by Emery Cross
The desserts took up the entire table. We weren't being subtle. Nobody but a competitor or a critic would sample such an array. We tasted our way through the cakes and pies and oddities and discussed the presentation, ingredients, and preparation.
I was starting to feel like he valued my opinion. We both agreed that the experimental stuff would never work for his restaurant.
Jon pulled a plate with a slab of chocolate cake toward him. He forked up a bite and held it out for me to taste. This was new, we'd been picking away at the sweets with our own forks. The thought of being fed by him made me uncomfortable.
Just take a bite already, it's on his fork not his fingers.
I ate the cake off the fork. His gaze fastened onto my mouth as I chewed. No biggie, I could do this. I would just fend off his advances with finesse.
Then he reached over and rubbed his thumb over my bottom lip to remove a crumb.
My heart thumped as I scooted away from him on the leather seat. So much for finessing the situation.
His eyes turned beady. "What the fuck did you think, babe? That I would give that coveted spot to a donut fryer in a rundown bakery without expecting a little gratitude."
Despite my best effort to swallow his insult, tears started trickling down my face.
"Are you kidding with this shit? You can't be this naive."
I scooted the rest of the way until I was out of the booth.
"Fuck, wait. At least let me take you home."
I leaned over and grabbed my purse from the seat. "I'll get a ride."
"Who are you going to call? Your redneck friend?" He shouted his questions at my back as I made a beeline for the restroom.
When I arrived home in an Uber, Rowley pushed open the screen door and walked down the steps.
"What the hell happened?"
"I decided I didn't want the job."
"Bullshit."
"Fine," I said with a sigh. "He was a creep just like you suspected. Happy now?"
"What's the name of the asshole's restaurant?"
"Why so you can beat him up?"
"I only want to talk to him," he said, his voice dangerously calm.
Like hell, he just wanted to talk to him. It seemed prudent not to mention that the man had taken liberties by touching my mouth. "Nothing happened. He only told me what he expected of me."
The muscle in his jaw flexed. "Expected of you?"
"Not like specifics, for heaven's sake. Just that I'd owe him since I had no real qualifications to be a pastry chef at his fine establishment." I sniffled loudly and he reached out and pulled me into his arms.
I felt like I'd been enveloped in hard heat. It was ecstasy just breathing in his delicious masculine scent.
"I wanted that job so badly," I said against his chest. Though I was in heaven having him hold me and stroke my hair, I couldn't help being annoyed with him. I wondered if his suspicious attitude had set the tone for the evening. Maybe Jon wouldn't have dared what he had if Rowley hadn't basically accused him of it from the start.
"He called you a redneck," I said trying to inflict a little pain.
I felt the deep rumble of his chuckle beneath my cheek. "Well, if the label fits."
He was holding me so tightly, surely he could feel my heart hammering in my chest. Everything was speeding up, my blood was running hot and fast, my pulse was racing a mile a minute. Being this close to him was dangerous to my entire system. I wriggled out of his hold.
"I have to get up early tomorrow and make cinnamon rolls."
I sensed his gaze on me. The only sound on this quiet evening was my plain-Jane heels tapping on the driveway as I hurried to the safety of my cottage.
CHAPTER 3
HARPER
THE SMELL OF BURNING pastry filled the air. I put on an oven mitt and pulled the tray of Danishes out of the oven. They'd gone way past the golden brown stage.
I was having a hard time concentrating. I was still trying to shake off my disappointment at losing the restaurant job.
Someone was tapping the bell like their life depended on a cupcake. Clearly the counter was unmanned again. Damn Tracey and her frequent smoking breaks. I removed my apron and hair net. It had better not be Jon. I never wanted to see that jerk again.
I groaned inwardly as I stepped out of the backroom. There were the two Cherries, as they were called in high school, from Kat Ainsworth's clique, checking out the chalkboard menu on the side wall.
