Abruptly, Jess pushed back from her chair and stood. “I have to go.”
The last thing she heard as she practically ran out of the Hollow Bean was Marisol’s knowing laugh.
Chapter 9
Sean slid the last tray of croissants into the top rack of the glass-fronted display case. He’d flown through prep this morning like his whole body was energized from his evening with Jess. He could feel a smile curve across his face as he thought about the way she'd felt in his arms. She’d been the full five-senses experience—every single one exceptional, from taste to touch. How soon would be too soon to call her again? The smile faded as he realized he had no idea how to date somebody.
His gaze fell on the messenger bag he usually carried to work—he typically hauled a cookbook or two around with him, plus a printout of the bakery’s annual budget, which he was trying to learn to decipher. Today, it held the remaining spices from the pie waiting for him in the fridge at home. He’d forgotten to take them out when he’d tossed them in there after he’d left Jess’s house the night before. He reached in and found the bottle of cinnamon, flipping it over in his hands. A word on the opposite side of the label stood out to his primed eye: ‘cookies.’
“Cookies, huh?” He squinted at the bottle, noting that it directed readers to visit the company’s website for their recipe for Mexican Wedding Cookies. Girls liked cookies, right? Maybe he’d make some for Jess. And some extras for Noah and Angelica. He pulled out his phone and tapped in the website address.
Forty minutes later, the rich scent of cinnamon and walnuts mixed with all the other delicious smells of the bakery as he pulled two trays of little round cookies out of the oven. He slid them onto the counter to cool while he pulled out confectioner’s sugar to dust them with.
“Those smell incredible,” somebody said behind him.
He turned and realized he had a customer—the man must have come in while Sean was busy with the oven. “How's it going, Mr. Hughes?”
“Spectacular, as always,” the older man said. “Are those ready?” He pointed at the trays on the counter. “I'll take three if they are.”
Sean blinked. “I … uh …”
“I can wait a couple of minutes.”
"They're—”
“Oh, and my usual two croissants, too. Can’t go home without them.” Mr. Hughes chuckled.
Sean’s hands were moving without his conscious direction, pulling out and bagging the croissants before he’d even registered he was doing it. He looked back at the cookies, then at the other man’s hopeful expression. He thought briefly of his mother, her shelves of cookbooks, and the conversation they’d had. The one where she’d told him in no uncertain terms that he was never to deviate from the family’s beloved recipes. His eyebrows snapped down. “Coming right up,” he said, knowing he’d pay for this small act of rebellion later. The punishment would be worth it.
He slid three cookies through the waiting powdered sugar, tapped them twice to get rid of the excess, and then popped them into the smallest bag he had behind the counter. Then he did some swift mental math to come up with a price. Or rather, three prices—one cookie, half a dozen, and a dozen, based on the pricing the bakery already used for the other kinds of cookies they sold. Those treats weren’t something they kept on hand every day— The Breadery was generally more of a pastry operation— but he’d made plenty of batches of holiday cookies in his time.
He ran Mr. Hughes’s credit card and sent the man on his way with a smile and a wave. Then he took a deep breath and thought about what he’d just done. The rest of the cookies sat waiting on their trays, staring back at him in pale, lumpy expectancy. They would sell. They smelled incredible. But his mother had been more than clear. The Breadery had a standard operating plan, and he wasn’t supposed to deviate from it. He didn’t have the right to deviate from it, since he wasn’t the person he was pretending to be. He wasn’t the prodigal son, River Hill’s darling returned home. He was a wreck. He was broken, and he didn’t know where he belonged.
But the cookies were good. And the customers wanted them. He swallowed his doubts and sold a dozen more to the next person who came in—noting that they still purchased the items they’d initially come in for, too, just like Mr. Hughes had. After they left, he ate one himself. The buttery confection crumbled on his tongue, coating his mouth in rich sugar and cinnamon. It was delicious. Briefly, he wondered if Jess would like them.
