The Recipe for Romance

by Lara Van Hulzen

  Wes blinked and shook his head. Now it was his turn to feel eighteen again. “Dad. No. It’s fine. I wanted to ask if we could talk this afternoon, after Noelle goes home. There’s a new development in the Spellman deal you should know about.”

  “Oh?” Daniel St. Claire’s demeanor went from father to businessman in a blink. “Is there a problem?”

  “You could say that. I’ll give you details later.”

  “Fine. Come find me when you’re available to talk.”

  “Thanks.”

  His father nodded then turned and walked away.

  Wes came back into the kitchen. Music was playing from Noelle’s phone that sat on the counter, someone singing about being high on love. As her hips swayed to the tune, her back to him and unaware he was watching, he stood and drank in the sight of her. He wanted nothing more than a life here in Marietta with her and if he played his cards right, after this last Bake-Off, his chances were high. Sky high.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Noelle looked out the window of the Java Café. She and Franchesca were meeting for breakfast there to talk about what to do when Spellman went through with his plans.

  Holly sat beside her. Noelle had asked her to join them, wanting her sister’s input on the whole situation. Whatever happened affected her as well. And she claimed some responsibility for the whole thing since she’d convinced Noelle to come to Marietta in the first place. Which was absurd, of course. There was no way Holly could have known something like this would happen. But Noelle always appreciated her sister’s input and was grateful for her support.

  “I still can’t figure out why you haven’t jumped into his arms yet and ridden off into the sunset.”

  “As lovely as that is in the movies, Holl, it’s not real life.”

  “Meh. It could be if you’d get your head on straight.” Her sister lifted her coffee mug to her lips and took a sip.

  “My head is fine. I never said I didn’t want things to work out between us, but he may still go back to New York.” She shrugged. The argument was flimsy and she knew it.

  “Nice try. What are you really afraid of? What’s holding you back, Noey?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I want to prove that I’m independent and strong. And Wes likes to run things. Swoop in and save the day.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I mean, you’re the strongest woman I know. Whether Wes wants to swoop in and take care of you shouldn’t ever change that. And if his idea of swooping in and saving the day looks anything like the other night when the man fed you, ran you a bath, and tucked you in, then sign me up for some swooping. That’s downright decadent, right there. And none of it took away your independence. He cares for you. And he would take good care of you. That’s what a strong relationship looks like, in my opinion.”

  “Yeah, but how can I take care of him? The man has everything.”

  “He doesn’t have you. And all evidence points to that being what he wants. Don’t kid yourself, either, sister. You know as well as I do that caring for someone goes beyond finances.”

  Holly stood and took their mugs to get refills. She was right. Caring for someone wasn’t always monetary. She and Holly had taken great care of one another over the past couple years. Holly being the one who encouraged her through rehab with her leg, both of them leaning on one another emotionally over the loss of their parents. Why was she so afraid to go for it with Wes?

  “I can see smoke come out of your ears when you do that.” Franchesca’s voice made her jump. “You were so lost in thought I even scared you. What’s up with that?”

  “She overthinks things,” Holly said as she laid their mugs full of steaming hot coffee on the table and took her seat once more.

  “Boy, ain’t that the truth,” Franchesca agreed with Holly as she sat across from them.

  “Hey now,” Noelle attempted a protest.

  “You know it’s true. Own it.” Holly leaned across the table to grab a small cup of creamer. She poured a little into her coffee then did the same to Noelle’s.

  “Fine.”

  “What are you overthinking this time?” Franchesca asked as she shrugged out of her coat.

  “Why she isn’t at the very minute riding away on a white horse with her Prince Charming instead of staring out the window and chugging coffee with us.”

  “Well, why aren’t you?”

  Facing down her best friend and sister was beginning to feel more like facing a firing squad than friendly faces. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She honest to God had no answer. Why wasn’t she riding off into the sunset with Wes?

