Mann Cakes: A Beach Pointe Romance

by Mysti Parker

  "Thank you." He pulled the door open and swept his arm into the shop. "After you, my lady."

  "Of course, Mr. Manners." Head held high, sniffing as she went, Morgan stepped past him and stopped at the table he'd prepared. She put a hand to her mouth and looked at him, eyes sparkling with surprise. "Oh, Garrett, I never expected this. I thought maybe a matinee and a burger or a round of mini golf."

  "We can scrap all this and go play putt-putt instead."

  Her ponytail whipped furiously across her back as she shook her head. "Don't you dare!"

  Laughing, Garrett closed the door behind them, locked it, and made sure the Closed sign was showing. He had to admit, he was pretty proud of himself. He'd prepared a square table with a crisp white tablecloth by the front window, closing the shades to make the room as dim as possible. Another, fuller, bouquet of colorful spring flowers filled a vase on one side of the table. Two place settings with sparkling clean white plates, cloth napkins, and real silverware awaited the meal he'd prepared. With the daylight still coming through the shades, it wasn’t dark inside, but he had placed two candles in the middle of the table, hoping they’d set the mood.

  Which reminded him... He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit them, one by one, smiling at Morgan's quiet sigh. "Care to have a seat?"

  "I'd love to." She stepped over to one of the chairs and stood there for a moment before clearing her throat.

  "Oh! Right..." Please don't let me dump her on the floor. He pulled out her chair, and she lowered herself daintily, hovering just above it. Her back arched slightly, displaying her curvy, denim-covered butt as she looked up at him with a mischievous smile. Deep breath in, breathe out, easy does it. He scooted the chair up beneath her, but overdid it, driving it into the back of her legs. Morgan fell into the seat and caught herself on the table, the edge of which jammed right against her ribs. At least she hadn't landed on the floor.

  "Sorry, want me to—?"

  "No, no, that’s fine." She waved him off. "I can manage, thank you."

  "Like father, like son."

  "Huh?"

  "It's a long story. I'll...I'll just bring out the food."

  She scooted the chair back a little and laughed. "Please do. I'm starving."

  He rushed off to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and removed the two salads, along with the glass cruet of fresh raspberry vinaigrette he'd prepared. He placed it all on a tray, then picked it up. All the dishes rattled. Why were his hands shaking so bad? He had to calm down pronto. He started toward the dining room.

  His feet had other plans. One of them tripped on the other, and down he went. The food seemed to fly in slow motion—lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and a stream of dressing all soared toward the heavens in a graceful arc. He landed on his back, and time caught up to his clumsiness. The food plummeted down on him. Luckily, the salad dressing cruet landed on his chest instead of shattering on the floor. But what little dressing was left in the bottom splashed out and showered his face.

  "Garrett!" Morgan cried, rushing over to him. "Are you okay?"

  "I think so." He was conscious and could move all his limbs. Beyond a sore backside and his wounded ego, he didn't think he'd injured any vital organs. She stood over him, hands held out helplessly as though she wanted to help, but had no idea where to start.

  That made two of them.

  "Are you sure you're not hurt? Want me to help you up?" she asked.

  "No, I'm fine. Just hurt my pride. I'm sorry. I meant this to be a delicious lunch date. Now I've gone and dumped the first course." Garrett swiped dripping salad dressing from his brow and flung it onto the rest of the puddle on the floor.

  Morgan's hand went to her mouth, and her body shook. A quiet chuckle turned to a full-on laugh. He wanted to be upset, but like a yawn, her laughter was contagious, and soon he was laughing just as hard.

  "Here, let me help you." Morgan grabbed a towel and wiped his face. "If it makes you feel any better, those salads looked wonderful."

  "I even had a special wine for that course."

  "Don't worry. We won't let wine go to waste." She leaned in and kissed him, then pulled back, licking her lips. "Mmm, raspberry vinaigrette—my favorite."

  After a half hour, a roll of paper towels, and a quick mop, the floor was clean. Garrett cleaned himself up the best he could. The aroma of olive oil, garlic, and vinegar hung in the air and clung to his hair, but he'd smelled worse, working all day in the one-hundred-plus-degree heat of the Afghan desert. With his back to Morgan, he stripped off his shirt, smiling at her quiet gasp. He even flexed his muscles a little as he dropped the oily garment in the laundry hamper that held the dirty kitchen towels. Then he shook his head and chuckled. He was getting as bad as Tanner.

  "Appetizer?" Her voice held a note of hopeful excitement.

  "Not quite." He took a new Mann Cakes T-shirt from beneath the counter, thankful he'd agreed to let Tanner order them, along with other branded merchandise like plates and mousepads, and slipped it over his head. "But nothing's impossible."

