“Oh, I think it is.” Mr. Mac took his bag of cookies and stole a bite of one with a furtive glance over his shoulder at Jill. Crumbs dusted his mustache, and the twinkle in his eyes took over as he slid the evidence back into the sack. “But it’s never what we think it’s going to look like, is it?”
She snapped the lid securely onto the latte cup, but then her hands stilled. Never what you thought it was going to look like. That perfectly described Casey and Nathan. Perfectly described this new revelation about her parents.
Perfectly described her and Gerard? She swallowed.
“Me and Betty overcame more than one obstacle in our day.” Mr. Mac shrugged. “And we have a pretty big one keeping us apart right now.” A shadow of sadness battled the light in his wise eyes. “But it’s a temporary long distance. Everything can be overcome eventually, my dear.”
Emotion balled in her throat and Bri nodded, unable and unwilling to speak past the lump. Her parents had overcome their obstacle, too, hadn’t they? It hadn’t been all peaches and cream, as she now knew—but they’d made it. They were still together and still loved each other the day of the wreck.
Could she and Gerard overcome long distance? And his commitment issues? And her fears of repeating the past?
Was that even a choice she had the liberty to make?
She shot Gerard a glance across the room. He’d remained a polite distance back, as if sensing the importance of the conversation. Or maybe he just remembered the last time he’d put his foot in his mouth about the kind old man.
“Maybe.” She fiddled with the lid on the jar of coffee grounds perched next to the coffeepot, screwing it on and off again. Her heart raced. “But what about in the meantime?” Open. Shut. Open. Shut.
“In the meantime . . .” Mr. Mac released a slow breath, his eyebrows dipping as he thought. “You make every moment count. You pray. You sneak sugar past your warden, bring flowers to the ones you love, even when they’re no longer with you—and look forward to the next time you get to see them.” He shot his gaze to the left, where Gerard lurked. “Whether that’s in this world or the next.”
Finally, she gathered herself and sniffed. “Don’t you dare pay me for that latte, Mr. Mac.”
He shoved the bills across the counter and picked up his cup, voice pitched with humor. “Don’t you dare refuse to let me.”
She bit her lower lip to catch her smile. “Give Betty my best.”
“I always do.” He offered a slight salute, reminiscent of his former glory days, then turned and shuffled toward Jill, goodies in hand.
Then he paused in front of Gerard. Bri held her breath. He looked him up and down, inches from his face. Gerard didn’t move, just straightened to attention. His eyes flicked to Bri, then back to Mr. Mac, where he held the older man’s gaze.
Mr. Mac nodded briskly, then shot Bri a wink over his shoulder. “Definitely not what you’d think.”
Her cheeks warmed another degree hotter. Gerard gestured over his shoulder as the door shut behind Mr. Mac and Jill. “I’m a little confused. Did I pass inspection?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Bri wiped up a spill of steamed milk with a dish towel, emotions still spinning. She gripped the towel tighter.
“Didn’t know that was up for debate.” He closed the distance to the counter, but to Bri’s surprise he didn’t stop on the other side. He came around the back straight toward her.
“Hey, now. This is highly against regulation.” Bri turned to face him, a nervous laugh bubbling in her chest at his proximity. She tossed the damp rag aside. “I mean, if you wanted a macaron that badly, I could have just handed you one.”
“That’s not what I want.”
She licked her lips as he drew closer. “I thought they were your favorite.”
“Second place, currently.” The heat in his eyes burned hotter than the oven in the next room, and Bri’s stomach began a salsa dance.
He planted his hands on the counter on either side of her, trapping her between his corded forearms. She stared at the muscular lines extending from his biceps instead of looking into his eyes, where she knew she’d promptly melt into a pat of butter.
She fought to keep her voice evenly toned despite her racing heart. “So, you prefer the petit fours, then?”
He hovered over her, a teasing grin breaking up the thick stubble on his face. “Third place, currently.”