Then he remembered her strange reaction to the pie they’d made and wondered if she would even eat them. Did she not like sweets? He shook his head. She’d said she loved the pie; it was the reason she’d thought of it when he’d confessed his need for something new. He’d have to ask her when he saw her next. And just in case, not mention the cookies.
The door opened again while he was contemplating this, and he looked up to see Maeve Brennan entering the bakery. His face relaxed into a real smile. “Hi, Maeve.”
Iain Brennan’s younger sister grinned at him, her mouth wide over a pointed chin that made her occasionally resemble a pixie. Her red hair was up in a messy bun, and she was wearing a gray t-shirt with the logo of the distillery she and her brother owned blazoned across the chest. “Hey, Sean. I need sustenance. Of the baked variety.”
“Rough day?”
“Phone call with my da,” she said, her Irish accent coming through strongly. Maeve had moved to River Hill shortly after Iain had last year, joining her brother in the distilling venture. Their family was whiskey royalty back in Ireland, but the two youngest Brennans had wanted to do something different from the classic whiskey they’d grown up producing. Their family had resisted—especially after Iain had met Naomi, who wasn’t exactly a model of stability and traditional values.
Sean liked the famed artist a lot, and she was one of Noah’s best friends, but she’d been resisting her own high-society family’s efforts to set her up with a doctor for so long that she’d practically made a career of one-night-stands. Just like Sean, if he was honest with himself. Although, as he understood it, she’d had much better reasons.
He hadn’t been privy to all the details of what had happened, but at some point last year, the Brennans and the Kleins had all descended on River Hill at once. Angelica still laughed every time she talked about it. In the end, Iain and Naomi had moved in together, Maeve had gotten a place nearby, and the distillery was starting to do a brisk business. He’d tried it back when he was still drinking. It was delicious.
Maeve and Iain were both working their butts off to make the business work, and he respected them for it. “What can I get for you?”
Her eyes drifted to the cookies, now tucked into a basket on the counter. “Some of those? They smell amazing. I’ve never seen you selling them before. Are they new?”
If there was anybody who’d understand what he’d just done, it was Maeve. “Brand new. And, uh, unauthorized.”
Her eyebrows went up, and she leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“I might be slightly going against orders from the owner,” he confessed.
“The owner being your mum, right?” Maeve quirked her head to the side and grinned. “You rebel.” Then she looked startled at her own words. “I mean— sorry! Not trying to say it’s a bad thing.” She frowned. “Or a good thing?” She looked up at him. “It’s whatever kind of thing you think it should be!”
Sean laughed. He’d forgotten the thing that they’d all discovered about Maeve when she’d joined his group of friends: she was tough and stubborn, but she was also the single nicest person on the planet. How she’d managed to stand up to the kind of conflict Iain had described regarding his father’s attitude about their ‘desertion’ was beyond Sean’s imagining. He had mad respect for her.
“I’ll take it as a good thing, at least for now.” He shrugged. “The customers seem to like them, so I can at least tell her we’re making money off of them.” He wasn’t relishing the conversation he was going to have to have with his mother, even though he beli
eved he was right.
Maeve nodded. “Family can be hard. And going against their wishes can be even harder. They want what they think is best for you and the business, and it can be challenging to disagree.”
“Is it worth it?”
She smiled. “Definitely.”
“This is new.” Noah slipped the foil off of the top of the pie and stared at it, then looked up at Sean. “Pie?”
“Special pie,” Sean clarified. He leaned back in his chair and smirked at his friend.
“There had better not be any weed in that pie,” Angelica called from the kitchen. A clatter announced that she’d dumped the stack of dirty plates she’d been carrying into the sink. Noah’s house—his and Angelica’s house, really, these days—was mostly an open floor plan, but the dining room was separated from the kitchen by a small section of wall. Presumably so guests wouldn’t see the mess Angelica made when she cooked.
“Not that kind of special,” Sean said. “When was the last time you even had that kind of thing?”
Angelica returned to the dining room, drying her hands on a kitchen towel and looking thoughtful. “It’s not really my scene,” she said. “I tried it a few times at parties in Hollywood.”