  “Okay. Since you’re speechless over this whole thing, I’ll give you a minute while I go get some tea. But think on this while I’m gone: I have something to tell you that will make you sprint to that Bake-Off this afternoon, grab the man, and run before he has a chance to get away.”

  With that, she walked to the counter, her flowing skirt swaying behind her with dramatic effect.

  “Does she do that all the time?” Holly asked.

  “What? The flare of the skirt or dropping a potential info bomb then going for tea while I wait on pins and needles to find out what she knows?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Yes. She does both all the time. It’s a gift, of sorts.”

  Franchesca returned, settled into her seat again, and looked at them. “What?”

  “What do you mean, what? When you left you said you had info that would make Noelle go running into Wes’s arms.”

  “Oh! Right. That.” She waved one hand while the other held her tea, which she sipped, time not a factor for her, even though Noelle fought to keep her heart rate at a steady pace, as well as not throttle her so-called best friend.

  “Well, my mom is part of this weekly bridge club. Says it helps keep her mind sharp. And I think it really does. I’ve thought of taking up the game myself…”

  “Focus, Franchesca.”

  “Right. Well, at her game yesterday, one of the ladies overheard her husband talking—he’s part of the Chamber of Commerce for Marietta—and he said that the deal with Spellman is off.”

  Noelle’s battle to keep her heart rate steady failed. “What? Why?”

  “I guess Daniel St. Claire got wind of what I told you, that Spellman had big plans to level buildings. He talked the director into a different location somewhere else and bought the buildings himself.”

  “Why would he do that?” Noelle was grateful Holly asked the question since she couldn’t find the way to form a full sentence.

  “My mom’s friend’s husband said that Daniel didn’t like Spellman doing something negative for Marietta. He wants this to be his home and to take care of it. Owning our building, as well as the others, means he can be a part of what businesses go in and which ones get to stay.” Her eyes twinkled over her mug as she took another sip of tea. “Looks like our new landlord is none other than the St. Claires.”

  Noelle took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Wes had obviously swooped in and saved the day. But like Holly had said, instead of feeling as if she’d lose her independence, she felt…loved. Cared for. Cared about.

  “Don’t overthink. Just go.” Holly hugged her.

  “I’m not. But I’ve got an idea. I need you to be in on it though, Franchesca. Are you willing to give all the money we made at the performance to charity?”

  “Anything, if it helps you have your happy ending.”

  *

  Glitter was the main word that came to mind as Wes observed the Graff Hotel. The final Bake-Off had been set up in the restored, historic hotel as an afternoon tea. With rich paneled wood, marble, and grand chandeliers, the place could rival any major New York hotel in style and class. Troy Sheenan, a tech tycoon from San Francisco, had purchased the hotel and paid for the renovation. It was obvious he spared no expense. Wes was impressed.

  Well, he’d have time to be impressed if he weren’t so damned worked up. He’d learned mor
e about ingredients with the Pumpkin Buttermilk Cake Noelle had chosen than any other recipe. In all his life, he could never have imagined how much went into the making of one simple cake. Well, not simple. He knew that firsthand. But from now on he’d be sure to show respect for the chefs who made him meals or desserts. It was no easy feat this cooking and baking thing.

  The baking was about to start and like the second Bake-Off, Wes found himself half listening to the MC and searching the room for Noelle. She said she’d be there. He’d planned a special dinner for them afterward where he could tell her in private about Spellman agreeing to leave town and not return.

  Daniel St. Claire had been almost as upset as Wes when he heard the news of what Spellman had planned. Not only did he not like being lied to, but Marietta was now home for Wes’s dad and he was a protective and loyal man. He also didn’t like being made to look the fool. He’d told people in town that the deal was a good thing, and they’d believed him. Spellman almost made him look as if he was not a man of his word. Something a St. Claire never took lightly.