Bri’s mouth dried. “Is that why you came over?” Man, she wanted the comfort of nestling into his arms. Wanted the luxury of asking him for ridiculous things, like not driving away in the next twenty-four hours. Wanted the right to kiss him anytime she wanted.
Turned out she didn’t need it.
Immediately, his hands were tangled in her hair, his warm body pressing against hers as he backed her fully against the counter. Her hands gripped the sides of his T-shirt, her head spinning in a blissfully dizzy cloud as their lips and breath mingled.
“I didn’t come for petit fours.” He whispered the words against her cheek, his jaw endearingly scratchy on her face. “Or macarons.” His lips grazed near her ear and she shivered.
“Well, I know you didn’t come for the coffee.”
He chuckled low, and the sound vibrated through every fiber of her being. She pulled him in closer, tucking herself against his chest like she’d wanted to do since the moment he strode inside the bakery.
He rested his forehead against hers, bracing their joined weight against the counter with his other arm. “I actually came because I wanted to tell—”
A clattering of glass broke them apart.
Bri straightened with a gasp and turned. The jar of coffee she’d been playing with earlier lay turned on its side. Dark coffee grounds dusted the dry ingredients inside her mixing bowl and spilled along the counter.
Gerard winced, pulling back from her. “Was that another attempt at your mom’s recipe?”
“Yeah. It’s okay, though.” Thankfully, the glass hadn’t broken. Bri righted the jar. “I’m sure it was another wasted effort, anyway. It’s been years of attempts.” She struggled to control her runaway heartbeat, struggled to convince the rest of her body to relax as she began to clean up the mess. It was just a kiss. Just a kiss with an incredibly attractive, soon-to-be-leaving man who—
“Wait.” Gerard’s hand gripped her wrist. “Hold on. You said you’ve tried everything?”
“Ten times each.” Bri blew out her breath. The list over the years was never-ending. “Milk chocolate, cocoa powder, dark chocolate, white chocolate, almond extract, extra vanilla, less vanilla, extra cinnamon, so yes, everything.”
“But maybe not everything.” He released her wrist as he nodded toward the spilled coffee grounds.
Bri’s eyes widened.
“I can’t believe it.” Crumbs flaked to the table between them as Bri took another bite of the last batch of macarons. The first batch he’d ruined had way too many grounds in it, but she could sense they were on the right track. They’d made another mix with about a fourth of the coffee, and she’d nearly wept with relief when they’d come out of the oven. “Who would have ever thought?”
“I guess that’s why it’s a secret ingredient.” Gerard couldn’t stop staring at Bri. At the way her eyes lit with joy over the discovery, at the way she kept wiggling her shoulders back and forth in a little happy dance as she ate. The way her lips curled in victory.
He’d kissed those lips about six more times while she’d mixed and poured and baked. Longer while they’d had to wait on the oven. Then Mabel and Agnes had come back to put away their recently purchased eggs, flour, and sugar, successfully cutting off any further attempts at making out. Though knowing those love angels, they probably wouldn’t have minded.
Now, all Gerard could do was shred a napkin between his fingers and stare at Bri and wonder how on earth he was going to drive away tomorrow. He’d come to tell her that his article was complete. He had no reason to stay.
But watching her, glowing behind the counter as she tende
d to one of her favorite people in town, well—he had started wondering if maybe there was a reason he should stay. She’d lit up the entire bakery and those dark, inaccessible corners of his heart with her innocence and genuineness and bitter coffee.
Turns out the bitterness was just what the macarons needed.
Just what he needed.
“Mom would be proud.” Bri studied the macaron in her hands, her thin brows furrowed as if convincing herself. “I hope.”
“Of course she would.” Gerard leaned away in his chair, rocking back on two legs. He needed to tell her about Remy. He’d been so shocked last night when he saw the picture, he couldn’t get the words out. He’d had to process the impossible first.
But he wouldn’t dare burst her bubble now and bring up the tainted past during a moment of victory. How could he tell her that the man who very nearly destroyed her parents’ marriage was the same man who once steered him away from love? It was too small a world. It would rock hers again.