Sheri looked exactly the same as she had in high school, down to the highlights in her dark blonde shag and the thinly plucked eyebrows. And Cherise, though she'd changed her hairstyle, was still tanning like a fiend. Both of them were wearing stylish workout clothes, but they clearly hadn't done any sweating yet, their makeup was still perfectly set.
I'd never seen them here before. Now, just a few days after moving into Rowley's back house, they had a hankering for bakery goods.
Sheri's eyes flicked in my direction and narrowed. She took a thorough measure of me, and then her eyes popped open wide as she feigned surprise. "Oh my God, it's Harper McCray."
She turned to her friend. "You remember Harper don't you, Cherise? She used to tag after her brother and Rowley. They couldn't shake her," she said with a nasty chuckle. Did mean girls ever grow out of this attitude, ever self-reflect?
"I remember her," Cherise said, spearing me with a hard look.
"What can I get for you?"
"I thought you'd gone off to college," Sheri said.
I'd never actually gone anywhere. It was my brother who had wanderlust. I'd only attended the local community college, but why bother explaining that to these two. "I dropped out."
"Guess that's obvious," she said, and looked around the bakery with obvious disdain. "How's your brother?"
"He's fine." I tapped my fingers impatiently on the glass countertop.
"I heard you got a divorce. You know it isn't fair to expect Rowley to rescue you...again. I mean you aren't a kid anymore." They were circling the wagons for Kat. Did they really think I was a threat? That I could poach Rowley from Kat? If they only knew that he thought of me as a little sister.
"I've got cupcakes in the oven," I lied. "Ring the bell when you decide." As I stepped back through the curtain, I could hear them snarking about how fattening the desserts were and how they wouldn't touch them. The chime sounded as they left the shop.
The Cherries meanness hadn't shocked me, but knowing Rowley had spoken about me had. Good thing I hadn't unpacked. It would take me ten minutes tops to get the hell out of his house.
Working my butt off doing double-duty since Stuart hadn’t bothered returning from lunch, did nothing to lessen my anger.
I arrived home to find Rowley’s truck parked in front of the garage. I was instantly nervous, but I decided I wasn’t going to let his presence stop me. I'd leave in broad daylight.
I didn't even change out of my work clothes. I just started hauling boxes to my car.
Rowley came out of his screen door with a bang.
He snatched out the two boxes I'd managed to get in the trunk, and started walking them back to the house.
I followed on his heels. "I've been told I'm taking advantage of you."
He directed a glance at my unassembled drum kit in the corner then turned one of the boxes upside down, emptying all my underwear onto the couch. "Who the fuck said that?"
"That's not important." I had no intention of getting into the middle of whatever was happening between him and Kat. "What matters is that you complained to someone about me."
He placed the empty box on its side and stomped on it, collapsing it and bursting out the bottom. "Does that even sound like something I'd do?"
“No. It doesn’t,” I had to admit. But how did Kat's entourage already know about my living situation? Was Kat stalking his house?
Rowley overturned the next box, spilling the contents out on the couch as well, before busting up the box.
He was already grabbing one of t
he boxes from the stack in the corner of the room. I did not want my shampoos and body oils thrown on top of my clothes and possibly staining them. "Okay. I've got the message. I won't leave."
His hazel eyes fixed on me for a long moment then he made a point of collecting the smashed boxes.
"Seriously? You've nearly turned them into pulp. I couldn't possibly reconstruct them again."
"Babe, I wouldn't put it past you." He tilted his head to the stack of unpacked boxes. "And put that stuff away."
AFTER A STRING OF LATE night shifts frying up donuts for the morning rush, I needed a break. Jon, Mr. Sunshades himself, hadn't really been off the mark when he'd described me as a donut fryer.
On my way home from work, I stopped off to buy a folding chaise lounge and some sparkling water. I felt like I needed sun more than sleep today.
I popped the bottled water into the fridge, put on a bikini, grabbed up my laptop and stepped out into the miniature, enclosed backyard that belonged to the guesthouse.
