I’d also eaten an entire fudge bar yesterady, which had been delish.
Currently, I was behind the counter assisting Avery when the ding-a-ling of a bell chimed overhead. Wendy Watts sailed through the doorway with a grand smile, and with an older suited gentleman wearing a tight expression as if he’d eaten a sour apple. Here came my competition for Bernie’s Bakery, and I wanted to cry.
“Good morning!” Wendy waved to Avery and me warmly as if she’d known us forever and we were the best of friends. Then she turned to her prospective buyer. “These are our happy workers.” She’d used a singsong voice on “happy workers” as if the joyfulness of Avery and me could make his dreams come true (and bring her a fat commission, of course).
“She’s good.” Avery spoke in a hushed voice and gave me a look that said she was impressed by Wendy Watts, the queen of Realtors whose face appeared on billboards across the city and outside our door. “Remind me to use her if I’m ever in the position to buy something.”
“Hrmmf . . .” I made a non-committal sound since I didn’t want to believe in Wendy’s ability to sell this place to anyone but me.
“As you know, the owner is selling the building and the bakery as a set.” Wendy clasped her hands together, leaning toward her buyer as if she were revealing some kind of secret just for him. “If you didn’t want to run the business yourself, it is self-sufficient. But once the sale closes, of course, the choice is yours with what you want to do with the space. There are so many possibilities and there’s even a rooftop terrace.”
My mind immediately shot to my dinner with Nate on the terrace Monday night, then a swarm of memories from my youth flooded my brain, causing a wave of nausea to invade me. What if this guy with the sour expression bought Bernie’s Bakery and turned it into a cigar store? Or something else equally suited to his tight disposition?
Avery leaned toward me. “I hope Mr. Grumpy Face will keep the bakery running using his ‘happy workers’ or I’m hosed. Do you know how hard it is to find a job right now?”
Unfortunately, I did. I also knew what it felt like to be micro-millimeters from my dream and not know if it would rip right out from under me. I couldn’t witness anymore.
I turned away. “I’ll be in the back office if Wendy needs me, but hopefully she won’t,” I told Avery.
“Okay,” she said, then addressed a customer who had just walked in.
My stomach roiled and I hurried to my office, wondering if a jar of antacids could reduce the boiling frenzy in my belly. I couldn’t lose Bernie’s Bakery to Mr. Sour Face just days before I completed my dad’s Carpe Diem list. It would be the biggest form of injustice of all time. So would going back to temping.
Hoping a chow-down of antacids would take the edge off my anxiety, I opened the office door, then stopped short. Nate was sitting on the office couch, holding Fudge in his lap. And he did not look happy.
****
“What are you doing here?” I stared at Nate, hoping Bernie’s health hadn’t deteriorated suddenly. When I’d dropped by Bernie’s house with a basket of bread yesterday morning, the dark circles under his eyes had faded and his skin color had returned to normal. “Is your dad all right?”
“For the moment.” Nate’s jaw was tight as he rose to his feet, then set Fudge on the sofa cushion. “But he’s going to have a heart attack for real if he sells his bakery to that sour puss Wendy brought in, then finds out you were willing to buy his business the entire time.”
“You know how I feel about talking to Bernie about that, so don’t start on me right now.” I strode to my desk, pulled open the top drawer, then fished through paper clips, sticky notes, and such, searching for any sign of antacids. There had to be at least a small packet with all of the sugar around here. Were two little tablets asking so much out of life?
“Princess, you’re a wreck . . .” His expression shifted and his eyes filled with concern. Then he came toward the desk, and reached for me. “I’m worried about you. Come here.”
I held my palm up, and continued searching through more drawers with the other hand. “Please keep a friend-worthy distance. I’m at the end of what I can handle right now.”
The muscles on his jaw twisted. “You’re being irrational about thinking you’re doing what’s best for my dad, and about us.”
“No, I’m protecting Bernie. And myself, for that matter.” I pulled open the last drawer, ready to cry at the pain in my belly. If there was any justice on earth, I’d find an antacid in here right now.