“I’m a booze guy,” Noah said. “Never bothered.”
“And yet you assumed that I’d bring you a pot pie? Pun not strictly intended,” he added as they both snickered. “Thanks.”
“You’re just our fun, unpredictable friend,” Angelica offered with a placating smile.
“I’m not that bad,” he grumbled.
“Not anymore, anyway,” Noah said. “What’s in the pie?”
“Chocolate and a bunch of really cool spices, plus pepitas and some dried chilies.”
“Chilies in a pie?” Noah narrowed his eyes. “Who are you, and what have you done with Sean?”
“First you call me unpredictable, and now you’re saying I never do anything different?” Sean tried to make a joke of it, but much as he appreciated his friends’ intervention in his drinking, their opinion of him was starting to rankle.
“You were unpredictable in other ways,” Noah said. “We just didn’t know you’d taken to kitchen experimentation. I’ve never seen The Breadery sell anything like this, and I’ve lived in River Hill for more than ten years.” He gestured toward the pie.
Sean shrugged. “I thought I’d try something new. Not everyone wants to stay in a rut.” He glanced toward his friends, letting a wicked glimmer enter his eyes. “Speaking of ruts, are you two ever going to get married?”
Angelica held up her hands. “Whoa, whoa, Mister Unpredictable, you don’t get to turn this around on us!” She glanced up at her fiancé, her face softening into familiar fondness. “Noah and I are just fine.” She leveled a finger at him. “Nice try.”
Sean raised his eyebrow at Noah, who winced. “Just fine, huh? You finally give up, old man?” Noah had been trying to persuade his busy fiancée to tie the knot for almost two years now. Her career as an in-demand personality on RenoTV, the home renovation network, plus her popular B&B next door to Noah’s house kept her either filming or working what seemed like nonstop. Sean wasn’t sure why she couldn’t just get married and keep doing the same thing, but her frenetic pace didn’t seem to leave enough time to plan a wedding. Noah had once confessed that they both wanted kids, but Angelica wasn’t quite ready yet. Sean wondered if she was trying to cram her whole career in now, just in case things changed in a way she didn’t expect once they finally did have children. He couldn’t really blame her.
“I haven’t given up,” Noah said. “I’m strategizing.” He grinned at Angelica and twirled a lock of her blonde hair around one of his fingers. “We’ll get there.”
She smiled up at him, then turned a determined gaze to Sean. “So then, what’s up with you?”
“Um, nothing?” He loved both of them dearly. Noah was one of his best friends. But occasionally he wished his friend had fallen in love with somebody a little less… involved.
Although, to be fair, it wasn’t like Noah himself wasn’t just as bad. Like now, when the big winemaker leaned forward with a skeptical twist of his lips. “Something’s going on with you. Tell us. I’ll cut the pie.” He lifted a knife and nodded at Sean.
Sean sighed. Might as well. “I’ve been thinking about the bakery and my future.”
“Whoa. Heavy.” Noah slid a piece of pie his way as Angelica handed him a dessert fork.
“Thanks.” He took a bite of the pie, the flavors on his tongue reminding him of Jess, and when he’d licked chocolate off her lips as they lay tangled up in each other on her couch. He blinked away the memory. “I guess I just want to start thinking about where I’m going.”
“Are you going somewhere?” Angelica frowned and took a bite of pie. “Oh, my god. This is amazing.”
“I don’t know. I always thought I’d go back to L.A. eventually, go back to producing. But lately, I keep thinking about the bakery, and how we could change things.”
Angelica raised one eyebrow. “Changing things? Have you talked to your mom about it?”
“Yeah. It didn’t go well.”
She nodded. “So what are you going to do?”
He winced. “I may have spontaneously sold a new product today.”
“Well, that’s committing to a cause,” Angelica said. “Are you prepared for the fallout?”
“Not at all,” he confessed. “But I’m going to have to deal with it anyway. Turns out that’s what being an adult is, who knew?”
