The Baker's Beauty (The River Hill Series Book 3)

by Rebecca Norinne

  With a weary sigh, she turned on the hot water and waited for the bathroom to steam up. Grabbing a new razor from a basket under the sink, she stepped into the shower while giving herself a pep talk. It was no use getting depressed before brunch with her family. Her two older brothers—with their constant nagging about when she was finally going to settle down and start having babies—could be counted on to darken her mood all by themselves.

  “Eat up, mija.” Celia Casillas, Jessica’s abuela, patted her shoulder as she made her way to the stove. “You’re too skinny. Men like a woman with meat on her bones.”

  “If I eat any of this,” Jess said, gesturing to the chips, salsa, and guacamole spread out on the kitchen table in front of her, “I won’t have room for your albondigas or papa’s tri-tip.”

  “And we know how much Jess likes her balls,” her sister Marisol cackled as she grabbed three Coronas from the refrigerator on her way through the kitchen to join their brothers Robert and Manny in the backyard.

  “Not as much as you love your meat,” Jess replied through a pasted-on grin as the screen door clanged shut. She loved her siblings, but as the youngest of four, she’d been the butt of their jokes her whole damn life. As a kid, she’d assumed they’d all grow out of it, but she hadn’t been that lucky.

  Jess’s grandmother set a beer down in front of her. “Ignore her. She’s just trying to get under your skin.”

  “Well, she’s doing a pretty good job of it. She knows it’s inappropriate to talk like that in front of you. Heck, in front of anyone.”

  “You know your sister. She likes to shock people.” Her grandma settled into the chair across from Jess and loaded a tortilla chip up with homemade salsa. She brought it to her mouth but halted just before taking a bite. “She’s jealous, you know?”

  Jess snorted and shook her head. “No way. She thinks I’m pathetic.” That was one of the things that hurt the most about her relationship with her siblings. Jess had worked hard for years to get where she was—first with beauty pageants, and then with building her own consulting business, and now her YouTube channel, blog, and stints as a lifestyle expert on local news and radio shows.

  She’d worked full time while putting herself through school, and while she might not have a life that mirrored the rest of her family’s, she’d built something to be proud of. She had made a name for herself, but lately, it seemed like the only time anyone cared was when she could get them free stuff. Otherwise, all they ever did was tease her about her diet, her makeup, or the lack of a man in her life.

  The first two she could handle. Jess knew she’d chosen a career path that some might consider shallow, but the constant jibes about her thinking she was too good for any of the men they introduced her to were low blows. She wasn’t arrogant or stuck-up; she was discerning. Why that was a bad thing, she didn’t know. With the divorce rate so high in her extended family, she would have thought they’d applaud her for not settling for less than she deserved. Instead, her brothers and sister used her single status to mock her. It wasn’t like she liked going home to an empty house each night.

  Chewing around her food, her grandma said, “No, mija. She spends her days carting the boys to and from school and then going to PTA meetings and practices, and now she wishes she’d made different choices when she was younger. I love Marisol—and I would kill for my grandbabies—but she should have waited to have those kids. She wasn’t ready, and neither was that no-good Jason.”

  Jess had always considered Marisol—five years her senior—the beauty of their family. In fact, she was the reason Jess had gotten involved in pageants to begin with—she’d wanted to be just like her big sister when she grew up. Back then Marisol had had it all … or so Jess had thought. But when she was twenty, she’d gotten knocked up by Jason, her on-again-off-again boyfriend. Their “off again” periods usually followed her catching him cheating, but for some inexplicable reason, Marisol always took him back. When she’d become pregnant with Jason Junior, she’d dropped out of college, and she and Jay got married. Two years later and pregnant with their second kid, she found out he’d been cheating on her again. The ink wasn’t even dry on their divorce papers when their second son was born. Marisol was a good mother, but it hadn’t always been easy on her. Jess knew that. They all knew it. That’s why she, Robert, and Manny took the opportunity to help out whenever they could. That was just how their family worked. They’d grown up with a single mother themselves, and they all knew how hard it was. But while Marisol had grown closer to their brothers as her sons had grown up, she and Jess had somehow drifted further apart.

