By now Bri had stopped forming cookies and stood staring at Casey. The poor girl. A proposal was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And he hadn’t even hidden the ring in the lasagna?
“I just look at Nathan across the kitchen, tomato sauce smeared all over his jeans. I’ve got milk dripping down my arms, soggy paper towels draped everywhere. We both start cracking up.”
Definitely a laugh or cry moment. Bri sort of wanted to cry just hearing the story.
“He says, ‘You know what? We should get married.’ And I think he’s joking, because who wants to marry into this hot mess of my life, you know? But before I can advise him to run for the hills, he pulls this ring out of his pocket.” Casey holds up her left hand. “The next thing I know, I’m yelling ‘yes’ while the girls are clapping, and then we’re kissing while the sink overflows with water and floods the kitchen floor.”
Bri’s initial urge was to offer sympathy, but Casey rested her chin on her palm and all but swooned. “It was perfect.”
Perfect? More like horrific. Disappointing, at best. How could she be content with that? Bri didn’t consider herself a diva, but some things in life were worth holding out for. A beautiful, romantic proposal was one of them.
But she didn’t want to burst Casey’s bubble.
She began carefully placing the cutout Eiffel Towers on the baking sheet. “I’m so happy for you.” And she was. Casey deserved happiness—and that was hers to determine, not Bri’s.
“I love that he asked me, right in the middle of a mess.” Casey picked up the discarded cookie cutter and absently ran her finger up the side of the tower. “I would have doubted his sincerity otherwise, you know? Especially since this is happening so quickly. I would have wondered if he really got it.”
Bri’s hands stilled on the cookies as Casey continued.
“I’m not exactly fairy-tale material. I’m complicated. I come with baggage—even if they are the cutest set of baggage in town.”
“Definitely that.” Bri smiled.
Casey’s gaze drifted somewhere over Bri’s shoulder, almost if she were speaking to herself. Her voice softened. “But he didn’t ask when everything was perfect. It’s easy to love when life is shiny and looks its best—it’s a lot harder when it’s covered in tomato sauce and Pull-Ups.”
“Easy to love when everything is perfect . . .” Casey’s words ricocheted around Bri’s heart, as if searching for a place to land. But that didn’t fit with what she knew of love. She’d had it modeled to her over her first eighteen years of life, and it was hard to imagine any other image. Her parents’ lives weren’t actually perfect, so to speak—no one’s was. After all, they had died tragically young in life.
But their love story was something out of a romance novel. Bri’s childhood was filled with comfortable, secure memories of love and affection and teamwork. Her parents got aggravated sometimes, like when her mom would calm her father down while he stressed over finances, but who didn’t worry over money?
If Bri hadn’t had such a lucrative life insurance policy paid to her when her parents passed away, she’d be stressing over money every day too. But that policy had bought her townhome and her car and padded her savings so she could live off her small salary from the Pastry Puff. She still had to be careful, but she could afford to give, just like her parents had given to her, and just like Mabel and Agnes regularly gave to the people of the town.
Too bad it wasn’t enough to buy out the Puff and hush Charles once and for all.
Casey’s words pinged softly through Bri’s thoughts as she readied the baking sheet for the oven. But that couldn’t be right. When love was love, it had to at least feel pretty perfect. That was romance at its finest—not shallow but glossy. Not surface level but deep and still and peaceful. After all, her parents never fought. She always figured fighting was a sign of a damaged relationship and had broken up with more than one casual boyfriend in high school and college because of it.
No, Bri was right. She had to be—and she had a trunkful of letters to prove it.
She tossed her oven mitt aside. Her parents’ love might have been rare, but clearly such love was possible. She was glad Casey had found her version of it with Nathan. He was a good guy—sweet, treated her right, took care of her kids, and clearly cared a lot about her if he was willing to dive into her “mess,” as Casey put it. That was great.
But as for Bri, she would keep holding out for the guy with the drizzled chocolate desserts and the hidden rings and the fireworks.
