Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103)

by Elle Brownlee

  He looked back at Carla and felt a rising blush he couldn’t suppress. “What?”

  “What? I didn’t say anything.” Carla smiled, all butter-wouldn’t-melt. She pressed her palms on the notebook. “Okay, I am smug about this and my smuggery is earned and legit. Thank goodness for me. You two would have been out at sea once Kit started asking you more personal questions. Why didn’t this occur to either of you?”

  “Details, details. We’re managing. We’d have managed.” Wiley’s deflection didn’t blunt Carla’s sharp eyebrow raise. He just knew being with Holt had seemed natural and easy from the start and so he hadn’t worried about the rest. Which was rational enough.

  “Sure.” Carla closed the notebook and reached into the bakery case for some brownies. “So, what’s tomorrow? And where are you going next?”

  “Tomorrow we have the day off filming. And a dance lesson.” Wiley frowned. “Our intimacy assignment, a thing you and your book there should know all about.”

  “That we do! I think it was a bit over-the-top of Kit when it could have been like, grooms’ table center doily macramé, but I have watched clips from your first lesson. You guys are super gonna have to cram for this final.” Her grin faded as Wiley picked at a brownie without eating it. “Hey. You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Wiley lied. He broke off a hunk of brownie and ate it as proof. “I just lose sight of how big all this actually is and then I really start thinking about it and it’s a lot.”

  “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with my notebook of doom.”

  “No, I appreciate it. It’s good. I’d way rather be overwhelmed over breakfast-for-dinner sandwiches in an empty bakery with brownies to soothe me than on camera.”

  “Whew, good. But for real, put your heads together and figure this out.” Carla pushed her list at Wiley with purpose.

  Wiley tried not to panic as he scanned her pages of notes and the list of things to consider. He’d have to have known Holt his entire life to answer. Not this whatever they were doing instead.

  “Wiley? Overwhelmed looks like it’s about to do a hostile takeover here.”

  He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly.

  Carla gripped Wiley’s shoulders. “I got you. We can do this.”

  Wiley made a determined face. “We so can. We are.”

  “Yes.” She thumped his arms and then fell back onto her heels. “You still seem a little freaked, though.”

  He was. Because he realized he wanted to know Holt’s favorite color and scent and scented candle, and candles or twinkling lights for a centerpiece. He even had some inklings and was desperate to discover if his instincts were correct.

  That and thinking about spending the entire day with Holt tomorrow, only the two of them working out their cover story—lies but very personal truths—was suddenly too intense.

  “Can we come help you tomorrow? For part of the day at least? I don’t know what we have planned other than this now, thanks to you, but all day doing this is too much.”

  The bell on the front door tinkled, and Carla looked past Wiley. “So, tea to go?” she called to Holt.

  “That would be amazing.” Holt pocketed his phone as he crossed to the counter. He leaned in to grab a brownie and stayed casually pressed along Wiley’s side. “All quiet on the front.”

  “Okay. Good.” Wiley didn’t know what Holt might report otherwise and what that would require of them.

  “I made them both how Wiley prefers. Milk, no sugar.” Carla handed one to Holt. “He can have yours if that’s not to your liking.”

  Holt had a sip and his low moan kinda sorta curled Wiley’s toes.

  “No, that’s perfect.”

  “Hah, nice. Something in common you didn’t have to preplan. And you can have more tomorrow morning, as much as you want. Since you have the day off, I’m nabbing you to help—we’ve had a run on everything since your episode started filming, and I could use some extra hands for a few hours.” Carla handed Wiley the other to-go cup and winked. “Come around five.”

  “I think we can manage that. Yeah?” Wiley turned to Holt.

  “Yeah. So long as I’m not expected to make anything. I’m a terrible cook.”

  Carla nodded solemnly and walked them to the front door. “Oh, there’ll be plenty. Now, have fun dancing and then get some rest. See you bright and early.”

  “Sounds ominous, but can do. Thanks for dinner and brownies and this.” Holt raised his cup.

  Wiley kissed her cheek on the way out and whispered, “Thank you.”

