Disaster in Love (A Disasters Novel, Book 1: A Delicious Contemporary Romance)

by Liz Bower

  I stared at her blankly for a moment because when had my duties included being the office lackey?

  “Kirsty, are you listening?”

  Clearly she hadn’t been. “It’s Kimberly.” She let out a huff like remembering my name took too much effort then thrust a piece of paper in my face.

  “Here, I wrote the order down. And try to be quick about it.”

  I glared at her retreating back but headed for the stairs. Ran down them—not because she told me to be quick—to get out of the office before I said something I’d regret.

  I shoved open the door to the coffee shop with a little too much force as the bell above it jangled wildly.

  Laney popped up from behind the counter, her brown curls bouncing around her head.

  “Hi, Kimberly. The usual?”

  See, even the coffee shop owner managed to remember my name. “God, please.” I thrust the list over the counter. “And these.” She took a step back and I rearranged the scowl on my face. “Sorry. Sometimes…no, scratch that—I hate working in an office.” Laney twisted her lips to the side as she grabbed a takeout cup.

  “You’re preaching to the converted. Why do you think I spend every waking moment making a go of this place?”

  And she did. The coffee shop was always open before I got into work and after I left. If I really wanted the cake business to take off maybe it was time to put in more hours.

  The hiss of the coffee machine brought me out of my musings. “Can you do Jaz’s usual too? And put them on the company account please.” Laney nodded as she finished up the first drink.

  “So, you and Jaz seem…close.”

  I waited for her to say something else, but as her cheeks pinked up, understanding dawned and I snorted out a laugh. “Not hardly. I think he’s just taking pity on the new girl. He’s a good laugh though.”

  “Yeah, that’s Jaz, a laugh a minute. I didn’t think you were his…type.”

  Mmm. I didn’t know Laney enough to ask what she meant but I’d definitely be asking Jaz what he’d done to piss her off.

  Laney slotted the drinks into cardboard holders, and I trudged back up to the office.

  By the time five o’clock rolled around I was a little jealous that Jaz had plans for the weekend that were a thousand times more exciting than mine. The most excitement mine would involve was watching the cakes rise for Beck’s parents’ cake.

  I let out a loud sigh as I unlocked the front door. Since my parents’ deaths the previous year—and then moving into their house—I’d lost touch with most of my old friends. The majority of them had given up calling to ask me to join them on nights out. But I knew if I called a couple of them, the invites would still be waiting. But with that would come the questions. How was I coping? How was the new place?

  Knowing they meant well didn’t stop the memories from hurting, though. Like my friends were all tied up with the grief and pain of losing my parents. If I didn’t see them, I could try and ignore it all instead. So there I was, Friday night, all alone.

  Saturday morning over a cup of coffee with the cakes in front of me ready to decorate, I realised Beck hadn’t actually decided how he wanted them iced. Grabbing the card he’d given me, I stared at the email address as I slid it onto the breakfast bar in front of me. The cake had to be finished by the following weekend. If it was any other client, I wouldn’t hesitate in contacting them.

  Shoving my hair behind my ears, I glanced at my laptop then dragged it over in front of me. He didn’t need to know this was the highlight of my weekend. Typing in his address and a quick message I pressed send before I could change my mind.

  I slid the laptop away and took another sip of coffee as I stared at the cakes. When my laptop chimed, announcing a new message, I jumped. Dragging it back over, I saw Beck’s reply. I opened his email.

  Why don’t I come over, and I can show you some of the ideas my sister and I discussed?

  My pulse kicked up a gear at his unexpected response, and I smoothed my dressing gown down over my lap. Leaning back against the stool, I read the message again.

  Beck. There in my house. I rolled my eyes. What did I think was going to happen? He was going to discuss cake designs not lean me over the breakfast bar and—

  Okay, those thoughts weren’t helping. But I liked him. And not just all those hard muscles and soft skin. We didn’t know each other that well, but I wanted to. Aside from the name thing and that he was my boss. But he wouldn’t be my boss forever. And there was no harm in getting to know your boss, was there?

  Knowing those thoughts would circle through my mind as long as I let them, I hit reply and sent him my address. His reply came as quickly as the last.

  Be there in about half an hour.

  “Shit. Half an hour?” I jumped down from the stool and ran upstairs to shower and get dressed.

  As I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, there was a knock on the door. I smoothed my clammy palms down my pink blouse and took a deep breath. Usually, on a Saturday, I’d be in yoga pants and a vest top instead of office clothes. But Beck was a client. Totally the only reason I was trying to impress him.

  Strolling from the kitchen, then through the living room, I paused as I reached the front door. Fingers clutched around the handle, I closed my eyes and took a calming breath. Blew it out and opened my eyes. Then swung the door open.

  Dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt beneath a black bomber jacket, Beck looked edible. His eyes darker than usual and obscured behind a pair of black-framed glasses that screamed sexy nerd.

  “Hi.”

  Tongue thick, I swallowed and heat bloomed across my cheeks. Words, Kimberly. You need to use words. “Come in. Hi.” Better words, I told myself as I stepped back to let him in. I closed the door and led him into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  Pouring him a cup, I kept one eye on him as he removed his jacket. The movement made his shirt pull tight across his chest. Sleeves rolled up to show off corded forearms. I slid the cup across the breakfast bar to him, not trusting myself to actually pick it up.