Nate stepped toward me. “Protecting yourself from what? Me?”
“Um, duh?” I barely glanced at him as I shoved the final drawer shut, plopped into my office chair, and admitted defeat in the world of antacids. I dropped my head in my hands, devastated that I had nothing to soothe my aching tummy. Or maybe it was more than that. . . “I just can’t catch a break right now.”
“I’m here for you.” Nate’s massaged the top of my head briefly, then I felt him jump up onto the desk before he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I already told you I’m not going anywhere this time.”
“Even if that’s true, it’s not enough. You and are too different.” My stomach tightened even more, sending the burning up my throat. I lifted my head, then gestured between him and me. “We are not the same. Look at what happened with your mom and Bernie. She’s adventurous, he’s not, and that didn’t end so well.”
“You’re comparing us to my parents?” His brows came together as his green eyes flared down at me. “Yeah, my dad was only adventurous one day of his life, which was how they ended up with me. And they shouldn’t have gotten married because of that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Obviously.”
“You see?” I stood, facing him, feeling terrible for bringing up such a painful time in his life. But he needed to forget about us, because the temptation to give in to him was tearing me apart. “I’m sorry for bringing up your parents. But I need you to get that this, you and me, can’t work out.”
He slid off the desk so our bodies were touching, then he cupped my face in his hands. “You’re forgetting one important factor. My parents didn’t love each other.”
Tingles radiated through my body as that one four-letter word rang through my head. Lifting my lashes, jade-green eyes peered back at me. “What are you saying?”
He skimmed his thumbs along my cheeks. “I’m saying, look at your parents.”
“Exactly.” I pressed my hands to his chest. “My mom used to stress out every time my dad went off on one of his adventures. She’d worried he wouldn’t come back, and the last time he didn’t.”
Nate’s green eyes steeled. “People are killed every day in car wrecks on the freeway, from illnesses . . . you name it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Your dad died from a terrible accident.” He gripped my shoulders, staring at me intently, his eyes flashing. “But that accident was a fluke. Bad luck. And I’m not denying how awful that was.” He sucked in a breath, and his tone softened. “But how many times had he gone up in a hot air balloon before that and been fine? How many times do people go up in them every day?”
My pulse raced and I shook my head, still fighting it. “My parents shouldn’t have gotten married. They were too different,” I said, voicing the same concerns I had about Nate and me. But when I said the words aloud, they didn’t ring as true as they had in my head.
“If my parents had truly loved each other, they wouldn’t have let some differences keep them apart.” He dropped his forehead to mine, and closed his eyes a moment. Then he brushed his lips against my cheek. “Your parents were amazing together. That’s what we’d be like.”
My heart pounded in my ears. “How do you know?”
“Because I felt it the moment I saw you again.” He brushed his fingers across my jawline, then gazed down at me with absolute sincerity. “I was still as in love with you as I had been when I was just a dumb kid.”
Butterflies assaulted my tum
my and I swayed, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. “Y-You were in love with me?”
Strong arms looped around my waist, keeping me from falling over. “Wasn’t it obvious?” he whispered.
“Um, no.” I had to laugh at the irony, which tasted bittersweet. “I fought my feelings for you all those years, because I thought you only saw me as a friend.”
The corners of his mouth turned upward. “Don’t you think it’s way past time we stopped being stupid?”
I smiled up at this adventurous man, who’d had my heart before the very first time he’d kissed me. In answer to his question, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his, giving him everything in my heart that I’d been holding in way too long.
His mouth immediately claimed mine. Darts shot through my belly as his tongue nudged between my lips and I opened for him. His arms tightened around me and my hands smoothed over his muscular shoulders, as we tasted each other eagerly.
As our kisses deepened, I felt Fudge squeeze between us, pawing at my ankle as if she wanted to be part of the love. Then, a rush of adrenaline coursed through me, and, for a moment, I felt what it could be like to have everything I wanted.
