by Jillian Hart
He took the boxed cake and offered his hand to help her from the low-slung car. The brush of her hand to his renewed him, more every time.
Having her at his side was like a gift. She swept beside him with that buoyant walk of hers. Everything about her was bubbly. This evening, she wore a light purple summer dress that shimmered as soft as a dream. Matching lavender sandals clicked on the brick walk, echoing slightly in the balmy, quiet grounds. The purple gift bag she carried made a pleasant crinkling sound as she walked. Her hair was pulled back in one of those fancy braids and stayed in place thanks to a few little purple butterfly barrettes.
Cute. Whimsical. She was like a spring breeze and he could not get enough of her. Powerful affection filled him. He hesitated on the doorstep. “This is your last chance to bolt.”
“How did you know that had crossed my mind?” She winked, and looked even more sweet and adorable. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Super-duper.” He said that to make her smile, and it worked. He opened the front door. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Their steps echoed in a mammoth marble foyer.
Ava looked around, a little afraid to step on the very expensive looking marble beneath her shoes. “Is this a house or a museum?”
“It always felt like a museum when I was growing up. Come all the way in. Don’t worry. We don’t charge admission. Not on Tuesdays, anyway.”
Her gaze went directly to an ornately framed watercolor, which was mounted on the wall directly ahead of her. It looked old. Ancient. Probably by some master—Aubrey would know which one. “That looks real.”
“Mom likes to hang her expensive pieces where she can impress everyone who walks through the door.”
“Me, too. We have a cross-stitch welcome sign hanging in our entry. Aubrey did it last winter. It’s a total classic. We’ve had offers.”
What was it about her that made even visiting his mother fun? He set the cake on the antique table against the wall.
“Did you really grow up here?”
There was that little furrow between her eyes again, a sign she was puzzled. So, he hoped, did she see what he wanted her to see? Most people who walked through the door were impressed by Monet and the imported marble. There were no family pictures framed and hung on the walls. No cross-stitched sign welcoming guests. No hints of love or comfort anywhere.
A maid in a black uniform hurried discreetly toward them. “Master Brice. Happy birthday! Let me take your things. The family is in the rec room. Dinner will be served promptly at seven.”
“Thanks, Wilma. This is Ava. And here is the cake.”
“Oh, well done. I’ll get this to the kitchen.” The tidy lady hurried off with efficient speed.
Ava knew she was gaping. Okay, call her intimidated now. What she had already seen of Brice’s life was a neon sign they weren’t compatible; this was a billboard framed in blinking red lights. “She took my purse and your gift.”
“She’s supposed to.” Brice looked amused as he guided her through a cavernous formal living room filled with rich polished woods and upholstered velvet and toward a slowly downward winding staircase.
No way was this a home. It was too perfect to relax in, and there was no feeling of love or life. From the expensive imported carpets to the vase that looked like it came from ancient China. Where did his parents put up their feet at the end of a long day and watch television? And there wasn’t a book anywhere. Not even a Bible. The rooms, stuffed with expensive furniture, felt vacant and hollow. There was no heart. No warmth.
This was Brice’s childhood home? No way could she imagine children growing up here. Well, not the way she would want to raise children, anyway. With noise and friendly chaos.
Their footsteps echoed in the coved ceilings overhead, just like they would in a museum.
“Everyone’s downstairs.” Brice took her hand, his gaze and his touch were more than tender. It felt as if he cherished her. Being cherished by Brice Donovan was just about the best thing she could wish for, but with every step she took, she wondered how this could possibly last.
Voices grew in volume as they descended the grand staircase and arrived in a slightly less formal version of the living room. Four people rose from stiff, uncomfortable looking couches. Brice’s parents and grandparents stopped in mid-conversation to stare at her.
During the few seconds of awkward silence, she felt Brice’s hand tighten on hers. Tension rolled through her. The sudden silence felt uncomfortable. So did the hard way Brice’s mother studied her.
Okay, she could see the mistake right away. She was wearing purple. Everyone else was dressed in sedate colors. Navy. Black. Beige. She stuck out like a grape Popsicle. Her dress wasn’t floor length, her hair wasn’t swept up and sedate. She wore her cross and not ten-thousand-dollar pearls—not that she had any or wanted to have any.
It was too late to rethink the wardrobe. The important question was whether Brice thought bringing her was a definite mistake?
“Everyone, this is Ava McKaslin,” he said in that warm baritone of his.
Since her knees were a little wobbly, she took care stepping forward so she didn’t trip as Brice introduced her to his parents.
“It’s good to meet you.” Brice’s father, Roger, stuck out his hand.
She hoped her palm wasn’t too damp. Oops. Nerves. She wanted her grip to be firm enough for him. She met his gaze, and she realized he had Brice’s eyes. And they were warm and kind.
“I understand you designed our Chloe’s wedding cake. That was beautiful. Everyone said so,” Roger Donovan said stiffly, as if he were uncomfortable, too. “Chloe comes back from her honeymoon tomorrow. I’m sure she will tell you herself how happy she was with it.”
“Thanks. It’s very nice to meet you.” Her voice hardly wobbled at all. Whew. That went pretty well. Considering.