  “I was in the office when I got your email,” he said pointing to his shirt. Guess I hadn’t been that subtle in my once-over of him. He sat down on the stool next to me and nodded at my open laptop.

  “Are those your cakes?”

  I’d left it open on my website. “Yes, some of them.”

  He pulled the laptop closer to him and scrolled through my work. “They’re good.”

  “Then why do I feel a but coming?”

  He laughed and clicked on the contact page. “No, really. They are.”

  I glanced up at him. “But?”

  “Honestly?”

  I nodded. None of my friends would voluntarily talk about my cakes. Their eyes would glaze over when I got going on the subject. Unless I was offering them a slice to try. Then it would be their lips that were glazed over with icing.

  Beck clicked back on the design page. “It shows that you’re good at what you do, but it doesn’t tell people anything about you.”

  It told them I could make good cakes. What else did they need to know? “Why would people want to know about me? They want a cake, not to get to know me.”

  Beck twisted on the stool, his thigh brushing against mine as he faced me. “Because why would people buy your cakes rather than, I don’t know, go to their local bakery? You need to sell yourself to them.”

  I pursed my lips together. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I can barely sell cakes to people, let alone sell myself.”

  “Okay. Are you qualified?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve taken a few courses, but nothing formal.”

  He waved towards the laptop. “But you don’t mention that. It’s just window-shopping at the moment. You need something to get them from ‘I like that cake’ to ‘I’m going to contact her and order that cake.’ ” Wagging a finger back and forth between us he asked, “Do you do this for all your customers?”


  “What? Get their requirements?” He nodded. “Yes, of course. How else would I know what to make?”

  “Then put it on your website. Sell it to them. Email me for your personal design appointment now. I’ll make your dream cake a reality.”

  I snorted then clapped a hand over my mouth. So attractive. Beck’s forehead crinkled up.

  “Well, you get the idea. Something along those lines. Give them a reason to get in touch.” When I didn’t reply he shrugged. “I could help you. If you want me to?”

  My heart thumped sluggishly. Probably trying to solidify itself from the puddle Beck’s words had melted it into. He wanted to help me. I nodded, not sure I could trust the words that would come out of my mouth right then.

  Our fingers brushed as I clicked on to another website. The touch tingled all the way up my arm, and the urge to trail my fingers along his bare forearm made me curl my hand into a fist so I wouldn’t. “Thanks. Let’s start with your cake first, though. Easier for me.”

  He smiled showing off those dimples. I wanted to dip my tongue into them. Turning my attention back to the laptop instead, I tried to concentrate on finding some ideas for his parents’ cake.

  We laughed and joked around with ideas until Beck’s stomach grumbled loudly. Glancing over at the clock on the wall, I saw we’d been at it for an hour and a half and it was lunchtime already. “Do you want some lunch? I think I could manage to rustle up a sandwich with what I have in the cupboards.”

  “That sounds good.”

  I opened the fridge door, scanning the sparse offerings on the shelf. Add shopping to the to-do list. I grabbed a packet of ham, some cheese, and the jar of Branston Pickle then shut the door with my hip.

  Beck was standing in the doorway looking through into the living room. As I grabbed the loaf from the bread bin, he joined me at the counter resting a hip against it. I got a whiff of his spicy scent, and it smelt more delicious than the sandwich I was preparing.

  “It’s not how I imagined where you lived.”

  He’d imagined where I lived? I’d never given much thought about where he might live. But seeing him in his suit at the office, I’d plump for a modern, flash apartment in the centre of Manchester. A penthouse probably to match his flashy job title. All floor to ceiling windows and panoramic views. “Why? What did you imagine?”

  He shrugged and I busied myself with slicing the cheese. “I don’t know. A flat in the city centre maybe.”

  I added a couple of slices of ham to the top of the cheese then laid another slice of bread on top of that. Cut them in half and braced myself for the conversation. “I used to live in the city. I grew up in Marsdon and left after college when I got a job in Manchester. This is my parents’ house. Or was…I guess it’s mine now.”

  I handed him one of the plates and we sat back down at the breakfast bar. “Your parents…?”

  My fingers clutched around my heart necklace not wanting to have this conversation. “They left the house to me and my brother. He’s living in Australia at the moment. They died in a car accident over a year ago now.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I shrugged and he slipped his arm around my shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  His fingers wrapped around my shoulder digging into the muscles along the base of my neck. If his touch was supposed to be relaxing, it was anything but. Heat spread out from where his fingers rubbed, radiating across my chest and tightening my nipples.

  Neither of us spoke, with just the humming of the fridge and the tick of the clock in the background. And this was why I hated talking about it. Apart from the overwhelming loss it brought with it, and frustration, I never knew what I should say. And usually neither did the other person.

  Instead, I took a bite of my sandwich. Couldn’t say anything then.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Beck’s arm dropped from my shoulders, and I missed the comfort of his touch straight away. We finished our sandwiches in silence. Then Beck slid my laptop back in front of him and opened up a new browser window. His long fingers danced over the keys, reminding me of how they’d played my body and made it sing.