CHAPTER
NINE
Gerard had worked on his article for about half an hour at a breakfast diner a few blocks from the Pastry Puff, and halfway through his plate of bacon, he found himself at a brick wall. He really needed more quotes to keep going, which meant more conversations with Bri.
Though, if he were honest with himself, he’d admit the writer’s block wasn’t because of a lack of quotes. It was because he didn’t want to write this story.
But admitting that meant stopping long enough to process why, and he didn’t want to stop. He never stopped. Hence his fascination with world travel. He was good at roaming.
He wasn’t good at roots.
Gerard, laptop bag on his shoulder, hesitated on his way into the Pastry Puff. That same girl he almost ran over heading into the Puff yesterday was hanging out at the counter with Bri. He looked closer—she also appeared to be the same girl from the YouTube video Peter had made him watch that started this whole feature in the first place.
Maybe he could quote her next, give Bri a break a little longer. That would also give him time to work on Charles and figure out exactly where this new angle was going to take him—and how far he was willing to go to make sure it took him somewhere.
Gerard opened the door.
“Have you had any more luck with that secret ingredient?” the YouTube girl was asking.
Bri shook her head. “No, and I’ve tried everything. Extra vanilla. Extra almond extract. Lemon. Cinnamon.”
“Morning, ladies.”
Both girls straightened at his voice and turned his way. One offered a friendly smile, one quickly glanced away. He wasn’t surprised which did which.
“Good morning.” The YouTube star beamed, running her fingers through her long hair. She was pretty, in an athletic way. Long brown hair, naturally tan skin. Her eyes shone as if she’d just revealed a secret.
Yet for all her pretty, glowing happiness, he couldn’t tear his eyes off Bri, who stood demurely behind the counter, eyes averted, blonde hair tucked behind her ears. That blasted apron covered the lower half of her sweatshirt, which read Wanderlust, the same word that was on the stepping-stone outside by the love-lock wall—and on the décor at the bakery counter.
Interesting. Or maybe annoying. He hated gimmicks.
He joined them at the counter. He probably needed to turn on the charm, get this girl to talk and give him the information he needed for the write-up. But a second glance at her bouncing on her heels and twisting a ring around her finger confirmed he wouldn’t have to make much effort. This chick was about to burst with news.
“Coffee?” Bri asked politely from her side of the dessert display, but he could see in her eyes that she was guarded. So, she was still being weird from last night. Good to know.
“Please.”
She filled a mug for him, not even noticing the smile he’d made sure to offer. She slid it across the counter to him and he took a sip. Horrible.
He set the cup down. “What’s this about a secret ingredient?”
“Nothing.” Bri pointed across the display to the brunette. “You remember Casey? From the YouTube videos we made for the love-lock wall.”
Not the most subtle subject change, but he’d roll with it for now. Gerard held out his hand. “I don’t believe we met. I almost ran you over yesterday coming in here, though.”
“No worries.” She placed her left hand in his, but not in a shaking position. Rather, she held it out flat
, like he was supposed to kiss it. He shook it anyway.
“She’s showing you her ring.” Bri pointed.
“I’m engaged!” Casey held her hand up higher, and the diamond flashed.
That made more sense than her believing she was the Queen of England. Gerard nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“My condolences.”
“Thank y—” Casey’s automatic response broke off and her smile faltered, confused. “Wait. What?”
Bri rolled her eyes as she opened the mini-fridge door and peered inside. “He’s kidding.”
“Am I, though?” He saluted with his coffee cup and smirked.
Casey crossed her arms, but the sparkle didn’t leave her eyes. This girl had it bad over her engagement. She studied him. “I think he’s serious.”
“Now you don’t believe in marriage?” The fridge door slammed shut as Bri turned back to face him. “Are you kidding me?”
He held up his hand in defense. “I didn’t say I didn’t believe in marriage.” It existed—though it was becoming more and more extinct as the generations passed.