“Not that I’m not fully in support of any and all personal growth,” Noah said. “But where did this come from? Feels like just a few weeks ago we were pulling your head out of a bottle, and now you’re leaps and bounds ahead of just not drinking.”
Angelica elbowed him. “We’re proud of that,” she said pointedly.
“I never said we weren’t!” Noah protested. “I’m just curious.”
Noah knew him a little too well, Sean realized. He sighed. “I did spend some time with a new friend, actually. She’s the one who gave me the recipe for the pie.” He didn’t mention that they’d baked it together, but neither Noah nor Angelica was slow on the uptake. Their eyes narrowed simultaneously.
“Another one?” Angelica sounded disappointed.
Noah was more casual. “Anybody we know?”
“It’s not like that,” he snapped, startling himself with his response. Noah and Angelica exchanged a glance he couldn’t interpret, some sort of couples telepathy he wasn’t privy to. “Don’t—” He drew in a steadying breath. I don’t think she deserves to be talked about that way. I don’t think of her that way.” Jess definitely wasn’t a one-night-stand. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was, but he was damn sure that he wanted to see her again. Soon.
Chapter 10
Pulling a deep, fortifying breath into her lungs, Jess straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. There’s nothing to be nervous about, she told herself as she pushed off the curb, putting one foot in front of the other as she made her way across the street and into the bakery.
She and Sean weren’t exactly dating, but if their makeout session the week before was anything to go by, they were beyond just friends. And people who were more than friends did the pop-by-unexpectedly thing, didn’t they? Of course, Marisol would have told her showing up where Sean worked was akin to stalking the man, but it had been a few days since she’d last seen him, and she was jonesing for more.
She’d never actually been inside The Breadery before, so she was somewhat surprised to see how utterly charming it was. Not that she’d been hanging out in bakeries much—not with her diet—but it was a lot homier than the panaderias on the other side of town. Its colorful decorations and vintage signs and photography made it look like something straight out of Gilmore Girls. Glancing around, Jess almost expected Lorelai Gilmore to pop out any second, a giant mug of coffee clutched tight in her hands.
With a pang, Jess recalled all the times she’d
stayed up late into the night binging the show with Marisol when they were younger. When its revival season had aired a couple of years ago, she’d hoped her sister would come over and watch it with her, but Marisol had scoffed and said she was too busy. It had seemed like a waste of time to point out that Marisol had just spent the previous twenty minutes talking Jess’s ear off about some show featuring a time-traveling doctor and her eighteenth-century Scottish lover.
Jess pushed the memory of that conversation aside. She was here to see Sean, not take uncomfortable trips down Memory Lane.
Standing in line behind an elderly couple that was trying to decide what pastries to purchase, Jess let her eye wander to the photographs lining the wall, where one in particular caught her attention. She stared at it for a few brief seconds, making sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Nope, they weren’t. Once upon a time, the storefront of The Breadery had been painted white, and in big black letters, a sign hung over the door welcoming customers to Amory & Sons Bakery.
As in Sean Amory. As in her not-quite-boyfriend owned the place?
Jess’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as her gaze bounced back to Sean. He was ringing up the couple, and it didn’t seem as if he’d noticed her yet. While she was still incognito, Jess took a moment to study him. He looked better than he had when their paths had first crossed. His face had filled out somewhat, his cheekbones less gaunt than they’d been, and his eyes weren’t as pinched as she remembered them being. During their first brief conversation, he’d been a bit green around the gills, but now his skin positively glowed with vitality and good health. His hair was still overly long and shaggy, and she wasn’t sure if he was trying to grow a beard or if he just hadn’t bothered shaving—his scruff was in that in-between stage that could go either way—but he looked good.
As Jess continued observing him interacting with his customers, she wasn’t sure why she was so bothered by learning that he owned the bakery. Mostly, she realized, it was that he hadn’t told her. While they’d spoken by phone a few times and had exchanged several text messages, she was coming to realize that he was cautious with his words. Now, she wondered if he purposefully kept things from her. Not that owning one of the most successful businesses in River Hill made a difference to her one way or the other. It was the principle of the thing.
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