by D. D. Scott
“Well, don’t just sit there gawking,” Jules said, coming at him with a piping hot baking sheet. “Pour us some coffee.”
“Sure thing, JuJu Bee,” he said, noticing the stress lines creasing her pretty forehead, goading his instincts to search and destroy whoever was responsible for her upheaval. “After we demolish these scones, I’ll help you with the berry pudding.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t. But I’m not sitting here while you bust your ass.”” As Cody retrieved the coffee pot, his arm brushed hers, sending tremors of electricity to the tips of his boots.
“Cody, I appreciate it. Truly, I do.” Jules set out butter, honey and a knife. “But you know how I am in the kitchen and -”
“You’re right, I do.” He interrupted her before she could make a decent argument. “But I survived three months with you in The Neon Cowboy’s kitchen and I’ve volunteered for another go around. Not sure what that says about my mind. But the shape you’re in tonight, I’m willing to trade my mental competency for yours.”
“You really are nuts,” Jules said then laughed.
Cody’s heart tightened against his chest at the sound of her laughter, even if it was at his expense. He liked that for a woman in her mid thirties, she laughed like a little girl watching her favorite cartoon. Spontaneous giggles. Untouched by inhibitions. But giggles farther and farther apart now that she was consumed by the bakery and Fan Fest.
“Okay, Stud, as you wish. But you know the rules. Don’t do anything until I tell you how and when.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of the rules. Your diva-hood in the kitchen is no secret of the South.” Cody poured her coffee, stirring in three raw sugars like she preferred. “So why the need for the cinnamon scones? That isn’t a good sign.”
“I make scones all the time.” Jules wiped a small bead of sweat from her brow.
“I am a pastry chef or did you forget?” Slicing through a scone, a tiny trail of melted cinnamon chip clung to the knife as she lifted it from the plate.
“No, smart ass, I didn’t forget your occupation.” Cody licked his lips as Jules dipped the knife into the butter tub then slathered the inside of the scone. “But you don’t make your aunt’s sacred cinnamon chip scones, at home, after nine p.m., when you have other stuff that must be made before calling it a night.”
Topping the scones with drizzles of honey, she made him salivate like Pavlov’s dog.
“I could have had the other stuff done if you’d gotten your ass here on time with my berries,” she said then took a healthy bite of scone, catching one drop of honey with her tongue but losing another drop down the dangerously scooped neckline of her strawberry red tank top.
“Hey, you know there aren’t enough hours for what crazy people like us dish onto our plates. I’m sorry I’m late, but I had to help Grams and Mom finish up tomorrow’s menu prep before I headed out into the fields to pick your berries.”
“I know. I know. And I’m sorry for being so impatient. Shit. I am losing it, aren’t I?” Jules licked her fingers then tugged at her bra as if coercing her double bounty back into place.
Fixated on cleavage management like any loyal, concerned male friend should be, Cody couldn’t help but concentrate on the honey, wet and sticky, smack dab across one of her nipples.
“Need help corralling the twins?” he asked, not able to suppress the ornery grin spreading across his mouth. “There’s some honey…”
He reached his hand toward her chest, his fingertips fueled by a desire he fought with everything in him to contain.
“I got it.” She swatted his hand while biting back a smile then took a napkin to the honey. “I look like a complete wreck.”
“No you don’t. A bit tired and anxious, but not a wreck.” Cody sat next to her and reached for a scone, dead-set on finding the reason for her panic. “So why is this pudding such a big deal?”
Jules swiveled her stool to face him, her drama-wielding, large, browner-than-brown eyes begging for sympathy like a puppy at the pound. She sighed, as if ready to unload a Titanic-sized sinking ship.
Heeding her mayday call, a gargantuan wave of concern crashed against Cody’s chest. Unlike her staunch, independent style, a fierce determination Cody struggled to adjust to, this time Jules didn’t appear to want to go it alone in her life raft. Determined to keep her afloat, his stomach tightened then tumbled into a swelling abyss. Who or what could have her so off-balance?
