“How about orange,” Lacey suggested. “Chocolate and orange go well together.”
“Chocolate chip orange shortbread. Perfect. Now, Zac.” Aunt Patty put the butter and sugar down with a thud. “The Crooked Corner has a reputation around here. We are known for the excellence of our bakes. You don’t want to let us down do you?”
“No, ma’am,” he responded promptly.
“And, Lacey? I’m glad to see you here at last. Your great-grandmother turns in her grave every time you buy ready to bake cookies. Let’s try and give her some rest, hmmm?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lacey almost saluted but managed to catch herself in time.
The next hour was a bewildering mixture of instructions, flour, and bits of butter. The butter had to be cold, which made mixing it into the smooth paste the aunts insisted on difficult without a mixer. “Your grandmother didn’t use a mixer,” Aunt Patty said looking scandalized when Lacey suggested making the whole process a little simpler. “A strong arm is all that is required.”
That was easy for her to say. After ten minutes Lacey’s arms felt like they’d been put through an intensive workout at the gym. Things didn’t improve when the aunts refused to allow them to use pre-made chocolate chips and instead made them smash up sheets of milk chocolate from Sage’s chocolate shop into chunks to mix into the dough. One painfully zested orange later and a Band-Aid on her zested finger, Lacey finally rolled out her dough and transferred it to one of the big industrial fridges. Zac had finished ten minutes before her and stood leaning against his workstation, his bowls and cutlery already rinsed and neatly stacked ready for the dishwasher before him.
“Cutting it a bit fine there.”
“Make haste not speed.” Lacey put her chin up as she marched past him. “It’s the finished product that counts not who finishes first.”
“Your dough did look a little gloopy. Ready to pay your fine?”
“At least mine didn’t have lumps of butter in.”
It was almost unbelievable. Zac Malone smiling, joking, and relaxed. Unbelievable and more than a little dangerous because without that big old keep out sign it was all too hard to stay away. Lacey took a step forward, almost without meaning to, and another until they were almost touching. Almost. “You have flour in your hair,” she said, her voice a little hoarse as she reached up and flicked it away.
“Yeah?” He didn’t move, still under her touch. “You have flour right here.” And his thumb skimmed across the curve of her cheek, setting fire to every nerve he touched. Lacey was paralyzed, aware of nothing but that light fleeting caress, of the dark heat in his eyes as they followed his thumb’s progress across her cheek and down to the very corner of her mouth. She swallowed, willing the thumb to keep moving, every atom wanting to know what it would feel like if he ran his thumb across her bottom lip. He stilled, eyes boring into hers, before his hand dropped and he stepped back. “I’ll help you clear up.”
“Right. Thanks.” Lacey stepped back as well. “I’ll just…you know… I’ll be back in a minute.” Her heart was hammering as she walked as fast as she could out of the kitchen and fled into the downstairs bathroom. She stared into the mirror with dismay. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen. All that from a caress. “You need to date more,” she told herself firmly as she ran the cold faucet until it was as chilled as possible and splashed the icy water on her face. Dating. It was the only answer. Her kind-hearted, homely husband wasn’t going to just materialize; she needed to go out and find him.
Only right now he didn’t seem as appealing as he used to, and when she closed her eyes and tried to focus on him it was Zac Malone’s mocking eyes she saw instead.
*
The sun was trying to peek through the low cloud but there was a bitter chill in the air as Zac walked briskly along the river, his gaze fixed firmly on the frozen ground, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his huge, puffy coat. He’d thought the coat overkill when the clerk had suggested it but right now, huddled in it against the sharp wind, he was relieved he’d gone for it even though it seemed fitter for skiing than ambling through town.
What the hell had just happened? One minute he was putting dough in the fridge and the next…
No, no he had to go further back than that. Go back to the moment Lacey Hathaway had widened those big blue eyes and asked him to help with the Bake-Off and he had fallen hook, line, and sinker. It had been fun though, the competitive element, the jokes, the camaraderie between Lacey and himself as the aunts had lectured and instructed. Comfortable—right until the moment she had touched him. Right until the moment he had touched her. That hadn’t been comfortable at all.