I positioned myself to reduce the glare on the screen, clicked on my favorite streaming radio station, then put on my headphones. I began searching for culinary schools that offered programs in baking and pastry arts.
The luxurious warmth of the sun did not make it easy to concentrate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the gate swinging open. I removed my headphones as Rowley stepped into the yard.
"I'm on shift for twenty four hours. Wanted to make sure you were good. No more tantrums." He was so clearly struggling to keep his eyes fastened to my face.
"It was actually more of a flounce than a tantrum," I said. My phone chimed atop the little metal table.
"Whatever it was, don't do it again." The phone chiming paused for only a second before starting up again. I glanced over. Unsurprisingly, it was Finn. He thought he could pressure me into answering the phone by ringing me in quick succession.
Clearly annoyed, Rowley shot a glare at the phone rattling the rickety metal table, before swinging his gaze back to my face; a man determined not to see anything below my neck.
I couldn't help myself. I was sitting cross legged on the lounge, the computer on my lap. I set the laptop down on the grass beside me and unfolded my legs then stretched out fully on the lounge, stacking my hands behind my head. His eyes flicked away from me, he pretended to be interested in something in the yard, but his body was rigid, his shoulders held in a stiff, square line.
I might be off limits, the sister he never had, but dammit if I didn't have some power over him. And having power over Rowley Ford was a heady experience.
His gaze flicked back to my face.
I shifted on the lounge, crossing my legs at the ankle.
He lost the struggle, his gaze dropped to my breasts, and then proceeded slowly down the entire length of my body to my tippy-toes. His shoulders heaved in a deep breath and he dragged his hand through his hair.
"Admit it, you thought I'd stay a teeny-bopper forever."
He pulled his gaze from my body and refocused on my face. "Hell, of course I knew you'd grow up. Just not into a sexpot."
My cheeks flamed, but I couldn't help laughing. "I can't believe you just said that. Who uses that word nowadays?"
He smiled wryly. "How about bombshell, that work better for you?"
"Much better," I said with a smirk.
Suddenly, I felt awkward about being so brazen. Wrapping the towel around myself would be tantamount to blaming him, when I'd clearly asked for the attention. Instead, I reached down and picked up the laptop and set it back on my lap. It didn't have the coverage of a towel, but it provided a bit of a barrier.
"I'm thinking of attending a culinary school."
"Find something in driving distance."
God almighty, he was controlling.
"Actually, there is one fairly close, with a great reputation, but it's way too pricey."
"I'll cover the tuition, books...all of it."
I blinked up from the computer screen. "I can't accept that."
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet then thrust his credit card toward me. "I insist on it and all I ask in return is that you keep that pretty mouth of yours buttoned up tight. No arguments and no thanks."
When I didn't take the card he set it on the little metal table, tucking it beneath my phone which was ringing again.
"Someone is sure desperate to talk to you." His gaze narrowed. "Your ex giving you trouble?"
I took a moment to answer. "Not really." But I'd hesitated too long. I could see it in the way his face grew taut, his lips thinned.
Now I had to explain my hesitation or he would take action because Rowley didn't just let problems fester he felt compelled to solve them.
"He's having a hard time letting go is all," I said.
"He signed the papers," he nearly growled.
Why was he getting so worked up about it?
"Actually he refused. It was a contested divorce."
"Regardless, it's over."
I shrugged. "I can't help but feel guilty. I should never have acted so impulsively."
"Pity the poor bastard all you want, but don't compound your mistake by letting him think he still has a chance."
He picked up the phone. "You need me to remind him that you two are divorced?"
I plunked the laptop onto the grass then leapt off the lounge and lunged for the phone. I had to actually tug it out of his hand. "Jeez, you're like a big brother on steroids. Let me handle this my own way."
He reached over and pinched my chin and lifted it so that I was forced to look up into his eyes. "Sweetheart, don't fuck around with this. You aren't doing him any favors."
