by Nina Lindsey
“All of the bakery items are my mother’s original recipes,” she said.
He studied the éclair as if he were examining it under a microscope. “She must have been quite the baker.”
“She was.”
Polly turned away and started making a fresh pot of coffee. Her mother had invented all the Wild Child recipes in the kitchen of the little two-bedroom apartment where she, Hannah, and Polly had moved after they left Twelve Oaks. Every day when Polly and Hannah came home from school, their mother had glasses of milk and a new kind of fresh-baked cookie or cupcake waiting at the table.
And the treats were always mouth-wateringly delicious, baked with hand-chopped bittersweet chocolate, real, organic butter, and an immense amount of maternal love. At the time, Polly needed nothing else in life.
“This might be the best éclair I’ve ever had.” Luke took another bite.
Warm pleasure flowed through her. “Thank you. My mother was very proud of them.”
“So why is it that you sell so many other breads and pastries?”
“Because this is a bakery?”
“I mean, how many products do you sell?” He indicated the display cases, which had baskets and signs for dozens of baked goods—cakes, muffins, doughnuts, croissants, tarts, cupcakes, danishes, and more. Jessie Lockhart had been a master of experimenting with recipes, and if something came out good, it ended up on the bakery shelves.
“A lot,” Polly admitted. “I mean, I can’t afford to bake them all every day, but I freeze most of the dough and bring it out on a rotating basis. So on Mondays, we have doughnuts, muffins, and danishes, and on Tuesdays we have croissants and brioche, and so on and so forth.”
“And the éclairs?”
“Oh, we always have the éclairs.”
“Polly, I need to leave early tomorrow.” Clementine came in from the kitchen, pulling on her sweater. “Dentist appointment at three. Will you be back from class by then?”
“Yes, I’ll be here around one thirty. Thanks.”
Clementine tugged her long, gray ponytail out of the collar of her sweater, her gaze going to Luke and his fish-out-of-water corporate appearance in the middle of Wild Child.
Luke extended his hand to her. “Luke Stone.”
“Oh!” A curious sparkle appeared in Clementine’s eyes as she shook his hand. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Stone. Polly is doing great things here.”
Not quite true, but Polly appreciated the props.
“It’s a nice place.” Luke’s gaze tracked over the dusty mandala tapestries.
Clementine squeezed Polly’s arm and gave her a “well done, girl” look before taking her keys out of her purse.
“Must get home to feed the cat.” She headed toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Polly. Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Stone.”
“Likewise.”
After Clementine had gone, Luke focused on Polly again. He had a tense set to his shoulders that intensified the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not only was he all knotted up again, he was being reserved and distant, as if maybe he regretted taking up with her.
Whereas she’d been floating two feet above the ground for the past forty-eight hours. Until now.
He did warn you. He was honest. Nothing long-lasting. No promises. And you were fine with all of that, remember? In fact, it’s what you wanted.
“How long have you owned this place?” he asked.
“My mother opened it when I was ten.” Polly deflected a stab of pain as she added, “She passed away last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was sick for a long time, so…” She waved a hand, not wanting to get into it. “Anyway, I’ve been running Wild Child ever since.”
“Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“I have a sister. She’s a few years older than me. She travels a lot.”
“For work?”
“She writes a travel blog,” Polly explained. “She left home right after high school, so after that, it was just me and my mother.”
He was quiet for a minute. “So you’re alone.”
The word alone actually hurt, like the accidental prick of a knife point. Even after Hannah left, Polly hadn’t felt alone before her mother got sick because they still had each other, and Wild Child was always filled with people and lively activity.
But when the leukemia took hold of Jessie Lockhart, their lives were overrun with treatments, medical bills, and struggles with the bakery. In the months that followed the diagnosis, Polly hadn’t been able to stop the alone feeling that crept over her like a shadow. Even Hannah’s visits hadn’t assuaged the loneliness because her sister had come and gone so quickly.
“I’m not alone.” She scrubbed at a smudge on the glass counter. “I have Clementine and plenty of good friends.”
He studied her, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “You’re running this place and going to school.”
“I’ve had Clementine’s help with Wild Child, so it hasn’t been that big a deal.”
A skeptical look flashed across his face, even if she’d told the truth. Her mother’s suffering through countless rounds of chemo and then a bone-marrow transplant had been a big deal. Working hard was just…working hard.
Of course, things would change yet again when Clementine moved this summer. Polly needed to find a replacement by September, but she couldn’t do that until the bakery started turning a profit. She wouldn’t be able to return to Hartford Community in the fall if she didn’t have someone to staff the bakery while she went to class.
She pushed aside the fear and discouragement that hovered like smoke at the edges of her mind. She would find a way. Eventually.
“Did you want anything else?” She gestured to the display cases.
“After the éclairs, what’s the next bestseller?”
“Doughnuts.” Polly took a chocolate-glazed doughnut from the case and put it on the plate. “I don’t do a lot of varieties just because they’re too time-consuming, so it’s a basic recipe with different glazes.”