“And this is my mom, Lynn. I know you’ve already met.”
Lynn Donovan nodded once, a curt bob that was barely an acknowledgement. “I understand you’re designing Carly Frost’s wedding cake. Maxime and her oldest daughter were just telling me today how pleased she is so far.”
“That’s nice to hear. I’m glad they’re happy.”
“Hmm.” The woman managed to make that sound seem judgmental, and said nothing more. She pursed her lips and stared hard at Ava, as if she didn’t like what she was seeing.
Okay, this wasn’t going as well. Ava took a rattling breath, feeling more and more unsure. Until Brice’s hand engulfed hers, and his touch was a steady anchor of comfort and reassurance.
“Hello, to both of you.” His grandmother looked elegant in her designer pantsuit. She crossed the length of the room, arms out, and pulled him into a quick hug. “Happy birthday, young man.”
“I’m glad you could make it.” Brice kissed her cheek. “How was your flight home?”
“The usual. Lines. Customs. Only one lost piece of luggage. An improvement from the trip over.” Merriment twinkled in her eyes and she grasped Ava by the hands. “Ava, dear girl, how is your grandmother? Mary and I have been playing phone tag for the last few months.”
“Gran is fine, or so I hear. I haven’t spoken to her for the last few weeks, but she’s scheduled to call soon. I’ll tell her that you were asking after her.”
“Tell her I demand she calls me.”
“I’ll tell her. It is good to see you again, Ann. And you, too, sir.”
Brice couldn’t believe it. He curled his hand around the nape of her neck, tenderly pulling her closer. “Okay, how do you know my grandparents?”
“We met at my Grandpop’s funeral, although it’s been a few years now,” she explained. “I’m glad to see you are both well.”
“As right as rain.” Gram clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “How wonderful that you are with us here tonight, dear. To think you and Brice are dating.”
“I’m afraid that’s just a rumor. I suppose it will never stop if I keep hanging out with him.”
“Oh, you have your grandmother’s sense of humor.” It was plain to see that Gram already adored Ava. “I hear you’ve brought the cake tonight. Something special for our Brice. Now, we’ll know just how much she’s fallen in love with him when the cake is unveiled. What fun.”
“I’m afraid it’s not what you’re expecting.” Ava rolled her eyes in that way he loved so much. “Brice requested the cake, so if you don’t like it you have to blame him. I’m the completely innocent baker.”
Ann and her husband Silas laughed pleasantly, as if they understood completely. Except for the fact that Brice’s parents were staring at her as if she were their worst dream come true, the evening was going great.
The maid lady chose that moment to announce the salad was ready and to come to the table. She caught Lynn’s coolly assessing gaze and thought, uh oh. But the minute his big hand enclosed over hers, she felt cherished all over again.
“See? They love you,” he whispered in her ear.
She might not be so sure, but he looked happy and she wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” he whispered again, hanging back to let the others head upstairs first.
“Not recently.”
“On a scale of one to ten, you’re a two hundred. A definite Miss Perfect.”
Whatever you do, Ava, she warned herself, don’t fall in love with him.
But it was too late.
Seated at his place at the mammoth dining room table, Brice couldn’t believe how great dinner was going. Okay, Mom wasn’t as warm to Ava as he would have wished for, but she was doing pretty well considering. There had been no comments, bold or veiled, that could hurt Ava’s feelings. It mattered to him that his mom was keeping her promise.
His dad, he could tell, thought she had it together. He’d quizzed Ava about her business plan, while Granddad had added his advice, and they both pronounced her plans financially sensible and well done.
Ava smiled in that sweet way of hers, winning his heart all over again, thanking Wilma as the maid cleared her plate.
Powerful love for her hit him like a punch to his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel his heart beating. He could see only her. Be aware of only her. Seconds stretched into eternity and it was scary, this all-consuming love for her. Scary, but right.
He knew she was the right woman for him. The real question was: Did she feel the same way about him?
“Excuse me,” Ava said in her cheerful way, “but I’d better help set up the cake.”
“Oh, the cake!” Gram clasped her hands together in anticipation. “This I have to see.”
“I hope it’s chocolate, like Chloe’s wedding cake,” Granddad commented.
His mother’s lips pursed tight; but thank the Lord she kept her opinions to herself. Brice’s heart swelled with love for his mom. He was proud of her. He knew how hard it was for her to keep her promise to him. Catching her gaze, he nodded his silent thanks, and some of the tension eased from around her mouth. He knew it was going to be okay.
“Yes, it’s chocolate.” Ava bounced up from her chair. “But this is a different recipe than I used with Chloe’s cake. This is more like fudge. I call it my triple chocolate dream cake.”
Granddad grinned. “I like the sound of that.”
“He has a terrible sweet tooth.” Gram shook her head, as if in great disapproval, but there was no mistaking the depth of love alight in her eyes. “What am I going to do with you, Silas?”
“Just love me for who I am, I guess,” Granddad grinned at her.
Across the table, Brice recognized that loving glance his grandfather gave his grandmother and understood it for what it was truly, for the first time. Not merely love, but a breadth of love that happened to a man, if he was blessed, once in a lifetime. And he had to be brave enough to grab hold of that rare blessing and not let go, no matter how scary it was.