  She gave him a fierce look. “Stay focused. You can do this.” Then she pushed him out and locked the door.

  “Have you given any thought about the trip you want to take? Production can book whenever—we won’t make you wait three months to save a little on airfare.”

  “I have not. I probably should, but other things have managed to dominate my attention.”

  “Imagine that,” Holt teased. He glanced around. “Maybe somewhere tropical. Or a history-rich city in Europe. Or a boat tour of Japan. Plenty of options.”

  Wiley bit back the impulse to ask where Holt would go. This was his trip to take, his reward. Holt already had plans to go—away from the show.

  As they walked the few blocks to the studio, Wiley took in the groupings of benches, baskets of flowers hanging from the lampposts, the cozy glow of the storefronts Odalia had fought to rejuvenate. Cinnamon hung in the air from whatever Carla was baking, mingling with smoke and spices from the Indian restaurant on the corner. Their feet scraped pleasantly on the damp aggregate sidewalk, and the courthouse clock at the end of the block showed almost nine, as behind them church bells rang out the time, low and mellow.

  It was nice. Contentedly nice. Familiar but not humdrum.

  Wiley had noticed all those elements before, of course. But he’d never thought about them while walking next to Holt with reminders he’d wanted to flee, and wondering where that needful escape should lead after Holt was gone from his life, chasing around in his head.

  They climbed the stairs to the studio to find Sarah, light-footed and elegant, sweeping around the room to their song.

  “We should just let her dance for us,” Holt murmured as they set down their things and went to stand where she gestured them. “Hello, Miss Sarah.”

  “Gentlemen, good evening. Since it’s late I’d like to work for only an hour on some fundamentals. Yesterday was instructive for me about your instincts and movement dynamics.” Sarah positioned them with a firm, efficient touch. “I’m no essentialist, so this has nothing to do with the height difference, but it’s clear Holt should lead. Wiley, you make a perfect follow. If you would, take hold of each other in a dance frame that feels natural.”

  She pushed at their shoulders and spines and adjusted their stance.

  “And Wiley, don’t take that as a backhanded compliment—leading is easy. A perfect follow? Few and far between.” Her tone was as crisp as her command of them and the boards. She started the song again and sent Holt into motion with a grip on his upper arm. “Get the sense of this in your bodies. The posture, the lift in your carriage, staying balanced on the balls of your feet. Good.”

  Wiley wasn’t sure what dance they hobbled through. She told them to step, quick quick, slow slow, quick quick, slow slow. It wasn’t a waltz and obviously no tango, but he didn’t know the difference from there.

  “Tell me, Miss Sarah, what are we learning?” Holt watched their feet as they crossed the floor.

  “Ah, up here, please.” Sarah tipped Holt’s chin so he looked up again. “This is a simple sway step. More or less a twostep and quite slow to match your music. After you get the step, we’ll add some flourishes and turns.”

  Wiley grimaced.

  “At the corners of your dance space, dearest. I had Kit measure the reception area and marked that off here so you learn within safe boundaries.” Laughter played around Sarah’s mouth. “I’m not going to make Holt spin you about or attempt any lif
ts. My aim is to have you perform with effortless confidence, more than anything else. So together we’ll learn a dance that doesn’t outmatch your skills in the time we have to master it.”

  “Thank goodness for that. Anything more and I would for sure launch him into the woods or something.” Holt’s hold on Wiley tightened.

  “It’s what any skilled dance teacher should do—for her students and herself. Now, stay loose, please. There we go.” Sarah continued to call in cadence for them to step, quick quick, slow slow.

  They repeated that from one end of the studio to the other until Sarah’s voice became a meaningless drone and Wiley’s movements automatic.

  “Yes! That’s it. You’re both doing better than I could have hoped.” Sarah brought them to a halt and left them to stand at a curved strip of tape on the floor. “Let’s try a direction change. Holt, bring Wiley here and let this guide you to your left.”

  Holt looked down and lifted a foot.

  “Up please, thank you. There you are. Keep going.”