“Like the idyllic idiot Aunt Tulip raised me to be, and as if the stress of getting Sweet Destiny open wasn’t mind numbing enough, I thought I’d jump start the bakery and better my shot at the Fan Fest gig by booking a big-time catering event.” Jules drummed her manicured nails against the countertop.
“Nothing I’d consider obscenely grandiose for your normal M.O.,” Cody said. “You’re always biting off, pun-intended, more than you can handle. So what’s the problem?”
She moved her mouth as if simply exercising her jaw would exorcise her troubles, perhaps searching for words she was uncomfortable spilling.
“The event I signed to do is the wedding of Sienna Cruz. Although ‘event’, in its singular form, is a misnomer.”
Cody damn near choked on his scone. He gulped, forcing the biscuit to descend his throat, swallowing it along with his raw nerves. Though a year and a half had passed, hearing Sienna’s name twisted his gut into cantaloupe-sized knots.
“She’s marrying that country music up-and-comer Evan Granger, right?” Cody hoped his nonchalant voice betrayed his depth of knowledge about Sienna and the sting her name fired up in his gut like an ulcer that couldn’t be pacified. “Smart move, JuJu Bee. That event will be fantastic press for Sweet Destiny.”
Potential disaster for him to be in any way associated with, but he should be focusing on Jules’ needs now, right? Not consumed by his deep-rooted despise for all things Cruz. Imploring his ego and instincts to take second seat to Jules’ chance to make a great start for Sweet Destiny, he buried his desire to warn her about getting mixed up in Sienna’s world.
Sienna and Company loathed him, he reminded himself, not Jules. How could they not adore her? He’d never seen anyone, including himself, not be immediately drawn into her high-energy escapades.
“You won’t be touting my brilliance for long.” Jules opened and closed her fingers as if she were squeezing the juice out of an imaginary orange. “The booking includes not just Sienna and Evan’s six hundred-guest wedding day-slash-night gala, but also her bridal shower and bachelorette party…”
“Ouch. You’ve certainly taken on quite the monster…I mean monster events,” Cody said, catching the sharpened edge tingeing his sarcasm, unable to hide his disdain.
“Nyah, nyah, nyah. Not done yet.”
“There’s more?”
Jules nodded her head, affirming she hadn’t reached the end of the nightmare. “I’m also doing the rehearsal dinner, which is where you come in.”
“Where I what?” Cody turned his head away from her reality busting bravado and sucked in a much-needed gulp of air.
“You heard me. So here’s the kicker.” Jules crossed to the recessed nook she used as a mobile command center when baking from home.
She flipped through her planner, turning the book sideways and upside down.
Why the hell she still used the prehistoric, non-earth friendly paper version was beyond him. He’d tried to convince her to trade the beast in for an electronic PDA but had failed. How she read the damn thing with scribbles scratched on every page was a mystery.
Skimming pages like a champion speed reader, she slammed shut the book’s cover. “ We have one month until I’ll be hocking pastries seven days a week at Sweet Destiny. And exactly three months and one week, after our meeting tomorrow with Sienna and her family, to pull off Nashville’s premier event of the holiday season.”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Cody moved his hat lower on his head, trying to shadow the horror he knew pi
erced through his eyes.
“I want you and Grandma Lucy’s Lunchbox Café to help me with the rehearsal dinner as well as anything else out of my comfort level. Kind of a Fan Fest practice gig. I’m the pastry chef, remember? You’re the Meat N’ Three Diner King,” Jules said, her eyes wide with desperation, pleading with him not to even think about letting her down. “Together, we can’t lose.”
Sad, he’d spent countless hours reaching the same conclusion. Together, as a couple, they would be dynamite. But unsure she’d feel the same, if he ever got the balls to bring up the topic, Cody had shoved that thought to a mental shelf he rarely used. Now the idea had manifested itself in a frightening and unintended direction.
“I think I need something stronger than coffee,” he said.
“Good idea. We should toast our partnership and develop a plan for the meeting.” Jules gave him the last scone out of the basket then headed to her liquid courage stash in the turntable next to the frig.
He’d be toast all right, Cody thought, picturing he and Cruz and Company at their first face-to-face since all hell arrived with wedding bells eighteen months prior.