Opening himself up to love and hurt and rejection again was tough. But truly, Brice realized as Ava pushed in her chair, her purple skirt swirling, his heart had already made the choice.
Ava was his everything. He knew it, soul deep. He wanted to spend the rest of his life loving her, protecting her, cherishing her.
She took two steps and then turned to give him a death-ray glare. “From your chair, I think you can see part of the kitchen, and you are not supposed to see the cake until it’s ready. No peeking. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I see that twinkle in your eye. You’re thinking about peeking.”
“If I was, you’ve made me change my mind.”
“Oh, sure I did.” Was it so wrong that she wanted this to be a surprise? She’d worked really hard on his cake, just for him. She’d wanted him to be happy with it. As she headed to the kitchen, it occurred to her that making him happy was taking top priority on her list of the most important things in life, and how scary was that?
With every step she took through the magnificent house, she felt more and more out of place. Sure, his family had gone out of their way to extend their warmth to her, and she was grateful for that, but did that help all the bad feelings that kept wanting to bubble up like lava into a volcano’s dome?
No. Not a bit. The pressure was building, and there was nothing she could do about it. She smiled at Wilma, who was busy setting down the cake plates in a totally fancy china pattern, and fetched the bakery box from its spot on the counter.
“Let me set out the cake,” the maid lady said, as if possessive of her job.
“Oh, I want to make sure it’s perfect. I’ll just unbox it, then.”
“Very well.”
As Ava carefully picked up the box and moved it out of Brice’s sight, she felt the tangible stroke of his gaze like a tender caress to her cheek. Pure sweetness filled her heart, and she did her best to hold back every feeling. Every caring emotion. Every piece of growing affection she had for this man.
She stood frozen, his loving glance holding her in place like a tractor beam.
Don’t let yourself fall any more in love with him, Ava. She gulped hard and forced her foot forward. It took a few more steps and then she was safely out of his sight. But out of the tractor-pull of his feelings?
Of course not. She felt the pressure building in the center of her chest, like the rising dome of that volcano about to blow. She felt little and plain and very purple in her dress, in this enormous kitchen that was roughly the size of her apartment. She could see into the next room—some kind of solarium thingy, with rich-looking imported carpets and antiques and more paintings on the walls—probably from some master she knew nothing about.
This was Brice’s life, she realized. This was where he grew up, this was his childhood home, he’d had maids and probably nannies and, as she heard the conversation drift in from the dining room, he was intelligently discussing the summer symphony series.
She felt the first crack in her heart as she lifted the lid of the box. Even so, there was no way to stop her love for him as it brightened in intensity. No way to hold it back. She didn’t even know she could hold so much love inside her, but there it was, an infinite amount, welling up right along with the building pressure of the truth. The truth she could no longer deny.
Brice was Mr. Perfect. But not her Mr. Perfect.
The first stroke of agony burned like fiery lava licking at the edge of her heart. Who knew doom would fall so quietly? The only sounds were the muted clink of Wilma counting out the silver and gold-plated dessert forks and the pleasant murmur of voices discussing Beethoven from the next room.
All she had to do was to lean a little to the right, and she had a clear view of him. Of Brice, looking like a magazine cover model in his designer suit, the ivy league educated, successful son of one of the oldest and richest families in Montana. Mr. Eligible Bachelor, who looked comfortable in this museum of a house. This wasn’t the Brice she’d come to know and, sadly, to love.
Ava felt another crack sli
ce through her heart. She lifted the cake carefully onto the counter. She looked at it now through different eyes. She’d put her heart into doing her best job for Brice.
The big blue and red dump truck was parked in the middle of the cake board she’d decorated to look like a dirt and gravel road, made of sugar paste and crumbled chocolate cookies, tacked with sugar glue and sprinkled with edible gold sparkles, to jazz it up. A construction driver was tucked behind a steering wheel. D & M Construction was spelled out in silver script on the door. The bed of the truck was mounded high with gray boulders, which were individuals bites of iced cake.
Her best dump truck cake ever, and it didn’t seem that way now. It wasn’t right.
She wasn’t right.
Brice’s mother tapped into the kitchen and blinked, as if she were totally confused. “That’s a cake?”
Yeah, just as she’d thought. Ava took a steadying breath and wished she was centered enough for a quick prayer, too, but she wasn’t. “It’s what Brice wanted.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“I know, it looks really close to the real toy, doesn’t it? But trust me, everything is edible.”
“It’s certainly…interesting.” Lynn was apparently struggling for something complimentary to say.
But there was no denying the truth, not anymore. She lovingly slid the elegant white candle that had been laid out by Wilma into the center of the cab’s roof. Just one candle, that was all, and it looked out of place on the cake.
She thought of the bright yellow number three and one candles she’d brought for the cake, and decided to leave them where they were—in the back of the bakery box. Lynn Donovan didn’t look as if she’d ever used novelty candles. Only classy all the way.
Which was probably why the woman had such a pained look on her face. “Brice will be pleased with this, I’m sure,” she said stiffly.