My mom had said that everything happened for a reason. I’d finish my dad’s Carpe Diem list on Sunday, and for the first time I felt hopeful she’d be right.
Chapter Eight
I was about to host my first girls’ night ever, and I had no idea why my dad had thought this would be a good thing. Like I wasn’t stressed out enough right now. Not only had Bernie’s Realtor brought a potential buyer to tour the building this morning, she’d called this afternoon to inform me there was second buyer scheduled to look at the bakery tomorrow.
I’d seriously wanted to scream.
Instead I had spent the last two hours decorating for a spa night theme, clenching my teeth so hard that my jaw hurt. Yeah, the lights were dimmed low, numerous lit candles were scattered around the living room, and I’d put wind chime music on the stereo, but I was the exact opposite of relaxed. I had no time to attempt to chill out either.
Mary Ann, Ellen, and Avery would be here any minute. Earlier, Avery told me she was bringing a special surprise for me, and the gleam she’d had in her eye made me very nervous. My roommate, Ginger, had just gotten home from work—she’s an interior decorator who’d had a job today in my mom’s neighborhood—and was changing clothes in her room.
All I wanted to do was curl into the fetal position in bed, and beg the universe to throw me a bone for once in my life by letting me buy Bernie’s Bakery. Was that really asking so much from life? I didn’t think so. Instead, I had to play hostess to a group of women I wanted badly to be friends with but was scared wouldn’t like me once they got to know my many imperfections.
I glanced around the living room, my gaze jumping from the foot spas Ginger had borrowed from her friends, to the paraffin bath, to assorted nail polishes, then to tubes of facial masques lined up on the coffee table. I liked being pampered as much as the next girl, but it seemed emotionally safer to focus on getting my inheritance money than risking my feelings for the chance to make real friendships.
It killed me how close I was to completing my dad’s Carpe Diem list, and I could practically feel the pen between my fingers signing the closing documents to buy Bernie’s building. I mean, really. I’d adopted a dog, I was dating someone who left me oh-so-breathless, and I was hosting a girls’ night. All I had left was to force myself into that hot air balloon on Sunday, despite the massive fear creeping up my throat just thinking about it. Then I could get my inheritance first thing Monday morning.
I’d had my mom double-check the balance of my pending inheritance funds and the amount was just enough to cover Bernie’s full asking price. Due to his health condition, he’d priced to sell right away, so I wouldn’t even try to negotiate a lower price. Three more days, and the bakery would be mine. I just needed to hope neither of those buyers would be interested. And that I could survive my girls’ night.
I put on velour sweats, a tee shirt with a bling heart (for good luck), and clipped my blond hair up in a twist. Checking my watch, I saw it was six o’clock on the dot, so I decided to pop the champagne and get a head start. I very obviously could use a drink. What if nobody showed up? My nerves frazzled even more. I trudged toward the refrigerator, then happened to glance at the dining table where I’d set up a myriad of decadent delights baked by moi—
My eyes bulged as I stopped in my tracks and gaped at the table. Standing on top of the dining table was my sweet little hot dog, Fudge. One of her four paws stood directly in the middle of a piece of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, and she was currently eating the last of the quiches. I gasped. Her head snapped up as I slowly approached and instead of looking the slightest bit guilty, she started wagging her tail.
“No! Fudge, how could you?” I ran to the table, but it was too late. She’d either eaten or ruined every last snack. This was going to be one hungry crowd, because it’s not like I had back-up appetizers. Who made back-up appetizers? Someone with a dog like mine, apparently. I swooped Fudge off the table, set her on the floor, then jabbed my index finger in her direction. “That was not nice! Not nice at all!”
She proceeded to jump up on her hind legs and attempt to lick my finger. Not exactly the look of regret and understanding I’d been hoping for.
Ginger burst into the kitchen, wearing her running shorts and a tee shirt. Her long dark hair was up in a ponytail. “I heard yelling. What’s going on?”