His chair legs hit the ground with a thud. “Bri, I finished the feature.”
Her eyes darted to his, acknowledging what he refused to say: I’m leaving. “I’m sure you did the Puff justice.”
“I did my best.” And he had. But it’d been hard—he’d had to force some of the words of praise onto the page, despite his instincts to the contrary. Not because of Bri. Not because of the bakery’s uniqueness and quality desserts. Rather, because he knew she needed more than this. Her wings were clipped, and he wanted her to soar. Charles wasn’t the anvil holding her down.
The Pastry Puff was.
“Good.” She dusted crumbs from her fingers. “Maybe that will finally hush Charles up.”
Blast. That money was still in his room. After Sandra interrupted them at Taylor’s the other day, he’d forgotten to ask Charles when he could swing by his office.
“Maybe.” Gerard shrugged, tearing the napkin into smaller pieces. His leg bounced beneath the table, and he realized that this was the longest he’d gone in years without some sort of adrenaline rush.
Unless he counted kissing Bri. Which he did.
She smiled. “I can’t wait to read it.”
He could. Because once it was in print, that meant he was back in Chicago or on to his next adventure.
Alone.
His leg jiggled harder.
“Here.” Bri handed him the last half of her macaron, and he ate it. It was good—surprisingly good. She’d nailed the recipe this time, no doubt about it.
Bri frowned slightly, holding up another macaron an inch from her face and peering into the filled middle. “Do you think it’s missing something?”
“No. I think it’s exactly as it should be.” He couldn’t hold back any longer. They had to talk about the inevitable. He reached across the table for her hand. “Look, Bri—about last night.”
She set the dessert down and laced her fingers through his. The simplicity of that natural motion nearly destroyed him. He fought to focus. He had a plan. He was about to be handed his dream job at Traipse Horizon—lead writer. He’d get to write things people truly wanted to read. His opinion—his voice—would matter. His paychecks would increase. He could get his mom the help she needed. He had to leave.
But that didn’t mean that whatever was sparking between them had to die.
She raised her eyebrows. “Do you mean the picture?”
That too. He took a deep breath. Which to divulge first?
“Or do you mean this?” She gestured between them with her free hand. The blush tinging her cheeks was almost as adorable as the hesitant pitch in her voice.
Oh man. He’d just thought the word adorable in a non-sarcastic way. This town had changed him.
Bri had changed him.
A sliver of fear pricked. Did he want to be changed?
It was far, far too late for that to be relevant. And just like that day on the rocky cliffs of Hawaii overlooking the turquoise waters, he took a deep breath and dove in. “What are you doing for New Year’s?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
For the first time in four years, Bri had a date for New Year’s Eve.
Unless you counted two years ago, when Mrs. Beeker’s grandson bought her pizza at Taylor’s Sushi Barn while she was out drowning her non-festive holiday sorrows with a gallon of sweet tea and denial. But she didn’t count it.
She couldn’t stop smiling, which drew a few curious stares from the stay-at-home moms and elderly gentlemen in suspenders standing in line around her at the bank. Gerard was leaving, which dimmed her smile a little every time she let it soak in. But he was coming back.
For a date with her.
Her smile widened automatically, and her stomach flipped in anticipation. She eagerly swung the bank bag of receipts and cash between her fingers as she waited for her turn at the teller counter. Everything was looking up. The bag in her hands was full—which meant business was solid—Gerard wasn’t permanently roaring out of her life, and she’d finally figured out her mom’s oldest and best recipe. Nothing could bring her down.
“Well, well. Fancy meeting you here—again.”
Not even Sandra.
Bri turned, smile still easily in place. “Hello, Sandra.” The heater in the vents above shuddered off, as if sensing the need for less hot air at her arrival.
“You still haven’t come by the consignment shop, I gather.” The woman’s heavily made-up eyes flitted over Bri’s outfit, dusted in flour and coffee grounds. She smoothed the tailored lines of her hot-pink blazer and sniffed her disapproval.