Watching Jules’ body relax while she mixed their drinks made Cody’s head and heart spin. His brain prepared for battle, favoring the flight response instead of fighting the Cruz’s on their turf. His heart, however, charged on, fueled by Jules’ need for him and his diner.
Maybe he should tell her about he and Sienna’s past.
Jules slipped up behind him, handed him a drink then planted her sweet lips on his cheek. Chills of pleasure from the warmth of her breath rippled across his skin and settled in his soul.
Maybe he’d keep quiet.
“Thank you, Sweet Man. Just knowing you’re beside me means everything to me.”
“Anything for you, JuJu Bee.” Cody kissed her nose, tasting a bit of leftover butter and honey.
He could certainly use the positive press about his produce in case he got the balls soon to pursue opening his own market. Not that that was likely. But perhaps. Maybe. Get back with him in a couple of weeks.
Cruz and Company could also surprise him and act like adults, putting business and Sienna’s impending nuptials ahead of their misplaced aggression.
Or maybe Jules was right and he was nuts.
Chapter Two
Jules opened the rear hatch of her Prius, sending silent pleas to the precariously balanced cargo to maintain position. The ozone may be benefiting from her choice of hybrid transportation but her catering needs were riding the edge of disaster. Her meeting with Sienna minutes away, she didn’t have time for disasters.
Careful to keep from cracking her head on the doorframe, she fished her pants pockets for the well-abused checklist she’d torn from her planner. If only she had Cody’s organizational skills. He’d stab his stylus against some button on his Blackberry and the To Do’s would pop up on his screen, probably in alphabetical order. ‘Course that was assuming he’d charged the batteries. A minor flaw but one Jules capitalized on with immense satisfaction. Payback for the grief he piled on her for the forests of Post-It notes she leveled.
Scanning her scribbles, she wedged the crumpled sheet between her teeth. Surveying the trove of totes and tubs tucked into the coupe’s trunk, she identified the containers needing to come out first.
Shoving the paper back into her pocket, she loaded her arms, her body bearing much more than the weight of her bake-and-take containers. The added pounds of pressure to turn this dream job into Sweet Destiny’s coming-out confectionary ball damn near stifled her creative zest.
Sucking up her insecurities, Jules stood tall, except for a slight tilt to her left due to the solid silver candlesticks she refused to leave out of her table setting. Cody had insisted they were overkill. She’d argued he was used to the tacky décor making The Lunchbox Café a uniquely wonderful, trashy dining experience and had no clue regarding the needs of a high-society crowd. He’d finally succumbed to her persuasive skills, and packed the candlesticks.
Water splashed off the Italian marble of the lion-head fountain serving as the centerpiece for the Cruz estate’s magnificent entrance and sprayed Jules’ cheeks. She could certainly use the help keeping her cool even though the brisk, mid-afternoon breeze contributed its own walloping whip. She lifted her head to the autumn sun, soaking in the radiant light, hoping it pierced through the darkness of her doubts.
Her philosophy for Sweet Destiny’s success was that her food would reflect not only her personality but also serve as a mirror image of her clients. Each edible piece of art would personify her bakery as well as her patrons…confectionary characterizations of both chef and customer.
Here she was with her first chance to test her business model, and she’d screwed herself from the get-go. She’d agreed to do this event, having never met her client. After one, fifteen-minute phone call from Sienna’s mother Maureen, Jules had taken the job.
Maureen sounded harmless enough, definitely a bit over-bearing, but after growing up on Manhattan’s Upper East Side under Aunt Tulip’s tutelage, over-bearing was way inside Jules’ comfort zone. Needing the exposure to Nashville’s upper crust customer base, many of whom served on the Fan Fest Board of Directors, she’d accepted Maureen’s offer.
What Jules did know about the Cruz’s, she’d found Google-ing or between the glossy pages of Country Weekly Magazine. The family, according to paparazzi lenses, ruled Nashville’s social scene. Sienna and her sisters Sabrina, Suri and Sasha were the Kardashians of Music City, except their father Cameron was no Olympic champion. He owned Hit Mix, Nashville’s CMT chart-topping record label.
