by Kim Karr
Not that I came or anything.
But seriously, as soon as the delicious taste hit my tongue and slid down my throat, I began to wonder if it might not be better than sex, or the sex I was having with myself, ever since Jaxson and I broke up, anyway.
And if that wasn’t just pathetic.
Scowling at Archer very loudly, Montgomery drew my attention, and I brought myself back to their conversation.
“—I meant the bloody cake, not the orgasms, Monty,” Archer scolded. “Now give me that plate. You know you can’t eat it.”
Monty was his pet name for Montgomery, and although it didn’t seem fitting, whenever he said it, it seemed right.
“It’s my fault,” I piped up. “Montgomery told me you wanted him to watch his waistline, but I insisted he have a piece with me.”
“Is that what he told you?” Archer asked. So unmistakably horrified at the thought, he relinquished the plate back to Montgomery immediately, as if it were burning his fingertips.
Montgomery was making a slicing gesture across his throat, but it was too late, I’d already spoken. I had no idea where to go from there.
“That simply isn’t true,” Archer divulged, straightening his pink bow tie.
“Archer, please don’t say another word,” Montgomery begged.
Archer shook his head. “I’m sorry, Monty, but Jules needs to know. I should have told her last week.”
“Told me what?” I asked, placing my fork into the cake since there was nowhere else to put it.
He turned toward me. “Last week, Monty thought he had a severe case of indigestion, but when it didn’t go away, I practically had to handcuff him and force him to allow me take him to the Emergency Room. The ER doctor determined almost immediately it was not indigestion, but rather diagnosed he was having a heart attack. In a matter of minutes, my Monty had been whisked to the cardiac floor where they discovered a blockage in one of his arteries. Luckily, the cardiologist was able to open it, but our Monty needs to work on keeping it that way by eating the right foods.”
Shocked, I set my plate down on the counter beside me. “Oh, my God. I had no idea. Montgomery, why didn’t you tell me?”
Archer answered for him. “Because he knew how important this client was to you, and didn’t want you to cancel.”
Tears shimmered in my eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Montgomery was nodding his head. “I’m fine, my darling. Don’t listen to Archer. You know he overreacts to almost everything. It wasn’t that big of a deal. And look at me—I’m fine. The doctor said to watch what I eat, and I have been. Once in a while, if I want to indulge, I should be able to. Don’t you think, Juliette?”
Just then there was a pounding on the back door. It saved me from having to answer, and I was thankful for that.
At the sound, Archer slung an arm around Montgomery and took the plate from his hand at the same time. “Come with me in the back, my Monty, that must be the security company.”
Montgomery looked at him in confusion.
“They are going to install a new feature that will allow you to turn the door buzzer off all by itself. You can use it whenever you need silence while leaving the alarm system intact.”
Jerking his head toward me, Montgomery said, “What would I do without him? He’s always trying to make my life easier. Finish your cake, Juliette. I’ll be right back.”
I smiled at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And then I watched the couple as they strode into the back kitchen arm-in-arm, and sighed.
Now that was a perfect kind of love.
Actions Speak Louder than Words
JULES
I WASN’T A ROMANTIC, BUT some gestures always made my heart swell because they reminded me of my parents.
The ways in which my father used to show my mother how much he loved her were so sweet.
Their love for each other was deep, profound and full of the little things that mattered.
It was so perfect.
All I had to do was close my eyes, and I could easily remember the times my father had serenaded my mother at six in the morning because she’d gotten upset with him the night before. Or the holidays he’d had flowers sprayed in glitter before having them delivered because my mother adored sparkly things. And how sometimes he’d bring home a picnic dinner in the middle of winter to help satisfy her spring fever.
I wanted that—someone who knew me better than I knew myself. Someone to laugh with. Cry with. Be with. Someone who made my leg kick up and my toe point when he kissed me. Made my world stop. Someone to love who loved me the same way.
But my prince charming hadn’t arrived yet, and he might never arrive. I had to accept that. Still, I was lucky. I got to see love all around me, and that would have to be enough—for now.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and set my teary-eyed gaze on the cake.
Feeling like this appointment was going to go off without a hitch, I quickly swiped my tears away. Pulling my portfolio of items from my bag, I began neatly arranging them around the cake.
The Tiffany blue looked terrific against the white and brown. And the rustic look really made the color pop.
Jaxson’s business card had gotten intertwined with the photos of the old barns I’d found online for potential venues.
“Sundance.” His nickname used as his professional name was embossed in silver upon white card stock. The S was in a scripted font, and the remaining letters were plain. There was a camera watermarked behind it. His business moniker was not so much elegant as it was practical. Easy on the eyes. A lot like he was.
I stared at it for a long while. He had always aspired to do more than weddings. He wanted to work for a prominent magazine and shoot fashion models. He wanted to work for National Geographic and photograph wild animals. He wanted to photograph anything but weddings.
Had I been the one who had held him back?
Was he finally moving on?
I shoved the card back in my bag. I’d show Rory his work back at my office. Seeing was believing, after all.