Bri halfheartedly brushed at the stains on her sweater. “Been a little busy.” She couldn’t help the smile that twitched on her lips at the thought of what—make that who—she’d been busy with. Gerard wasn’t leaving for two more days, so he’d promised tonight they’d get some dinner and have a picnic at the B&B. She planned to absorb and appreciate every minute she could with him and make it last until December 31. After that . . . Her smile faltered for the first time that day.
“I assume business has picked up?” Sandra pressed a little too close and gestured to the zippered pouch in Bri’s hands.
Bri only nodded, unwilling to divulge more specifics to Charles’s right-hand man. Woman. Whatever. She inched up a few steps, hoping Sandra would get the hint. But she hadn’t gotten a hint for as long as she’d known her.
Still close on her heels, Sandra made a tsk sound under her breath. “Looks like the Puff didn’t even need that article, then.” She let out an amused cough. “Good thing.”
Bri frowned. “What do you mean?” She instantly regretted engaging—Sandra was clearly up to something, and it wouldn’t be anything Bri would want to be involved with.
“Just that I can’t imagine that feature having gone in your favor.” Sandra placed a cool hand on Bri’s arm, her matching hot-pink fingernails shockingly bright. “Even if you are sleeping with the enemy.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Sleeping with—no one is sleeping anywhere.” Bri’s chest heated, and she swallowed against the knot taking up residence in her throat. “Sandra, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Charles and Gerard being all chummy.” Sandra leaned in, glancing over her shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers. But she would have been the only one. “They had a deal, if you know what I mean.”
Bri’s heart stammered a beat. The line moved forward, but her feet felt stuck to the tile floor. Instead of giving Sandra the satisfaction of her glance, she focused on a young boy ahead of them in line licking a Dum Dum sucker.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t— “What deal?”
“Gerard has been playing devil’s advocate, sugar. Wasn’t it obvious?” A slow smile spread across Sandra’s face. The woman lived for gossip and clearly felt she had an inside scoop, reminiscent of her glory days. “He was playing both sides, trying to keep the fires of competition burning for the sake of the article.”
“You’re not even makin
g sense.” Why had she even entertained this crazy woman for so long? Bri held the bank bag in a white-knuckled grip and willed the line ahead of them to move.
“Listen to me. Gerard is a writer—a businessman. He’s in it for the entertainment value. Drama sells, especially in print.” Sandra squared her shoulders with authority. “Trust me, I know.”
She did know. But Gerard wouldn’t do that—he wouldn’t side with Charles after everything they’d been through. After everything he’d coached her through.
Running off Charles’s intern.
Helping her navigate the press interview.
Assisting with Casey’s wedding.
Encouraging her to keep trying her mom’s recipes.
Impossible. She shook her head. “You must be confused.”
“I’m a lot of things, honey, but confused isn’t one of them.” Sandra rocked back on her high-heeled boots and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you ask him where he got that two hundred dollars cash?”
“That’s ridiculous.” Bri’s temper flared as they finally shuffled forward in line. Her voice pitched and cracked, and the young boy with the sucker stared at her, wide-eyed. She attempted to lower her tone. “Gerard isn’t like you. He cares about the Puff—and me. And while we’re asking questions, why don’t you ask him who he’s coming back to see for New Year’s?” She hated falling prey to Sandra’s games, but she refused to let the nosy woman ruin her day with slander.
“I’m not concerned about your New Year’s plans. Except I highly suggest you come by the consignment shop before your night out.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, I came across Gerard and Charles talking at Taylor’s, all secret-like. Charles wouldn’t even tell me right away what it was about.” She smirked. “I got him to talk later.”
“You’re going to have to gossip somewhere else, Sandra. I’m not falling for this.” A spike of adrenaline, mixed with a shot of indignation, flowed through Bri’s veins. Just wait until she told Gerard at dinner about Sandra’s latest scheme. She was probably just jealous that Gerard hadn’t given her attention. “The article is in favor of the Puff.”
The Key to Love Page 24