Considering the flavor mix of the pudding she hoped would clinch her new clients’ confidence in her talent, Jules wondered if the Cruz’s, Sienna in particular, were sweet or tart. Guess she’d discover soon, and either thank or stomp on her irrepressible desire to say ‘yes’ to opportunity when it dialed her number.
She rested her containers against the fountain’s ledge, peaking through the sides of the clear plastic tubs to check on the berry pudding. She’d garnished each cobalt blue, hand-blown glass dessert cup with Cody’s fresh berries and mint sprigs. Topped with shaved dark chocolate and crème’ fraiche on site, she’d reduce the essence of a Tennessee summer into a berry pudding dream.
Second guessing her decision, a staple of her pre-event checklist, her stomach swished and swirled like a bottomless well of worries. What if the Cruz Camp didn’t like summer? Maybe they detested this time of year. After all, they’d chosen the holidays for Sienna’s wedding, going for a winter, not summer solstice theme.
The horrendous implications of a negative reaction to her pudding gelled into a sobering reality check. Jules picked up her containers. Veering around the fountain and circular drive toward the front door, she ignored her suppressed desire to make a run for her car.
She stopped and ground the toe of one of her Jimmy Choos against the brick-pavers lining the sidewalk, as if fresh-scuffed soles would secure a hold on her future.
Damn. She was an idiot. The Cruz family must hate summer or they’d have set the wedding then. Shit. Maybe one of them or all were also allergic to berries. Oh, God. What if they were lactose intolerant? Maybe she should skip the crème fraiche. What if Sienna and her sisters were counting carbs to squeeze their bootalicious butts into size zero gowns?
“Are you going to the door? Or are you holding the meeting out here?” Cody asked from behind her.
Jules’ heart pounded against her eardrums. Damn she hated people sneaking up on her. She struggled to keep her grip on the tubs.
Swooping the top two containers out of her arms, Cody nudged the small of Jules’ back with the lids, sending her in forward motion.
“Of course I’m going to the door. I was simply making sure I had everything I needed.” She caught her stiletto heel in between one of the walkway bricks and stumbled up the steps to the door. Horror-stricken she’d about taken a nosedive onto the threshold of her
future she made a valiant, although far from graceful, recovery effort.
Squaring her shoulders to the mammoth oak door, she turned her head over her shoulder to address Cody. “Glad to see you could make it on time. I’ll have to ask Sienna the secret to getting you to be prompt.”
“What the hell?” Cody’s voice pitched at an abnormally high tone. “Why would you think she’d know anything about that?”
His face turned as reddish-purple as his champion beets.
Jules had never seen him flustered. He was usually the epitome of collected, calm and cool. Although seeing him blush settled her rapidly firing nerves a bit.
Jules rang the Cruz’s doorbell. While country music-inspired steel guitar chimes signaled their arrival, she shifted from heel to heel. A big believer in equal opportunity, she kept the tension circulating to all parts of her body while attempting to balance her load.
Taking a couple deep breaths, she pictured Aunt Tulip’s unfaltering bravado. She never let fear stop her from reaching for her goals. She’d raised Jules to go after life’s obstacles with gusto, equipping her with an insatiable, at times insane panache for traveling the paths least amenable to their desires.
Jules tapped her foot to keep her lower extremities in the moment, fearful they’d buckle if she didn’t keep moving. Her left arm now numb from the candlesticks, she considered that perhaps she should have listened to Cody and left them behind. But the ambience junkie inside her knew she’d taken a great hit for the team.
The Cruz’s door opened.
Game on, Jules thought. Ready for what, she hadn’t a miniscule inkling.
A tiny sliver of a man peered over his bifocals, moving his head from Jules’ feet, up and over her bake-and-takes, to her head. The twitch of his mouth and emotionless face masked whether or not she’d passed his entrance exam.
“You must be Ms. Lichtenstien of Sweet Destiny. Am I correct in my assumption?” The man tucked his chin into the hollow of his neck like a snapping turtle.