  Holt huffed in his throat and looked up.

  Wiley couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “Shush, perfect follow.” Holt set his shoulders and traveled toward Sarah.

  Wiley snickered when Holt’s gaze fell to watch the ground as they passed the curving tape.

  They got stuck at the far end, not quite managing to clear their feet and the twist of their hips to continue smoothly around the room. But it wasn’t completely horrible. Three steps from the line and they stalled out.

  “That simply gives us something to work on.” Sarah clapped twice and returned to their side. “Overall, a promising start.”

  “How carefully positive, thank you.” Holt grinned wryly.

  Midway through another loop of their song, Sarah’s phone chimed. “Ah, my alarm.” She retrieved it from the sound system on the back wall of shelves, her flowy layers billowing like a regal cloud as she moved.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Wiley whispered.

  “Hm? About what?”

  “She should just dance for us instead.”

  “I don’t know.” Holt shifted his hold from Wiley’s hip to the small of Wiley’s back. “She said we have a promising start. Things to work on. That seems worth pursuing.”

  Wiley went still, and his gaze locked with Holt’s.

  Holt curled their hands to his chest and kept Wiley close, watching Wiley as he led them through several quick quick, slow slow steps.

  Billie’s end notes drifted to silence, and they drifted to a stop.

  “Perhaps I should rethink my choreography.” Sarah laughed. “Class is over. Thank you, gentlemen, for your hard work. I’d like for you to practice tomorrow and then see you again at nine. We’ll deal with those turns.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wiley answered automatically.

  Holt let go and stepped back. A quick chill chased over Wiley—Holt put out heat like a furnace.

  “Would you indulge us with some selfies and get a short video of us dancing?” Holt got his phone out. “I promised Kit I’d document some teasers.”

  “Certainly.” Sarah patted her hair and struck a pose between them.

  Holt snapped several pictures and turned the phone over to Sarah to get some of them in their dance frame. She set the music back up and then began a soft count. Holt nodded, mouthing along as he got the rhythm, and managed several steps for her to record. Wiley was awkward, too aware of the camera, and he couldn’t ignore the nagging burden and worries of his agreement, the show, learning a dance to never perform.

  “Relax, Coy.” Holt smiled and spun them. “You’re perfect, remember.”

  Wiley had to brace a hand on Holt’s shoulder, but it did make him laugh as Holt spun them once more.

  “All right, I’ve turned it off.” Sarah brought Holt’s phone over. “You’re free to go. Remember your homework, including what I always say, getting some rest.”

  “Yes, of course, Miss Sarah. Thank you again for your time.” Holt held his arm out to Wiley. “Shall we?”

  Wiley scoffed but took it. Not for long. The doorway and stairs were too narrow for them to both fit.

  Holt took possession of his arm once they were back outside. “Can I walk you home?”

  “How gallant. Ballroom clearly does something for you. Even if you aren’t perfect like me quite yet.”

  “How ungallant.” Holt hummed their song as they walked along. Subtle laughter threaded his deep, off-key notes.

  At the corner, Wiley stopped. “The Fernleaf and my house are in opposite directions from here. And in too few hours, Carla will be bossing us around.”

  “You state a compelling case.” Holt turned in and slid his hands to hold Wiley’s wrists. “Then it’s good night.”

  Wiley couldn’t deny Carla’s earlier assessment of Holt being handsome, a total hunk. The gossamer lamplight showcasing his strong profile and glow from the spring fog only enhanced that.

  Holt came forward and seemed about to do or say something, but after a beat he started walking backward. He wagged a finger. “Get some rest.”

  “Since I’m about to pass out, I’ll have little say in the matter.”

  “Hah, same. See you tomorrow.” Holt turned to skip lightly over the curb and dart across the street.

  Wiley stood watching until he disappeared.

  His walk home was short and lonely, and for the second night, he went through the motions of quick chores, mail, shower, and fell exhausted into bed.

  But not exhausted enough to avoid staring at the ceiling, thinking far too much about Holt.