When my gaze swung back to the cake, I frowned as I focused on the heart etched into the middle tier.
A wave of alarm washed through me.
Oh, no!
No.
No.
It couldn’t be.
It just couldn’t be wrong.
I bent to get a closer look. With my lips twisted in contemplation, I stared at it for three long seconds.
The initials carved in the cake were RK + RH, but I was fairly confident the groom-to-be’s name was Kyle Harrison, and that would mean the second set of letters should start with a K, not an R.
All of a sudden, I was so hot, and my ears felt like they were on fire. I was about to have a full-fledged panic attack, and I knew it.
This was so not the time for that.
I tried to shake it off. The cake was astonishing, so what if we had one tiny detail wrong? Everything would still be fine. Even as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew it wouldn’t be. Not with a mistake of this magnitude.
As fast as I could, I snatched the sketchpad Montgomery always kept under the counter to double check the initials we’d agreed upon. Flipping it open, I found the rendering right away, but the heart hadn’t been filled in, which meant he hadn’t planned on filling it, or he was uncertain about what to fill it with.
“Montgomery,” I called, but there was no answer.
Pulling my phone from my bag, I quickly thumbed through the emails from Rory Kissinger. Even after scanning them, it didn’t bring me any closer to finding out her fiancé’s name. All her references to him were my fiancé this or my fiancé that or we this and we that.
Tapping Google, I hurriedly searched the Governor of Georgia’s son. Of course, he had to have two sons, whose names, of course, were Kyle and Robert.
Just my luck.
I tried adding the words recently engaged to my search, but I got nothing. Then again, the ha
ppy couple hadn’t made any announcement yet. That would be one of my tasks if I got the job.
“Montgomery,” I called again. When I got no answer, I rushed to the kitchen door and pushed it open. The room was empty. They had gone somewhere.
This couldn’t be happening.
I glanced at the clock. Less than ten minutes until my clients were scheduled to arrive, and there was no time to waste. Since the name Kyle was my first instinct, I was going with it.
How hard could it be to fix?
With my stomach a queasy mess and my breathing out of control, I acted without thinking.
Hurrying back to the counter, I yanked that straw-like thingy from the cup against the backsplash and whirled back around. I just had to turn that R into a K before my clients arrived. If I didn’t, I was sure I’d lose the job because the happy couple would think I was totally incompetent.
Or worse, they would think I had paired the bride with the wrong groom!
Just as the blunt tip of the tool hit the icing, someone’s voice echoed from the lobby, “Are you open?”
I jumped at the deep tremble of the male voice reverberated through me. That huskiness made him sound sleepy, and dare I say sexy. Having been startled, I was a bit unsteady. Forced to stop what I was doing, I jumped into work mode.
My clients.
This had to be my clients.
Of course, the happy couple was early.
The footfalls were getting closer. With only seconds to spare, my mind started to race.
The letter repair was out of the question, and the alternatives at my disposal were limited. I could turn the cake around, step in front of it, stick my finger over the R and erase part of it, or rush the couple out of here and ignore the cake altogether.
No, forget the last one, I couldn’t do that.
It was my selling point.
Pausing for a moment to catch my breath, I inhaled deeply before setting the tool down, and then I discretely just did it. I wiped away part of the top of the R and then quickly licked the frosting from my finger.
Once the evidence was gone, I stood directly in front of the cake and slowly pivoted around on my toes. Ready or not, it was time to meet Rory Kissinger and her fiancé. I didn’t have a plan on how to address the smudge mark on the cake, but I hoped they wouldn’t notice.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Wide-eyed, I found myself looking at only one person, not two. A current ran up my spine, and for a moment I wondered if I knew him, but when I couldn’t place him, I shook it off. “Oh, you didn’t,” I finally managed, the mistruth forcing me to avert my gaze.
Still walking across the lobby, he hadn’t quite made it to the showroom entrance. “Well, even so, I apologize if I disturbed your work,” he said.
Busted. I was busted. I had lied, and worse, he knew it.
Could he see the smudge all the way from there?
Oh, God.
Feeling my body flushing, I forced a smile on my face. “Apology accepted even though it isn’t needed,” I responded, feeling foolish the minute those silly words left my mouth.
“May I come in?” This stranger didn’t have a southern accent, but he definitely had the southern charm.
When I swung my gaze back to answer, he was closing the distance between us. Our eyes met, and for some utterly bizarre reason, the connection felt physical.
All of a sudden, his brow creased, and he stopped in his tracks. Had he felt it too? Perhaps just as confused as I was, he flicked his gaze away from mine and then pouted his bottom lip. It was as if he didn’t like the static between us.
The flirtatious hot guy in front of me wasn’t my client, but despite the fact that this should have calmed me down, my heart began to pound, and I felt that flush rush all the way up my neck. Not that it mattered what color I was because the hunk wasn’t looking at me. He was doing his best to put the cake back in his line of vision.
There was still a fair distance between us, and I think the magnificence of the cake had captured his attention. That was fine because it gave me time to stare at him a bit longer than would ordinarily be socially acceptable.