Luke took a few bites, nodding with appreciation.
“And what happens to the unsold inventory?” he asked.
“I donate it to a food kitchen at the end of the day.”
“Then you start over in the morning?”
She nodded. Why was he asking so many questions with that pensive look on his face, as if he were doing calculations in his head? He took another walk around the bakery, studying the art prints on the “consignment gallery” wall and the three flyers pinned to the community bulletin board.
Polly refused to be ashamed of Wild Child, but seeing Luke Stone—shimmering with the aura of his accomplishments and success—standing in the middle of the old, faded hippie décor made her sharply aware of their differences.
He turned away from a sparkly pink lava lamp. His brown eyes glittered, as if he were waiting for the answer to a question that hadn’t been asked out loud.
But they both knew what it was.
“Polly Peach,” he said.
Oh, damn. The endearing nickname made her go all soft and mushy inside. Not to mention how her blood warmed at the sound of his deep voice.
“You’re in trouble,” he said.
That was the truth, though for once she wasn’t thinking about overdue rent and unpaid bills.
Since she couldn’t very well deny it, she just nodded. “I’ve been trying to save Wild Child ever since my mother died, but I’m failing. And I don’t know why.”
“For one thing, the location is lousy. Not to mention potentially dangerous.”
Polly didn’t bother agreeing with that because then she’d have to tell him she’d had two break-ins and an incident of vandalism in the months since the bakery’s alarm system had broken.
“We’ve been at this location since the beginning.” A hollow ache formed in her chest. “And Wild Child was successful before my mother got sick.”
“Did she do something differently?”
>
“She always found ways to encourage people to congregate here,” Polly said. “She hosted guitar concerts, art collectives and shows, writers’ groups. I tried to keep all that going after she died, but no one seemed interested anymore. That’s partly why the bakery ended up in a hole.”
“What kind of profits did your mother have?”
“Enough to stay on top of bills and rent.” Polly didn’t want to admit that her mother’s bookkeeping and accounting skills had been awful. Wild Child’s success had been in the customers and atmosphere, not in their profits. Still, the bakery had been solvent.
Until Polly took over.
“Have you applied for business loans?” Luke asked.
“Yes, but I always get turned down because of bad credit. And honestly, even if I did get a loan, I wouldn’t know how to use the money correctly. I’ve never learned how to properly run a business, much less save one from going under. That’s just one of the reasons I’m taking classes.”
“It’s tough to salvage a business when the location is so bad,” Luke said. “And this part of town is getting worse. You should consider closing down, maybe starting somewhere else.”
“No way. This bakery was my mother’s dream. I’m not going to let it die.”
“You might not have a choice,” he said. “People can’t even get here without navigating that dead-end detour. The parking is lousy, and there are very few other businesses in the near vicinity to help draw customers. Not to mention that abandoned warehouse across the street looks condemned, and the whole area isn’t safe. You’d better not work here alone.”
Polly ignored that remark.
“Look,” she said. “When I get my culinary certificate, I’ll have more leverage with suppliers. I’m also taking business and tax preparation classes so I can improve the accounting practices. I’m going to get it together if it kills me.”
“How much help do you have?”
“Just Clementine. I had to let most of the employees go, but Clementine refused to be fired. She’s more of a…volunteer than an employee, though.”
Luke studied her for a minute, and Polly could almost see the wheels and gears turning and clicking in his strategy-sharp brain.
“I can help you fix this,” he said.
“The bakery?”
He nodded. “The location is a hurdle, but I can help you with supply costs, P&L, branding, marketing. You need to streamline your products, fix your pricing and volume estimates, and get your business plan under control.”
Polly Lockhart was no fool. It was a massively huge thing to have the CEO of Sugar Rush offering to help her. This was a man who commanded hundreds of thousands of dollars for his consulting and lecture services, the man who had single-handedly transformed his family business into an internationally expanding conglomerate.
And while it was true that Polly’s first instinct about him had centered on his sexual expertise, she could learn more about business in one hour with Luke Stone than she could in a full year of community college business courses.
But…
“I…I can’t ask you to help me,” she said. “I certainly couldn’t afford to pay you for your consulting services.”
“I don’t want compensation,” he replied. “I’m offering pro bono.”
“But I have nothing to give you in return.”
Silence descended between them. Their eyes met. A current of electricity sizzled in the air before Polly broke her gaze from his.
“Well, let’s not go there,” she muttered. “My mother firmly believed people should live however they choose, but she would come back to haunt me if she thought for one second that my payment to you involved…er, romance.”
Luke shook his head, his mouth compressing. “This isn’t that kind of exchange. You know that. So do I. I’m offering to help you because I like you, you need a lot of help, and I know what I’m doing.”
Though Polly warmed at the phrase “I like you,” she still didn’t want to feel like she had nothing to give him in return.