  Wes scanned the crowd. He spotted his dad and Mike together, Annalise dressed in her favorite color, pink, from head to toe. They’d had to work hard to keep her occupied that morning, her energy without bounds over going to a dressy tea as well as the Bake-Off that afternoon.

  Maybe his little niece needed some more women around. Something he hoped to help with soon, if Noelle was happy with what he and his father had done. The thought of her getting upset and walking away from him again made his palms sweat more than the thought of baking this cake in front of a crowd. A dressed-up, festive crowd, but a crowd nonetheless.

  Annalise’s head bobbed up and down as she ran toward someone near the door. Wes’s eyes followed her path, hoping her objective was a certain dance teacher she loved. Instead, the child leaped into the arms of his youngest brother, Lucas, who hugged her tight then passed her to their baby sister, McKenna, who stood beside him.

  “Just freaking great,” Wes mumbled. Not only was he baking in front of a crowd, he now had his entire family there. As if Mike’s ribbing wasn’t enough, he’d get to hear it from all of his siblings. Perfect. Fan-freaking-tastic. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the MC. The event was about to begin. Great. The sooner it started, the sooner it was over.

  Wes got so lost in what he was doing: measuring things, mixing, pouring things into a pan, he didn’t have a spare second to look up and search for Noelle. Even the frosting was from scratch. He focused on that, grateful the whole thing was almost over.

  Cakes were finished and judged. Wes finished second overall in the competition, which his dad looked overjoyed about.

  The first bachelor had his cake auctioned off for a decent amount. Wes’s palms started to sweat again. In the chaos of the past week, he’d forgotten to set up someone to bet on his cake. He eyed the single women who looked him up and down as if he were the dessert instead of the cake. Once more, he cursed his father for getting him into this. His cake was up for bidding and he prayed his sister would step up. Hell, even Lucas. He’d take anyone at this point.

  “I’ll bid one thousand dollars for that cake,” a voice in the back of the room shouted.

  He took back the curse he’d mentally tossed his dad’s way as the sea of people parted and everyone looked at the source of the voice. A voice he’d know anywhere.

  Noelle.

  “Wow! What a generous bid,” the auctioneer said. Without waiting for anyone to go against her, thank God, the auctioneer added, “Sold to the woman in the gray lace dress.”

  All Wes could do was stand and stare. In a gown that fell just below her knees with lace that covered her torso and arms, Noelle was the epitome of femininity, a breath of fresh air that filled the room.

  The other bachelors made their way toward the people who bought their cakes. Wes attempted to move through the crowd, his eyes never leaving Noelle’s.

  “Hey, brother.” Lucas stopped him with a hug. “I see you’re on a more important mission than stopping here with us, so we won’t keep you.”

  McKenna hugged him as well. “Yeah. Dad told us. Go get her.”

  “Hey, you two. I’d thank you for coming, but…”

  “There’s time for us to tease you later.” McKenna patted his arm. “We’ll see you back at the house.”

  He looked at his family. His dad, brothers, sister, and niece. This was home. These people were home. Marietta was home. They all nodded, encouraging him to go. Yes. Noelle. She was the only piece missing for his family to be complete.

  He made his way to her, her smile drawing him in. Man, she was gorgeous. And he prayed to God she was his.

  “You helped me dodge a bullet there.” He put his hands in his pants pockets, not trusting himself to pull her in before she was ready.

  “I hear you helped me dodge one as well.”

  She had him there. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I appreciate you buying my cake, keeping me from the vultures over there.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder toward the group of women who had been vying for his baked goods through the entire Bake-Off. “But I’m not sure what bullet I helped you dodge.”

  “The one with Spellman. Rumor has it, you and your dad came to the rescue.”

  He kept his hands tucked deep in his pockets. Unsure if she was happy about his getting involved or not, he watched for clues. Would she punch him or hug him? He prayed harder than ever before it would be the latter.

  “He didn’t want what was best for Marietta. Or for you.”

  She took a step toward him so they now stood toe-to-toe. “And do you want what’s best for me?”