  Never once in all these years had Jess considered her sister could be envious of her; she’d just assumed she’d done something to anger Marisol but couldn’t figure out what it might have been. Now, hearing her abuela’s theory, Jess wondered if the older woman wasn’t on to something.

  “I don’t know, maybe.” She shrugged and nibbled on a chip. She loved her grandma’s guacamole, but the fats from the avocado did better things for her hair than they did for her thighs. She’d be better off going home and applying it as a conditioning mask than she would by filling her belly with it.

  “There’s no maybe about it,” her grandmother declared as she headed back to the stove. “Now go tell your sister and those boys to help your papa bring in the meat, and we can finally eat. I’m starving.”

  Jess rose and planted a kiss on her grandmother’s cheek. “You’re the best.”

  The other woman pretended to wave away the praise but then smiled. “I really am.”

  Jess stepped outside, the warm evening breeze a welcome respite from the fragrance of her grandmother’s cooking. A woman on a life-long diet could only be surrounded by the delicious smell of onions, garlic, and tomatoes for so long without pushing everyone to the side and shoving her head inside the pot.

  At least out here, she could stand down-wind from the grill. And honestly, except for her grandmother’s meatballs, Jess wasn’t really a beef girl anyway. Just another way she differed from everyone else in her family. While her brothers could put away literal pounds of carne asada and her sister had never met a tri-tip she didn’t like, Jess stuck to the grilled zucchini her papa always made especially for her instead.

  “Hey, you guys,” Jess said as she came up alongside her siblings. “Soup’s almost ready, so Abuela wants everyone to head inside.”

  Manny finished typing something on his phone, and then shoved the device into his back pocket. “That was Rosalie. She needs me to pick up Abigail.”

  “I thought it was her weekend,” Marisol sneered, hefting one of the platters and turning toward the house. There was no love lost between Marisol and Rosie, whose younger sister was one of the girls Jason had cheated on Marisol with. Marisol couldn’t believe her brother would betray her by literally sleeping with the enemy, while he failed to understand how Rosalie was responsible for her sister’s behavior. It was an argument Jess could practically recite by heart.

  “It is, but something came up.”

  Robert rolled his eyes. “That seems to happen a lot lately.” He wasn’t a fan of Rosalie either, but that stemmed more from the fact that when she had come into the picture, Manny hadn’t been able to act as his wingman anymore. At thirty-five, Robert Casillas-Moore was the biggest ladies’ man Jess knew.

  “It is what it is.” Manny sighed and grabbed the other platter, while Jess picked up the small plate of vegetables and raced to catch up with her siblings.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Robert said, as Jess fell into step next to them.

  “He’s right. You should talk with your lawyer again about the custody arrangement.” She knew her advice wasn’t wanted, but she couldn’t help it.

  Manny shot her an angry look as Robert jogged ahead to hold the door open for them. “And do what—ask for full-time custody? You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why?” Jess honestly didn’t get it. Manny was a talented animator who worked from home, s
o he had plenty of time for his daughter. And his house, while small like Jess’s, was a much better environment than his ex-wife’s place in what real estate agents liked to call a “transitional neighborhood.” The real issue, she suspected, was that Manny’s new girlfriend Camila didn’t want his young daughter around. Camila was smart and beautiful, but she also had a jealous streak a mile wide and a foot deep. The fact that Jess’s brother had been married before did not sit well with her.

  Frankly, Jess didn’t see their relationship working out in the long run, but what did she know about things like that? She hadn’t been on a real date in six months and hadn’t had a boyfriend in way longer than that.

  Which her brother, of course, was always quick to point out. He pushed his way through the door with a huff. “Honestly, Jess. You are so naive sometimes.”

  “Manuel Joseph Casillas Moore! You be nice to your sister.” With a look that brooked no argument, their grandma set a big, steaming bowl of soup in the middle of the table.