“Luke,” she said gently. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the offer, but honestly, it would just feel weird. The fact is you’re offering me a service for free that would normally cost a fortune, and neither one of us can pretend that doesn’t have something to do with the fact that you kissed me.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you kissed me,” he replied, his tone faintly irritated. “Maybe you have me under some sort of pagan witch’s spell.”
Polly couldn’t help grinning at the thought of Luke Stone being under anyone’s control but his own. With his sterile house, obsessively ordered refrigerator and cabinets, and three Mont Blanc pens lined up to the millimeter, he was a man ruled by order and control.
He paced to the windows and back. The line of his shoulders was tense, his spine straight as metal.
“How do you have fun?” she asked.
A deep crease formed in his brow. “Fun?”
“I mean, besides shoot pool every now and then,” Polly said. “I’m not talking about sexual fun either. What do you do that makes you happy?”
“I travel.” Luke shrugged. “Work out.”
“What about dating?”
“I don’t date. There are certain women I take to social events, but they aren’t dates.”
“What are they then?”
“Women I take to social events.”
“Do you have fun?” Polly asked.
He was silent for a moment. “Not really,” he finally said.
“Why don’t you think of the women as dates?”
“Because I don’t want to lead them on. I’ll never marry any one of them, and as my aunt Julia will tell you in her pit viper way, some women of a certain age are out to land a rich bachelor. So I have agreements with those women that our relationships have parameters and deadlines.”
“Parameters and deadlines,” Polly repeated dryly, even as an odd stab of sorrow hit her. “How fun.”
Faint irritation sparked in his golden-brown eyes. “Why are you asking me all this anyway?”
Find your happiness.
She had made progress with her quest recently, but finding an intangible emotion wasn’t nearly as easy as finding a missing sock.
And yet it also meant looking in new places. That was just one of the things she’d learned at Twelve Oaks. Though her family had left the commune when Polly was nine, she still believed in its basic principles of helping others, working hard, and giving back.
But until this moment, she’d lost sight of the other values imparted by the commune life. And standing there looking at CEO Stone with his stiff shoulders and perfectly knotted tie, imagining him at a gala dinner with a beautiful woman at his side, remembering the wistfulness in his voice when he talked about his love for Swirl Pops…
“My mother used to tell me it was important to find your happiness,” she explained.
“Okay.”
“When was the last time you napped in a hammock under the trees?”
Luke blinked. “Uh…never?”
“Played a board game?”
“I used to play games with my brothers. I think.”
“Listened to music? Juggled? Painted a picture?”
“I don’t have time for that kind of thing.”
“Neither do I. And I think that’s the problem. Luke, thank you so much for your offer. I would love to have your help getting Wild Child back on track.”
Bafflement appeared in his expression. “So you accept?”
“Yes. But in exchange, I’d like to take you out on a few dates,” she said, then added, “Fun dates.”
Luke scratched his head. “Okay.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Why do you want us to go on dates?”
“Because I like you too,” Polly said. “And because maybe the best way to find happiness is to look for it with someone you like.”
Chapter 11
As Luke drove back to
the Sugar Rush offices, he believed his head was spinning. That never happened to him. He always thought with clarity and logic.
But ever since Polly Lockhart had crashed into his life, he’d been…off-balance. Unable to stop himself from kissing her, then getting possessive about her and asking—okay, ordering—her out on a date. Then he had some thorn in his side about not wanting her to leave his house, and then they’d kissed, and then he’d slept until nine-thirty-four…
And now he was offering her pro bono consulting services and wondering how she’d managed to get under his skin so fast that his head was spinning.
Not good. Bad, in fact. Really bad.
But he couldn’t just let her bakery go under when he, of all people in the world, knew how to fix it. Polly was standing in quicksand, and he had the rope to haul her out. He couldn’t walk away from her now. He wouldn’t.
He turned off the highway to the Sugar Rush campus. After parking in his assigned spot, he stalked into the building, nodded a curt greeting at the receptionist, and took the mirrored elevator up to his seventh-floor office.
“Mr. Stone, you have some papers to sign.” Kate rose from her chair as he approached. “I left them on your desk.”
“Thank you, Kate.” He handed her the box of éclairs and doughnuts Polly had packed up for him. “Get someone to take these around to the others.”
“Yes, sir.” She took the box and peered inside with a murmur of delight. “Also, there’s a call from Miss Peterson asking if you were still planning on attending her yacht party tomorrow night. It’s leaving from Pier 40 at nine.”
Luke groaned. There was only one place he intended to be tomorrow night, and it was not on Miss Peterson’s yacht.
“I’ll tell her you have an unexpected work meeting,” Kate said quickly.
Kate was the best hire he’d made in the past two years. After his former assistant retired, he’d intended to hire someone with years of experience. At twenty-six, Kate had had almost no experience, but she’d so impressed Luke during her interview that he’d hired her on the spot.
That time, his instincts had proven correct. He thanked Kate again and went into his office, forcing his brain to the multiple tasks at hand. He first did a crime report check for the neighborhood where Wild Child was located.