Casey leaned toward him, as if interested in hearing more. Funny, most women tuned him out at this point. Or left the table for him to pick up the check. One had thrown her tea in his face.
Both women here were empty-handed, so he continued. “I believe in marriage. I just don’t believe it’s guaranteed or that it lasts. It’s a huge risk.” Peter and Cynthia were the only exception, and they weren’t typical.
Casey tilted her head, eyebrows arched. “Maybe. But some risks are worth taking.”
He gestured with his coffee. “True. Vegas shovels in quite a bit of money on that belief.”
“You’re comparing romance and true love to a neon strip?”
“Why not?” He shrugged. “Both are full of smoke and mirrors.”
Casey’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead.
“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, this is what Trek Magazine sends as a romantic destination writer.” Bri gestured to Gerard like a game-show host might demonstrate a prize, then rolled her eyes. “Must see it to believe it.”
Casey leaned in even closer, crowding his space. A knowing spark lit her eyes. “Been burned before, Author Man?”
Time to redirect. “While you’re currently feeling lucky in love, may I interview you for the magazine feature?”
“Sure. As long as you don’t quote me as wearing a black dress down the aisle and ordering black roses for my bouquet.” Casey pointed at him in warning. “And don’t you dare use the word condolences.”
“I’ll make it accurate. Email me.” Gerard handed her his business card. “Although, your idea is probably more accurate in general.”
“A wedding is not like a death.” Bri crossed her arms and all but glowered at him. Gerard squinted. Nope, there was definite glowering. She was taking this personally.
“What’s the deal, Cupcake? No one’s raining on your parade.” He pointed at Casey and grinned. “I’m raining on hers.”
Casey still looked like she’d taken up permanent residence on cloud nine. He wasn’t fazing her in the least, which was part of what he’d wanted to find out. She beamed. “Hey, every good romance movie ends in the rain.”
Bri smiled, but the glower returned when her gaze collided back with Gerard’s. He slid his empty coffee mug to her. “The coffee was better today.”
She snatched the cup off the counter. “Incorrigible.”
“No, I said better.”
Casey coughed into her hand, but not before Gerard glimpsed the smile she covered. “I’ve got to go pick up the girls.” She nodded at Gerard. “I’ll be in touch.” She waved at Bri. “See you later. Don’t forget book club Thursday.”
“I’ll be there! And congratulations again.” She stressed the congrats, as if she could make up for Gerard’s sarcasm.
The second the door swung shut behind Casey, Bri turned to him with a fiery spark in her eyes. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what? Uncover the truth?”
She gestured in frustration. “Sprinkle your darkness dust everywhere.”
“Darkness dust?” Harsh. And a little comical.
“You know what I mean.” She fumbled with an oven mitt, and for a moment he felt the urge to duck. “Wait. What do you mean by uncover the truth?”
“I was testing her. It’s part of my interview process.”
“What? To goad your contacts into submission?”
“To see how easily they can be persuaded to have a view opposite the one they started with.”
Whatever it was she’d been about to say, she must have changed her mind. Her parted lips slowly clamped together. “So Casey passed.”
“Of course she passed. She’s in love.” He tapped the display glass. “Why don’t you calm down over there, Cupcake, and get me a petit four?”
A smile cracked the surface as she made her way to the display class. “Fine. But I’m charging you this time.”
“I’d have been shocked otherwise.”
“And you have to sit over there.” She pointed to the table farthest from the counter.
“Sold.” He slid a five-dollar bill across the counter. “Make that two.” He’d have a stomachache again, but he needed a reason to linger.
And dang it, if those petit fours weren’t concocted of pure ambrosia.
He took the desserts—she’d given him two with pink icing, which at this point had to be on purpose, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it—to the table she’d indicated and pulled out his laptop.
The door chimed, and an elderly man shuffled in with a walker, maneuvering it over the doorstop with surprising ease. His beige jacket hung loose around his slight frame, and he purposed toward the counter as if in slow motion.