Her skin was so soft, silky. What would her lips have felt like? So full and tempting…
He increased his pace.
He could, theoretically, ask her out. He was attracted to her and he was pretty sure judging by the way she’d stilled under his touch that she felt the same way. He could take her out for a fancy meal at the fancy hotel on Main Street and kiss her goodnight on her porch.
His hands curled into fists.
He had nothing to offer a girl like Lacey and in a few weeks he’d be gone. Better to take a step back, walk away. Just like he usually did.
Only usually he didn’t care either way. This town, that house, that girl were all worming their way into his consciousness, somehow easing their way through his barriers so seamlessly he didn’t even realize they were through until he found himself standing in a kitchen, spatula in hand, trying to make a girl smile.
Zac hadn’t taken too much notice of his route but to his surprise he looked up to find himself outside the house earmarked for the after-school club if the fundraising was as successful as Lacey hoped it would be. He slowed as he reached the peeling fence, halting at the driveway and looking at the dilapidated front, trying to see it through Lacey’s eyes. Cleaned up, done up, and a second home to the town’s kids.
He squeezed his eyes shut, the old aches rising once more. How different would things have been if he’d had a place like this as a refuge? No. There was no point dwelling on the past. No point at all. He forced his eyes open and took a deep breath. He was well paid, successful, owned his own business, his own apartment, had insurance, a 401k, his suits were handmade, and his gym fancier than many five-star hotels. He’d shaken the dust of his old town off long ago. There was no reason for him to go back, mentally or physically.
It was just… Zac swallowed. He thought he’d trained himself to want no one, to need no one. But less than a week in Crooked Corner and all that training seemed to be melting away like the chocolate in the cookies he’d baked earlier. He would be gone in five weeks. He couldn’t allow anyone to get any closer.
He couldn’t allow Lacey to get any closer…
Zac stepped onto the driveway. Maybe he’d take a look around, see if there were any easy fixes he could offer to do while they were waiting for the money to get raised. He’d always enjoyed fixing things up, self-taught at first then working his way through Caltech on a construction crew. There wasn’t much scope for fixing things in his sleek, new, glass and chrome apartment.
As he headed to the house he noticed that someone had hung up a hoop up over the garage and the ground in front had been cleared of snow. Zac spied a ball sitting against the fence and, unable to resist, he quickly walked forward and scooped it up. He gave it a tentative bounce and then another before—with a twist of his torso—leaping and neatly putting it through the hoop. Perfect!
He didn’t do team sports, hadn’t for a long time, and he hadn’t had the time or motivation to use the hoop hanging over the garage at home when he’d hit his teens. For a while back then, though, he’d been thought not bad, had had a spot on his elementary school team and hopes of a place on the team when he got to junior high. And then it had all fallen apart. He bounced the ball again, darting from left to right against an imaginary foe before neatly putting it through the hoop once more.
“That’s mine.” A sullen voice recalled him to his surroundings and Zac turned, the ball still under one arm. A teenage boy stood by the gate, shoulders hunched, his thin jacket no protection against the cold. Recognition flashed in Zac’s brain. It was the boy he’d seen his first day here, the boy who reminded him all too clearly of himself. “Sorry,” he said easily. “I saw it here and couldn’t resist.” He held the ball out and the boy stepped forward slowly to retrieve it. “Zac Malone. I’m new in town.”
The boy flashed him a glance, which mingled trepidation with a clear I don’t care attitude. “Whatever.”
“It’s been a while since I played.” The boy clearly couldn’t wait to get away but somehow Zac couldn’t just turn his back. He’d been like that once: prickly and defensive, quick to show he didn’t need anybody and yet all the time desperate for someone to notice, for someone to care. Maybe he’d got it wrong. Maybe this boy had a proper coat somewhere and chose the thin khaki cotton out of defiance. Maybe he had a hoop on a freshly painted garage back home but chose to play here at this deserted, run-down house for kicks—but Zac doubted it. He knew a kindred spirit when he saw one. “Fancy a game?”
