dreams,” he said dryly.
Ooh, he was irritating. “You’re a pucker-drop,” she snapped.
A corner of his mouth hitched. “A pucker-drop you’re engaged to, sugar, as of ten minutes ago. And that won’t go away until we reach a business arrangement and your mother’s been sent packing.”
“I can deny it,” she said.
“But you won’t. Your mother would… frost your snack cakes if you dump me before you get the bakery out of me.”
Yep. Warm fuzzies all gone. “You’re a glass-wipe.” She did grab the handle then, and she charged into the suite.
The baseball game went on beyond the window, but Lindsey, Arthur, and Will were huddled together at the high-top table, watching Kimmie with nearly identical grim expressions.
She froze. Her pulse zinged as if it were on a straight hit of syrup.
A solid hand settled on her shoulder, and then scorching lips pressed her cheek. “Thanks for that, sugar,” Josh said.
Kimmie’s cheeks went so hot they almost exploded.
“See you this weekend,” he added.
Then he sauntered out of the room as if he owned the whole dang baseball stadium.
“Can I go home now?” Kimmie whispered.
Lindsey slid off her stool. “I’ll drive you.”
She and Will shared a couple look that could’ve meant anything from love you to you’re a good person for taking care of your idiot friend. Then they shared a happy-couple kiss that made Kimmie feel dirty for having had Josh’s lips on her. Lindsey and Will’s kiss wasn’t long or disgusting, but it was real. With Lindsey’s fingers brushing Will’s whiskers and Will’s hand on Lindsey’s hip. That perfect mix of sweet, possessive, and intimate.
All the things Kimmie was too weird to ever find.
She’d once hoped Lindsey could work her matchmaker magic to find Kimmie a decent guy. And she knew General Mom had wanted Lindsey to do the same.
But if relationships were anything like the fake one she had with Josh, Kimmie preferred being single.
Very, very single.
“I hate him,” she said to Lindsey as they walked out of the suite. “And I’m sorry I wrecked your day.”
Lindsey looped an arm through Kimmie’s. “I miss you. Seeing you made my day.”
“Why isn’t ther
e a guy who will say things like that to me?”
“Because men are inherently stupid.”
Kimmie forced a laugh.
It was better than crying.
11
Tweeted @WindyCitySociety: #Joshmie engaged! Exclusive Details at the Windy Society Pages! #OMG #WeddingOfTheYear
Josh and Aiden were in Josh’s office at lunchtime Thursday, testing a round of cupcakes Aiden had smuggled in from home this morning. And while Aiden’s cupcakes weren’t anything to brag about, they were comparatively superior to anything else in this building.
Ralph had created some horrific concoctions here, especially in the last few years.
“It’s good,” Josh said over a German chocolate cupcake.
Not as flavorful or moist as Kimmie’s, but a step in the right direction.
“Shove it, shithead,” Aiden said. “Blind taste test, you’d love it.”
“I said they’re good.”
“But not as good as your girlfriend’s. Oh, excuse me, fiancée’s.”
“You being a girl about me having a girl?” Josh said.
Aiden hit him in the arm. “I’m pissed about you being an idiot,” Aiden said. “Billy Brenton was on the morning show. Said you proposed to his fiancée’s best friend at the game yesterday.”
The fucker.
“You playing, or is this for real?” Aiden said.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Dude, we’re dudes. We don’t do complicated. You knock her up?”
“Jesus. No.”
“Knock, knock!” A familiar feminine voice rang out, and then Josh’s door opened. “Oh, look, it’s my favorite boys.”
Josh and Aiden jumped up, forming a wall between his mom and the cupcake samples.
“Oh, quit hiding those cupcakes. I sneak one or two from the bakery down the street too when Clayton’s away.” She winked. “Now. Where are my hugs?”
The bruise on her cheek matched her purple patterned blouse. With her hair pulled away from her face, the injury was obvious. Aiden let out a low whistle. “Mama Esme, I don’t want to know what you did to the other guy.”
Sugared (Misfit Brides #4) Page 13