  Manny’s jaw ticked, and Jess knew he was biting back a smart-ass reply. He shook his head and joined Marisol on the opposite side of the room. Setting his platter down next to hers on the antique oak sideboard, he turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Someday you’re going to have to grow up and join the rest of us adults in the real world. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

  Marisol snorted and rolled her eyes. “Not likely. Jess is waiting for Prince Charming to come along and sweep her off her feet. Everything will be perfectly sickening, and they’ll spend all their time riding around on unicorns and living in their made-up fairytale world.”

  Jess felt tears springing into her eyes. Her sister’s idea of humor felt a lot more like an attack. She breathed deeply and stared hard at her siblings, wondering when they’d become so bitter. Wondering what she’d ever done to deserve this treatment. All three stared back, the look on each of their faces defiant and stubborn.

  She looked away first. She didn’t have the energy for this today. “I’m sorry, abuela, but I’m not hungry anymore. If you’ll excuse me—” She darted across the room and grabbed her purse, rushing out the front door before anybody could stop her. She cried for the entire fifteen-minute journey back to her house.

  When she pulled into the driveway, her stomach rumbled loudly. Of course.

  Jess slammed her palm against the steering wheel. She let out a frustrated growl and pushed herself out of the car. Stalking angrily up the walk, she unlocked her front door and stepped over the threshold, tossing her purse on the table to her right. At least now she wouldn’t have to work off her grandmother’s meal by adding an extra mile to tomorrow’s run.

  Unbidden, her thoughts flashed to the man standing outside The Breadery. The one with dark, haunted eyes and overgrown scruff. The one who’d set her heart racing even more than it already had been. The one who’d stared at her and who she’d stared right back at. Briefly, Jess wondered what had made his eyes so sad, and if he’d seen her own sadness reflected back at him.

  Hmm. Maybe she’d keep that extra mile after all.

  Chapter 3

  “Come over for dinner on Friday.” Noah’s voice was firm through Sean’s phone. “Angelica’s trying some new recipe Max taught her.”

  “You have a backup plan?”

  Angelica’s cooking lessons with Max had been going on for nearly a year, and the results were still pretty hit or miss. Having been subject to a few of the misses, Sean was more than a little dubious. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure he felt like having his friends checking up on him. He hadn’t had a drink in the two weeks since they’d pulled their dirty little trick. He hadn’t bothered to test their homegrown prohibition movement by ordering one in River Hill. Max’s word was gold around town, and Angelica’s was, too. He’d thought about heading out of town to get one, but the effort hadn’t seemed worth it—nor the cost of the Uber back home afterward.

  Plus, he’d been secretly enjoying his mornings recently. Now that he was sober enough to notice, he’d seen the same gorgeous jogger several times over the last week. Every day, she’d slowed down as she passed the bakery and sniffed the air, the pure enjoyment coming over her face making his groin tighten. They’d exchanged smiles, and she’d jogged on. It was quickly becoming a morning tradition he looked forward to.

  Not that he had much else to look forward to. “I’ll come for dinner,” he said.

  “Good. I was beginning to wonder if you’d hung up on me.” The concern in Noah’s voice was real, even though he was obviously trying to keep it light.

  “I’ll save that for after dinner.”

  “If it’s that bad, we’ll order pizza.”

  “You promise?”

  “I solemnly swear,” Noah said. “Just don’t tell Angelica.”

  “Tell me what?” The faint voice in the background was Noah’s girlfriend. Sean heard a door closing.

  “Um.” Noah’s voice faded, and Sean decided he must have put his hand over the phone to tell her some blatant lie.

  “I’m hanging up for real now,” he said. “Good luck with that.”

  “See you Friday,” Noah said. “Bring dessert.”

  Sean rolled his eyes even though his friend wasn’t there to see it. “You got it.” He always brought dessert. It was the obvious choice, but suddenly it seemed so dull. He hung up the phone with a sigh. At least when he was drinking, he didn’t notice how empty his life was.

  He knew he ought to be grateful for his friends’ intervention. He’d realized recently that without drinking, his evenings were suddenly completely free. He didn’t have any hobbies; since he’d come home to River Hill, all he’d done was work and drink. It was a depressing realization. He’d been fun in L.A.