He dropped his hand suddenly and jammed it into his pocket like he regretted touching me. "Use my card. Get yourself enrolled."
"I'm a bad bet, Rowley, and you know it. It's one thing if I waste my own money, but throwing yours away..." I shook my head and swallowed back the lump in my throat. "I never stick with anything. Community college, every job I've ever had, my marriage."
I paused and then pointed at him. "Now you're supposed to tell me I'm too hard on myself."
He gave a wry lift of his eyebrow. He wasn't about to tell me that, because he was honest to a fault. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and ran the back of his curled fingers along my cheek. "Do it for me. Sign up today."
CHAPTER 4
HARPER
STUART HAD ME ON DONUT duty again. I decided I needed to find a different job.
On my day off, despite being sleep-deprived, I hit a local club with a couple of my bandmates. Because all baking and no playing makes for a very dull girl.
But instead of dancing, we spent most of the night drinking our favorite poisons and sharing war stories about our past relationships. I really had only my short, failed marriage to talk about.
The Moscow mules hit me on the way home. I stepped out of the Uber and walked unsteadily up the driveway as I dug through my purse for the keys. Frustrated, I dumped the purse out on the guesthouse's porch and searched through the scattered items. Wow, I had a lot of lip glosses and lip balms...and receipts. No keys though.
I applied some lip gloss before shoving the stuff back into my purse. I smoothed my hair as I strode toward Rowley's back door. I knocked and waited. I knocked harder and Rowley finally answered wearing only a pair of jeans, and they weren't even buttoned all the way. I could see the thin line of hair bisecting his lower abdomen. I wondered if I'd subconsciously forgotten my keys just for an excuse to get an eyeful of him.
He had definitely bulked up since high school. His traps were impressive, his biceps bulged, and his triceps were beefy. I found myself mesmerized by the black ink tattoos I'd never seen before. Though the designs were intricate I was pretty sure, if I was very careful, I could trace every major line with the tip of my tongue.
"Harper?"
His gruff tone jolted my mind back into gear. I took a quick step backward and wobb
led on my heels. "I'm sorry to wake you."
He scrubbed his hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "Are you drunk?"
I held up my hand, my finger and thumb slightly apart. "I'm a smidge tipsy is all." I was talking too loud. I attempted to modulate my voice as I continued. "I didn't drive and I locked my keys in the house. You wouldn't happen to have a second set?"
"You can't lock the deadbolt without the keys," he said.
"True. I just turned the thingy on the knob."
He gave me an admonishing shake of his head and then left me standing at the door. I could hear him yanking out drawers in the kitchen and rummaging around.
He returned with an even grumpier look on his face and a keychain in his hand. I reached out for it, but he didn't give it to me.
"Did you enroll?"
"Not yet."
"Stubborn wench," he muttered under his breath. "We're going to do it now."
I congratulated myself for making it up the drive fairly smoothly only to trip over the threshold once he'd opened the door. He caught me before I fell.
"Nice reflexes," I said with a giggle.
He was not amused.
"Okay, maybe I'm a bit more than a smidge tipsy."
He flipped on the lights, and headed toward the coffee table where my laptop sat. He dropped heavily onto the couch and then smacked the cushion beside him. "Sit here," he ordered.
I plunked myself down at the far end of the couch.
"How can you see the screen from there?"
Reluctantly, I slipped my purse off my shoulder, shucked off my shoes, and scooted down the couch toward him.
"Now pull up the cooking school site."
I was sitting close enough now to feel the heat of his skin. I imagined Kat was in misery not getting to wake up next to him. But it didn't excuse her stalking him...or me.
I reached out to the touchpad, hyper aware of his nearness. My hair should be standing on end from all the electricity he generated.
He ran his fingers lightly over my arm. "How are you cold? It's eighty out."
"Those are Rowley Ford goosebumps." A little vodka and my mouth just had a mind of its own.