  “Always.”

  “Then kiss me.”

  His heart did a funny dance in his chest and he removed his hands from his pockets so he could wrap them around her waist. “Whatever you say, ma’am. Your wish is my command.”

  He ducked his head and kissed her. In the middle of the Graff Hotel with most of the town watching. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers toying with his hair. She turned him inside out and sideways and he freaking loved it.

  She pulled back and put her forehead to his. “So, you think you might want to make Marietta home?”

  “Looks like I’ll have to get used to a small town, everyone knowing everything and all.”

  “You just kissed me in front of everyone. I think we might be tomorrow’s front-page story.”

  He shrugged. “Let ’em look. I want the world to know I love you. And yes, I’m here. I’m yours. For good. Forever.”

  The End

  You’ll love the next book in the…

  Bachelor Bake-Off series

  Book 1: A Teaspoon of Trouble by Shirley Jump

  Buy now!

  Book 2: A Spoonful of Sugar by Kate Hardy

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  Book 3: Sprinkled with Love by Jennifer Faye

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  Book 4: Baking for Keeps by Jessica Gilmore

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  Book 5: A Recipe for Romance by Lara Van Hulzen

  Buy now!

  View the entire Bachelor Bake-Off series here!

  Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from

  A Teaspoon of Trouble

  Book 1 in the Bachelor Bake-Off series

  Excerpt Copyright © 2017 Shirley Jump

  The dog was going to be a problem.

  Carolyn Hanson stared at the dog. He stared back, tail swishing against the white tile floor in a fast semicircle. Hopeful, friendly, determined. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

  “We gotta take him, Aunt Carolyn.” Her niece Emma put a protective hand on the dog’s collar. “Roscoe is my puppy and I love him.”

  Puppy was being used loosely, considering the dog weighed at least fifty pounds and stood three feet off the ground. He was some kind of mutt mix, with a square boxer face and big ears: one that flopped to the right, one that stood straight up. He seemed like a nice enough dog, so far not much
of a barker or jumper, but Carolyn was most definitely not a dog person.

  She wasn’t a kid person, either, but that hadn’t stopped her sister from naming her as Emma’s guardian when a car accident took both Sandy and her husband Bob in one fell swoop.

  Sandy. The thought of her late sister shot a hot river of searing grief through Carolyn’s chest. Almost a month ago, a drunk driver had crossed the median, slamming headfirst into Sandy and Bob’s car. They’d been out on a rare date, something Sandy had been looking forward to all week. And just like that, they were gone, and their only child, a precocious four-year-old named Emma who Carolyn had only met a handful of times, was now…

  Her responsibility.

  For a woman who regularly worked eighty hours a week as a sous chef at a busy restaurant in Manhattan, raising a kid and a “puppy” was going to be impossible. She lived in a tiny cramped apartment of a five-story walk-up in the meat-packing district. So she had asked her boss for a two-week leave of absence so she could pick up Emma and go back home to Montana and figure out a plan.

  Plans gave her comfort, direction, structure. She knew what time she was going to get up, what time she’d get to work, which day she would do laundry, which day she’d grocery shop—everything was listed in little bullets on the running list on her refrigerator at home.

  What she hadn’t planned for was a four-year-old and a dog. Why had her sister thought Carolyn would make a good guardian? She worked into the wee hours of the mornings, lived as sparsely as possible, hadn’t had a real relationship in two years, and had always vowed she’d never get married or have kids. If there was a list of the top 100 people who should be Emma’s guardian, Carolyn would be number 101.

  After the accident, Bob’s parents—who lived just two towns away—had taken Emma and the dog. Then the lawyer had called Carolyn and told her she had been named guardian. Bob’s parents were in their late seventies and overwhelmed by the addition of a small child and a dog to their home, and as sad as they were to see Emma go, Carolyn could almost feel their relief. That left Carolyn in charge, the least motherly person in her family.