  To distract myself, I collected the plates and loaded them into the dishwasher. Grabbed a bottle of water for each of us from the fridge then sat back down beside him.

  He angled the laptop towards me. The screen showed a website for a company I’d never heard of. Read the blurb on the page to find out they sold handmade jewellery and art. The story told of how the woman had started making pieces as gifts for friends’ birthdays or special occasions. They had told their friends who told theirs, and that was when she started up the business.

  Bumping my shoulder against Beck’s, I grinned. That was what I wanted to do. Just with cakes, not jewellery. When Beck saw my grin, he smiled back at me, dimples and all.

  “See. It’s a great story, isn’t it? Makes you think, wow she must be good then if that many people buy her stuff.” I nodded. “That’s what you need to do with your website. Convince people they should be buying from you.”

  That sounded great in theory, but I didn’t have that many referrals. Beck clicked on another page.

  “Are you on Facebook? Twitter? Instagram, even?”

  I shook my head. “No. Well, I have a Facebook account, but I don’t really use it much.” Beck took a sip of water. My gaze glued to his lips as they wrapped around the bottle. Okay, get a grip. He’s trying to help you and you’re jealous of a bottle? Replacing the cap, he carried on.

  “You need to be. Alicia—my sister—has a huge following on Instagram. It’s easy. You just upload pictures of all the cakes you make, and people will start to follow you. The more people who follow you, the more orders you’ll get.”

  He did make it sound so easy. Then he clicked on another page.

  “And she has a blog. She records herself making jewellery and then speeds it up into a five-minute video clip. Does little how-to bits so people can try a project themselves. You could do that too. Show people how to…” He waved one hand at me and shrugged.

  “Make cakes,” I said with a smile.

  “Well, yes.”

  My smile slipped at the excitement clearly evident by the way his eyes sparkled. He was the first person who had ever shown a real interest in this. Who thought I could do it. That I needed a little help but could do this. I slid my hand over his where it rested on the breakfast bar. Slipped my fingers between his and gave them a squeeze. Throat thick and eyes stinging with gratitude, I think I fell a little bit in love with him right then. I swallowed to try and clear my heart from where it was lodged in my throat. “Thank you.”

  Pulling his fingers from beneath mine so he could turn his hand over he twined our fingers together again. “You’re welcome. I didn’t really do anything, but you’re welcome.”

  He’d done more than he thought. Knowing he believed in me gave me the confidence to believe in myself. Trying to start this up all on my own since my parents had died was hard. Having someone to discuss it with, who showed a real interest…that meant everything to me.

  He glanced at the clock and then released my hand.

  “I’d better get going. I’ve got a team br—” He coughed. “A meeting. I’m running late for a meeting.”

  I stood up from my stool to show him out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you from your plans. But thank you for this afternoon.”

  He leaned over and our eyes met. Then he brushed his lips against my cheek and straightened. I was a little disappointed it was only my cheek.

  “You’re welcome. And I’m happy to help…anytime.”

  And the way he said the last two words had me thinking about him helping me in an entirely different way. As I wondered if that was what he meant—or if it was just wishful thinking on my part—heat spread across my cheeks.

  But then he was striding towards the living room and I hurried after him. Opened the front door for him and watched as he climbed into a flashy looking blue BMW then dr
ove off.

  Quietly, I shut it and the house felt empty without him. Making my way back into the kitchen, the first thing I saw was the laptop still open on the jewellery website. I could record myself working on Beck’s parents’ cake. Then maybe I could start writing a blog. I smiled as I realised how excited that idea made me. To take control and do something to make my dream a reality. No time like the present; I grabbed the fondant and set to rolling it out.

  The following day, I’d spent nearly two hours messing around with the recording that showed how to pipe decorative icing around the base of the cake and the board, but I’d finally managed to edit it into something I was happy with and uploaded it to my website. Folding my arms across my chest, I leaned back on the stool, quite proud of myself. I wondered what Beck would think of it if he ever watched it.

  The idea of writing “my story” of how I’d started all this didn’t appeal as much. Maybe I could do that another day. As I stared at the blank Word document on my screen, an email alert flashed up. I read the name of the sender before it disappeared. Why would Beck be emailing me? Was there a problem with the cake order?

  Bringing the email back up I quickly read it and relaxed. Then did a little happy dance on my seat. He’d seen my blog post and loved it. I think I love him.

  My eyes widened as my mind registered the thought. No way. We didn’t even know each other that well. It was far too early to be thinking about the L-word. Shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. I had thought it was only one night together. I wasn’t ready for a relationship. Hell, I didn’t even know if Beck was interested in one with me. Maybe he felt some misplaced sense of guilt for the way the situation had ended up and felt responsible as my boss.

  Banishing that line of thought, I read the rest of his email instead. He’d been looking at my website to see if he could come up with any more ideas to help. I clapped a hand over my mouth as the goofiest smile I’d ever worn broke out. As if I needed to hide it even though I was alone. Why did that make me so ridiculously happy? That he’d been thinking about me after he left. Because he cared.