I threw my hands out. “Fudge ate our hors d’oeuvres.”
Ginger grimaced. “Oh, no. Anything I can do to help?”
The doorbell rang at the same time my cell phone beeped, so I gestured in the direction of the door. “Could you get that for me?”
“Of course.” She sent me a sympathetic smile, then scooted out of the room.
I picked up my cell phone. There were two missed calls from Nate, and a text message from him, too. I ran my fingers over the screen to open the text: I need to talk to you. It’s important.
My fingers flew over the keyboard, and I sent back: Fudge just ate all of the hors d’oeuvres for my party, and I’m freaking out. Can we talk tomorrow instead?
I glared at Fudge who was licking frosting off her paw. “How could you do this to me and then have the nerve to sit there looking so freaking cute?”
My cell phone beeped in my hand, and I checked the screen: Hang tight. New appetizers will be hand-delivered shortly. And we need to talk tonight.
A warm feeling washed over me since Nate was rescuing me yet again. First my dog who’d run after the cat, now my girls’ night. He was going to deserve a medal soon. Or a kiss. Or ten kisses. . . .
I texted back: Thank you SO much. Really.
Moments later, my phone beeped: Anytime, princess. See you shortly.
My belly fluttered since he’d again used the nickname my dad had dubbed me. I could get very attached to him calling me that. Maybe it was because we’d been best friends growing up or something, but although we’d only just started dating, my heart already felt fully invested in Nate, which was both exciting and scary at the same time.
“Let’s get this party started!” Avery danced into the kitchen with Ginger following behind her, then she pulled several items out of her red patent leather tote bag. “Lookie what I brought.”
My first guest had arrived, which left me speechless. Well, technically she was the second guest since Ginger lived here. I couldn’t believe this was happening that girl friends wanted to come hang out with me. It seemed unreal and part of me wanted to hide in the other room in case they somehow realized they’d made a mistake by coming and bolted. Me? Insecure? Maybe just a lot.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, my gaze dropped to the bottles in Avery’s hand. “What are those for?”
She gestured to the purple streaks in her shoulder-length hair, which she wore pulled back at the bakery but had styled down tonight. “I
catch you staring at my hair all the time. Don’t you dare deny you do.”
My immediate reaction was to protest. But Avery would just pin me down anyway, so I went to the fridge and shrugged. “It’s such a beautiful color.” I opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of champagne, hoping a (very full) glass would calm my nerves. “I can’t figure out how you keep the streaks so vibrant.”
“I dye it every week.” She used a tone that said she thought everyone would know that was how you retained the color. “As you will also have to or believe me, the color will fade. Oh, did I mention the surprise I promised you tonight? We’re dying a lock of your hair purple. Surprise!”
I gaped at her happy grin. “I can’t dye my hair purple.”
She held the bottles higher. “Why not? I have everything you need.”
The doorbell rang again, so I glanced at my roommate.
Ginger raised a finger. “I’ll get that. But first, I have to state for the record that a purple lock would look fabulous with your blond hair.”
I couldn’t believe they were ganging up on me! Even though the color of Avery’s hair was beautiful, I couldn’t dye my hair purple for a lot of reasons. Tons. Now I just needed to come up with one. . . .
“I’ll think about it,” I said, hoping I could stall her while I figured out what was holding me back. I really did have hair envy, but people would notice me if I had purple hair. They might even stare at the color like I’d done with Avery’s. If they looked too closely they’d see my imperfections, so it was safer to keep under the radar.
Avery took the champagne flute I handed her. “Don’t worry. A few of these and your fear will fly right out the window,” she said.
“Fear?” I frowned, pouring a glass of champagne for Ginger and whoever had knocked on the door. Avery was so off base. “I’m not afraid.”
She raised a brow. “Then why won’t you say yes?”
I stared at her pretty purple hair, wondering how she’d ever had the guts to dye so many streaks. But I was not as brave as she was, so I raised a shoulder. “It’s just not . . . me.”
Déjà Date Page 8