“With you?” The cutting glance quite clearly showed that twenty-eight was ancient to thirteen or fourteen and Zac might as well have been in his usual suit and tie for all the credibility this kid gave him.
“I don’t see anyone else here. I was just planning on shooting some hoops then heading to the diner for a burger.” He flashed the boy a conspiratorial grin. “The house where I’m staying is full of women. I needed some peace.” He sent an apologetic thought Lacey and the aunts’ way but he had a feeling they wouldn’t mind, that they’d approve of his motivation.
The boy just stood there and Zac shifted, awkward in the silence. What was he doing? A stranger in town making overtures to a sulky teen could be misconstrued in the worst way but Zac was damned if he wasn’t going to try and see what was going on. “Unless there’s anywhere better? But I heard the diner’s a pretty safe bet.”
“They do good burgers there,” the boy volunteered.
“Yeah? I tell you what. Humor me and let me shoot some more hoops with this ball and then I’ll buy you a burger as thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll sit elsewhere. Wouldn’t want to ruin your street cred.”
“I don’t have any.” The boy’s voice was bleak and Zac felt an answering pull deep in his chest, right where all memories and feelings were tightly buried.
“Yeah? Me neither, as you’ll see when you whup my ass at basketball. What’s your name? I usually like to know the name of those who are about to defeat me.”
“Ty.”
“Hi, Ty. Okay, you go first. First to what? Thirty?”
Half an hour later Zac had a warm glow partly from the exercise and partly from seeing Ty lose some of the kicked-dog look as they got into the game. Zac discarded the jacket soon after they started and looped it over his arm as they left the house and began to make their way back to Main Street and to the diner.
“Nice coat,” Ty said with a nod toward it. “Great for skiing as it’s not too heavy and flexible as well.”
Zac ached with sympathy at the offhand words. There was his answer. Ty wasn’t wearing the inadequate jacket for fashion; he probably had nothing else.
“It’s probably a little overkill for walking around Marietta.” Zac looked at it ruefully. “I think the sales clerk took one look at me and realized I was an ignorant Californian who knew nothing about snow and talked me into the biggest commission he could.”
“California?” Ty’s eyes lit up. “Is that where you’re from? I’d love to go there, to get the heck out of this small town.”
“I grew up in a small town a little like this,” Zac said. “Over in Connecticut. Couldn’t wait to get out either, only it seems to me that the people are friendlier here. I’ve been dragged into some kind of fundraising thing for that house we were at earlier. Nobody bothered about things like that where I grew up. They fundraised for nice-to-haves: museums and theaters and things. Not that there’s anything wrong with museums and theaters but they didn’t care about taking care of their own. I get the feeling that they care here.”
Ty didn’t answer but he continued to walk alongside Zac and entered the diner with him, sliding into the same booth. “Have anything you want,” Zac told him. “You deserve it. I could say I was out of practice but that would be a mean-spirited excuse. You beat me fair and square.”
*
It was dark by the time he got back to Crooked Corner. The burger had indeed been very good but far more satisfying had been watching Ty wolf two burgers, a large fries, onion rings, a root beer, and a chocolate milkshake before demolishing a large slice of apple pie.
As he’d expected there had been a few suspicious and surprised glances thrown Zac’s way but he had gritted his teeth and introduced himself in a breezy style that reminded him of Lacey. Yes, he was the auditor; no it wouldn’t take him long to sort everything out at Town Hall. Yes, he was staying at Crooked Corner and yes, he was entering the Bake-Off for them. No he couldn’t cook. That’s how he’d come across Ty; he’d gone to take a look at the house. It was a fine project.
His charm offensive had worked and by the time he’d paid the check he’d had several more invitations for coffee and pool games that he’d turned down with his busy schedule as a convenient excuse. Only those invitations didn’t feel as intrusive as they usually did.