Bri turned at the chime, and her countenance brightened to rival the sun. “Mr. Mac! I haven’t seen you in nearly two weeks. I was getting worried.”
“I had a cold.” His husky voice cracked as he fished in his pocket and removed a white handkerchief. “You know I can’t stay away long. Betty has her expectations.”
“And it’s a good thing she does.” Bri began bagging up something the man hadn’t even ordered from the display. “The usual?”
“Of course.” He coughed, then tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. “She’s waiting.”
“Of course.” Bri mirrored the expression with a voice so kind it soothed a nerve Gerard didn’t know had been exposed. He watched as she came around the counter to bring Mr. Mac the bag of treats. The elderly man handed her a wadded-up bill, and she took it without looking at it. “How are you?”
“Just left the doctor. Same ol’ stuff.” He turned, and Gerard noticed his thick, wiry gray eyebrows.
“Is Jill outside?”
“You know she is. That old goose won’t let me out of her sight.” He laughed, and it turned into a rattling bark. Gerard flinched at the harsh sound, but Bri didn’t turn away. Rather, she touched his shoulder as he finished the coughing fit. “Let me get you an iced coffee to go.”
He started to protest.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it decaf. Soy milk.”
He clutched his to-go bag. “But I already paid.”
“Good thing I know the manager, then.” She winked at him as she whipped up his drink.
Betty. And Jill? Gerard couldn’t figure it out, but he was intrigued—and even more mesmerized by the way Bri transformed while taking care of the man.
He opened his Word document and typed some notes, keeping a sporadic eye on the animated, beaming pastry chef behind the counter. Bri handed the man a to-go cup with a secured lid, and he thanked her with a slightly shaky voice that Gerard could tell used to bark with authority. He’d bet anything the man was former military.
Marine, by the way he held his shoulders.
Bri helped him tuck the pastry bag into his baggy jacket pocket. “Don’t keep Betty waiting
, now.”
“I’d never dream of it. That Jill, though, you gotta watch her. She’ll bite.” Mr. Mac chuckled, and it turned into a cough.
Bri patted his back. “I’ll see you next week, sir.”
“Not if I see you first.”
Gerard bit into a petit four by habit, not even desiring the sugar but finding it awakening something in him regardless. Somehow, being in Story—more specifically, watching Bri interact with her community—was like having a front-row seat to a play, one deserving of a snack and the full experience.
Bri carried Mr. Mac’s coffee for him as he ambled out of the shop with his walker. Gerard’s gaze followed them outside, where a round, gray-haired woman in blue scrubs opened the door to a silver Crown Victoria. Bri chatted with her for a moment, holding her hair back with one hand as the wind kept threatening to toss it in front of her face.
She could be on the cover of Trek.
Gerard looked quickly back down at his notes. What was wrong with him? Something about Bri made it hard for him to look away.
He better nip that in the bud. Remy had been right—that fateful conversation in Paris when he was twenty-one had left him starry-eyed in the presence of his media hero. The traveling photo journalist had won every award possible and was only in his forties at the time. He knew how to document life because he’d lived it. He’d turned traveling into an art form and inspired Gerard, a college student at the time, to write about it just as artistically. If not for Remy, Gerard wouldn’t be where he was today.
Standing by the Seine, Remy had warned him not to fall in love, not to lock himself into a lifetime of regret and pain as he’d done.
“Chase after the story, son. Don’t let it catch you.”
Gerard had naively nodded, hanging on to every word he’d said. But a few years later, he met Kelsey and forgot everything his mentor had said that day. He’d gotten caught.
Gerard’s inner defenses rose, effectively guarding the place Kelsey had left raw. The door swung shut behind Bri as she reentered the bakery. Jaw cocked, he leaned back in his chair. “So, who was that? The town bachelor?”
“Mr. Mac?” Bri rubbed her arms through her baggy sweatshirt sleeves as if chilled. The smile she’d had while visiting with the older man still lingered. “Hardly. He’s the most devoted man I know.”
The Key to Love Page 7