  Of course, that had been the problem. Possibly. Maybe. He still wasn’t sure how much of what had happened was his fault. Had he set the party-boy example that had led Cal to emulate him? He’d never been a drug user himself, but he’d been to plenty of parties where they’d been there for the taking, and he’d been cheerfully vocal about his exciting lifestyle when he’d convinced the kid to sign with the record label he’d worked for. Had tempted him with modern day visions of sugarplums: girls, booze, and money. It was the standard line. Cal Grissom had been a kid from Kentucky with a raw talent that had landed him millions of internet followers for his homemade videos. Sean had found him, signed him, and produced his debut album. It had gone platinum immediately, and everything Sean had promised him had come true.

  And then something had gone wildly wrong. Cal had gone dark on him, stopped answering his phone. When he didn’t show up for a promotional spot, Sean had gone looking for him. He had a key to the hotel room—another standard policy, in case artists got out of line and emergency cleanup or a PR push was needed. He’d let himself in, calling the kid’s name. At first, he’d thought Cal was sleeping, and he’d let himself get annoyed. He’d said a few things out loud about irresponsible, ungrateful teenagers. It was only when he’d gotten closer to the bed that he’d realized that Cal wasn’t listening. Wouldn’t ever listen again. Or sing … or look up at him with that goofy grin that said he’d just thought of a new line for a song. Cal was dead, and it was Sean’s fault.

  The inquiry had cleared him of any official blame. The police hadn’t ever really considered him a suspect—they’d only questioned him because he was the first to discover the body. It was so obviously an overdose that the officer on the scene had merely nodded and said, “Tough break. My kids love him.”

  It happened every day in L.A., but Sean hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that it was his fault. He was the one who’d sold Cal on how great all the extra perks of being the world’s biggest pop star were. Cal had listened to him with wide eyes the first few weeks. Then, at some point, he’d leaped in, spending most of his free nights at ridiculous parties dancing with coked-out actresses and their junkie friends. And Sean hadn’t stopped him. Truth be told, he hadn’t even noticed, until he’d been for
ced to. And now he couldn't escape the guilt—even here in River Hill, which might as well be light years away from L.A. Especially not sober.

  “Damn kid.” Sean scrubbed his palm across his face, stubble scraping the skin. He needed to shave before he went to sleep tonight. No time to do it in the mornings, not when he had to be at the bakery so early. He generally rolled out of bed and into his clothes and out the door.

  It was another far cry from his L.A. days. But a complete break was what he’d needed. The label had accepted his resignation with a shrug; he was a good producer, but he was one of many. At home, he was a little more than that. He was the only son, the darling of the Amorys. He was a baker. He’d learned how to shape dough at the same time as he’d learned to read; he’d cracked eggs and measured flour as soon as he could toddle to the counters. Baking had been in his life forever. His parents had been disappointed when he’d insisted on taking a different career path. When his father had died ten years ago, he’d given serious thought to coming back, but he’d just signed his first big client, and his mom had shaken her head. “You’re doing what you want to do,” she’d said quietly. “I’ll manage.”

  He’d assumed she would call one of the distant Amory cousins and ask if they wanted to start learning about the business. There was no way The Breadery would ever leave the Amory family. But she’d just hired a few extra hands, and life in River Hill had continued on as usual.

  And then he’d come home, and she hadn’t said a word, just nodded when he’d asked for the morning shift and adjusted the schedules. She’d opened up the apartment that his grandfather had built over the garage for one of the cousins a long time ago and bought him some new curtains for it. She’d handed him the key and invited him for dinner while he got set up, and then they’d just…. moved on. She lived her life, he lived his, intersecting occasionally at the bakery or the house. She’d never asked him anything about Cal. He was sure she’d read the articles; she’d known Cal was his client. He’d sent her a few of the videos when he’d signed the kid. And Cal’s death had been all over the news until some celebrity had been caught cheating on his wife with a housekeeper.