Lacey was alone in the kitchen, a glass of milk and a plate of crumbled cookies in front of her. In spite of their best efforts his had been under-baked and raw at the bottom and hers had been so brittle they crumbled at a touch. Aunt Patty had said menacingly that he had better practice until he got it right and Zac didn’t get the feeling she was exaggerating.
“Hey.” Lacey looked up from the notepad she was scribbling in as he leaned against the doorframe, her smile tentative. “Cookie?”
“No, thanks, I had a burger at Main Street Diner.”
“They’re good there.”
“Why are you in? On a Saturday night?” They weren’t the words he had intended to say but they spilled out regardless. It seemed wrong that this vibrant girl was alone in the house with a plate of overcooked cookies and a calico cat to keep her company.
Lacey blinked. “I…I’m a bit of a homebody.”
“At what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? You should be out…” He paused. What did people do in places like this? “At a bar, playing pool, or dancing. Having fun.”
“I have cookies,” she pointed out. “And I’m working on my interview schedule for the week. Can I interview you on Friday? As advance publicity for the Bake-Off? I’m talking to all the bachelors; you’re not the only one.”
“Sure,” he said and she gazed at him in disbelief. “Really? That’s great, thanks, Zac.”
He took a step into the room, hooking a chair and easing himself down into it. “I met a kid today. Ty something.”
“Ty? About thirteen?” He nodded. “That’s probably Ty Evans. He lives with his grandparents on the other side of town.”
The frustration burst out of him. “I bought him a burger and the kid ate like he was starving. His jacket is completely inadequate; his shoes were wet through.”
Lacey stared at him. “That’s odd. I haven’t seen him or his grandparents for a while but they are a good family. Are you sure?”
“I know half-starved and neglected when I see it.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to the aunts and see what they know. They’re an old-fashioned family, proud, the kind who won’t ask for help. If something is wrong they might be hiding it.”
Zac reached out and snagged one of the cookies, breaking it in half and watching the crumbs fall onto the kitchen table. “I know a little about barriers,” he said hoarsely. “About how hard it can be to trust people. I want to help.”
Lacey put a hand over his. The soft warmth of her touch burrowed deep inside, aching as it thawed him. “
You are helping. I know baking a few cookies seems crazy to you but it is a really big deal. And if something is wrong with Ty then you are the first to notice, the first he’s allowed to notice, which means you might just be exactly what that kid needs.”
Chapter Six
“I don’t know about you guys but right now tomorrow feels like Christmas and my birthday rolled into one. Sometimes February can feel a little bleak, you know? Especially for those of us who aren’t expecting roses and chocolates in two weeks’ time. But tomorrow some of Marietta’s finest bachelors will be proving that there is more to them than chiseled jaws and come-hither eyes and promising us that it’s their skills in the kitchen that will make us swoon.”
Lacey took a quick breath, winked at a horrified-looking Zac, and carried on. “But who are these eight brave souls willing to bare their baking skills to our critical taste buds? I’ll be chatting to them all over the next two weeks but I’m kicking off with the Crooked Corner’s own bachelor: Zac Malone. Hi, Zac.”
“Hi.”
Lacey suppressed a grin. Zac looked like he was in the dentist’s chair, not the comfortable leather desk chair her guests usually sat in. He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, eyes fixed on the noticeboard she hung schedules, reminders, and notes on. She loved her little booth. It was nothing fancy, less technical than the student radio booth she had occupied for most of her four years at Montana State. She had to share it with the volunteer DJs who kept Radio KMCM going from the five a.m. early slot for early-rising ranchers and farmers to the late-night hosts who put Marietta to bed with a soothing mixture of phone-ins and music.
As station manager and the only paid member of staff, Lacey was in charge of the roster, advertising, and all administration as well as her own show. Although it was a demanding role and not well paid, seen more as a stepping stone than a long-term career, she loved every moment she spent in the small station—and if she managed to recruit an intern or two as she was hoping then her own workload would be a little less onerous.
Baking for Keeps Page 5