Tall. Dark. Handsome. Very handsome.
Actually, he was drop-dead gorgeous. And that mouth. His lips. They looked absolutely kissable.
With his partially wet hair the color of milk chocolate spiked forward, and only somewhat combed, it appeared unruly, like he didn’t give a you know what. Maybe he’d recently taken a shower and hadn’t had time to finish styling it, nor had he had time to shave for that matter. He had quite the five o’clock shadow for two in the afternoon.
The fact he appeared ‘undone’ somehow gave him a sexier edge, if that was even possible.
His rebel good looks, along with his dark sunglasses, made him look like the kind of guy your mother warned you about.
Trouble.
Give him a leather jacket and a cigarette, and he could have been James Dean.
There was a blue T located in the upper right of his shirt with a lighter blue wave rushing over the top. Not that I would know, but my best guess was that was the logo for his employer.
The had-to-be security company employee must have come around the front when no one answered in the back. Montgomery and Archer were probably out back arguing over the slice of cake and waiting for him to return. They’d figure it out soon enough.
Not that it mattered. I could keep him occupied for a few minutes. It wouldn’t be that great of a hardship.
The hot technician had stopped in the doorway and was standing there with one hand on the doorjamb at a point high enough to stretch his long, lean body.
I felt like I should pose in some way. Cock a hip, hold my chin up, anything to get his attention. However, before I could come up with something that wouldn’t make me look like a hooker without heels, his gaze shifted my way, and he caught me staring.
Living in the moment, I pushed my small chest forward and placed a hand on my hip. Okay, I probably looked like a girl getting ready to hitchhike. All I had to do was stick my thumb out.
Great.
“May I?” he asked.
Oh, right, he had asked a question. “Yes, of course, come in,” I answered.
Either not noticing or not paying any attention to my ridiculous pose, he pointed to the cake. “That’s quite a showpiece.”
Stepping aside to show it off, I felt very proud that I had helped with the creation, no matter how small my part had been. That was until I noticed the way he had stuck his bottom lip out in a pout once again.
Keeping my gaze fixed on him, I watched him bite that same lip, as if in contemplation. Then with a slight cock of his head, he finally said, “Birds, huh.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t said with excitement, either. I wasn’t sure what to think about that. After a moment, I decided he must be overwhelmed. “Lovebirds,” I clarified, not sure why that mattered. It was just my body was buzzing, and I had to say something.
As if he were done admiring the cake from afar, he eased slightly forward. One foot balanced his entire weight while his other leg bent to take a step inside the showroom, and then slowly he strode toward me.
Entirely unlike me, I found myself watching each step he took. With a body like that the man must work out, like all day, every day. There was no other explanation for how a guy could look that damned good. I had dibs on the fact the security job was part-time.
His sunglasses were still on, and although the sunlight might not have been blinding, he was. I couldn’t help but take him all in. Those sexy low-slung jeans, and the way they sat on his hips. The gray T-shirt that molded to his muscled chest and was snug around his bulging upper arms.
When he rounded the large wooden table, he stroked over his sexy stubble. “They look real,” he said, his tone skeptical at best.
Trying not to laugh, I slanted him a sideways glance as he moved a little closer to the table. “They’re not stuffed, if that’s what you are thinking. Th
e master baker is an excellent artist, and he sculpted them out of fondant.”
While looking at the cake, he took another step around the table, and this time he removed his sunglasses as if he needed to get a better look. “So you didn’t make this?”
Nervous for no reason at all, I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “No, definitely not. I’m not even sure when the last time I baked a cake was. It might have been in my Easy Bake oven.”
That earned me a sexy smirk, but then his lip pouted again as his gaze swung my way. That mouth was something to look at, but those eyes. He was close enough now that I could see them. They were blue. Really, really blue, but they were also a little red around the rims. “Sorry, you were, well . . . I saw you . . . I just thought—” he trailed off, looking sheepish, and then he shook his head. “Never mind.”
Biting my lip to control my giggling, I clarified the situation to help him out. “Montgomery Laurent is the master baker, and he owns The Bride Box. I’m a wedding planner.”
Almost business-like, he slipped his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt and straightened up. “Good,” he said, “then you won’t be upset if I tell you those birds look a little too real to be on top of something people are going to be eating.”
Uncertain how to take his comment, I responded with, “Don’t you like birds?”
He shrugged.
Shrugged!
And then he was standing almost at my side. “Sure, I like birds. Just not on top of a cake. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certain they are appealing . . . to the right person.”
Trying not to be offended, because really, what did he know about this bride, and her likes and dislikes, anyway, I decided it was time to move him along. “Are you looking for Archer?” I asked, hoping my point would come across.
Beat it, buddy.
“Archer?” he questioned, clearly distracted.
And not by the cake this time. He had fully rounded the table and was now standing less than a foot away from me.
This had to be the flirtiest technician on the planet, and I began to feel the oddest blush coat my cheeks from the manner in which he was now staring at me.