  Chapter Four

  FIVE arrived, too early and unwanted, but Wiley had given up on sleep and headed for the bakery at four thirty. He was bleary-eyed and yawning, so Carla shoved a vat of coffee into his hands, sat him in the comfy wingback chair in the corner of the kitchen, and told him to warm up a little so he didn’t ruin anything.

  “What else are you doing with your day?”

  Wiley blinked into his coffee and shrugged. “Go for a long walk? Laundry? Put the village away? Wide-open possibilities here.”

  Carla planted a floury hand on her hip. “Did a village get misplaced?”

  “Grandma’s village—you know, it sits on the shelves over the windows at home. We’re using houses as reception centerpieces. It’s a whole—” He frowned at her smile. “You watched the stream. You know what I’m talking about. Stop testing me so early in the morning.”

  “That seems like a very not-Kit decision.”

  “It is because it wasn’t.” Wiley chuckled. “I unwittingly took the wrong cue and went with the wrong choice filming the décor segment. But—ask me if I mind dot com.”

  “Ooh, a bit of rebellion. I approve.” Carla grabbed Wiley’s apron from its peg and tossed it toward him. “You’re talking in multisyllables and full sentences. Time to start the caramel cranapple scones.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Wiley stretched as he stood and downed the rest of his coffee. He wrapped into the apron and brought the ties around front, making a tight knot low at his waist.

  A cool draft swept behind him as he soaped up and scrubbed his hands.

  “I always feel so official and ready to tackle anything once I have this thing on. Totally dorky but totally true.”

  “You look official and ready to tackle anything. Do I get one?”

  Wiley almost twisted his head off turning to see Holt standing in the open back door. He fought a spontaneous huge grin and also started yawning again, so he figured he wound up looking like an angry gargoyle.

  “Good morning. Am I late?” Holt accepted the mug of coffee Carla handed him. “Manna from heaven, thank you.”

  “Have as much as you want—that and the tea I promised yesterday. And nope. Wiley’s early, and five is well after I get started every day. No big.”

  “Glad to hear it. The endless caffeinated beverages part especially. I’ve never worked in a bakery, so I’d hate for my first day to be a disaster.”r />
  “Morning,” Wiley said thickly after yawning again. He rummaged in a box of linens on one of the wire shelving racks and dug out an enormous blue-ticked apron. Some kitchen supply company had sent it as promotional swag after they’d opened, and he and Carla had laughed at its hugeness and took a picture with them both in it. It was decided the apron was faulty and sent to them to get rid of it as much to sell them on the company’s silicone baking trays and trivets.

  That picture was still on the friends-and-family wall that ran from the bakery’s front door to the start of the glass cases. Which reminded him he hadn’t updated the pictures in a while, and since Carla had started baking pet treats and the clientele included some very good dogs, he really should.

  “Here, this might fit.” Wiley tossed Holt the apron.

  Holt caught it with one hand and slithered from his pullover with the other. The apron fit—snugly across the chest and not a lot of overlap from tying it at the front like Wiley had—and he looked stupidly attractive in his navy blue V-neck, the apron, and fawn cargo pants.

  Wiley grumped, washed his hands again, and started assembling bowls and ingredients for the scones.

  “Well.” Holt thrust both arms out and spread his hands. “Put me to use.”

  The near-pornographic cascade of ideas and imagery that provoked in Wiley made him have to actually stop mid-egg-crack and catch his breath.

  “How do you feel about hauling some huge sacks of flour and other ingredients around? I’ve outgrown the pantry but haven’t done much about it.”

  Holt chuckled in anticipation. “Lead the way.”

  Wiley shuddered from the nape of his neck down. He did not turn from the counter to watch Holt heft and lift and reorganize, work they’d put off doing for months because everything was too cumbersome to deal with.

  He’d finished the scones and had rolls going when Carla sidled up to Wiley.

  “Bakery brawn, I’m swooning.”

  She refilled his coffee so he didn’t accidentally douse her with nonstick spray.

  “Scones and rolls already. You’ve been busy.” Carla nudged Wiley. “Come on, come see how amazing it looks.”