  He took extra care with bringing the rest of the meal out. The appetizer, antipasto kabobs with olives, prosciutto, basil, and cheese tortellini, went off without a hitch. Next came the main course of lamb chops with a red wine reduction and roasted Yukon gold potatoes.

  Morgan appeared to be savoring each bite, chewing slowly with her eyes closed and plenty of "Mmm"s. She took a sip of wine and smacked her lips. "If you were looking to impress me, you scored an eleven."

  "I hope that's on a scale of one to ten. Otherwise, that might not be so good."

  "Oh, it's good, all right." She chuckled, running a slender finger around the rim of her wine glass. "Where did you learn to cook like that?"

  Garrett watched, mesmerized. Those articulate digits of hers could prove to be immensely fun if things progressed the way he hoped.

  She waved her hand in front of his eyes, breaking the spell. "Earth to Garrett."

  "Huh? Sorry?" His mind had apparently left the building. One hundred forty on the IQ scale, reduced to sixty just from watching a set of pretty fingers work their magic on the rim of a wine glass.

  Her knowing smile told him she'd read his mind. "I asked where you learned to cook like that?"

  Blinking to clear his head, Garrett took a sip of his wine and then a sip of water for good measure. "I've dabbled since I was a kid, begged Mom for cookbooks instead of comics. Then in the Air Force, I trained with one of the country's best military chefs. Good stuff, too, not the slop you'd expect at a mess hall. I even got accepted at the Culinary Institute of America."

  "Really? So, you became a military chef?"

  "No. Unfortunately, I was also a techno geek, which they had a bigger demand for than chefs. I studied avionics instead."

  "Oh, that's a bummer."

  Garrett shrugged. "Sometimes plans change. You know that more than anyone.”

  Morgan shrugged. “I guess so.” She studied her plate for a moment, pushed the bone left from her lamb chop around, then added, “If Paige hadn’t been in trouble, I might never have come back at all.”

  His heart sank a little, though he couldn’t say he was surprised. “You don’t like it here?”

  “No, I do. It’s okay for a small town. There’s just not a lot of opportunity here for folks like me.”

  “Why not? You could do all kinds of things with your talents. You could open up one of those paint-your-own stuff shops where women could bring their girlfriends, get tipsy, and produce terrible art.”

  Morgan laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t have the money for that right now. Every cent has gone to help Paige keep the place open. She's put everything into that shop and raising Ty.”

  Despite the risk of ruining an awesome date, he had to know, or at least ask. “Who is Ty's dad? You can tell me.”

  She slumped in her seat, her shoulders lifting and falling with a tired sigh. “I would if I knew.”

  “Really? Well...does she know?”

&nb
sp; Morgan shrugged. "If she does, she's never told anyone."

  Garrett shifted in his chair, trying to keep calm despite the possible harm done to his brother.

  "I know what you're thinking. She should have told him, but then there's Vic."

  "Her other boyfriend?"

  "Yeah. Victor Stefano came to town from Chicago right after you and Tanner left for the Air Force and swept Paige off her feet. Honestly, I think she was still heartbroken over Tanner, or she would have never fallen for his crap." Her voice had risen. She gripped her fork as though she’d like to stab her sister’s ex with it. "He managed to talk his way into her bed, and then a few weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. Vic, of course, was long gone by then. No trace."

  "But why didn't she just call Tanner and get a paternity test? My brother has his faults, but he'd never run out on his kid."

  "I told her that, but Paige is so stubborn. She decided she would do everything on her own and let everyone else assume that Vic was Ty's dad. She used the money from her college savings to open the cupcake shop and did well at first. The day before she had Tyler, she saw on the news that Vic been arrested in Tulsa. Come to find out, he’d been involved in all kinds of shady business. Money laundering, illegal gambling. He’d even opened credit cards and loans in her name, without her knowledge of course. So, now he’s sitting in federal prison, and she’s still paying lawyers to clean up the mess he caused.”

  "Does he know about Tyler?"

  Morgan shook her head, eyes wide. "No, and she doesn't want him to."

  Though he still couldn't understand Paige's reasoning for keeping Tanner in the dark, he tried to empathize with her struggles. "That’s terrible. I guess it’s no wonder she’s been so upset with Tanner coming back. I wish my brother hadn’t been such an idiot in the first place.”

  “Paige made bad choices too. We all do, and if we’re lucky, we learn from our mistakes. I think they've both come a long way.”

  Considering how far Tanner had come from playboy to soldier to businessman, Garrett knew that to be true. Had he not come up with the idea of buying Maggie’s Diner so they could open Mann Cakes, Garrett would probably be stuck in a cubicle now, at war with a fax machine like that movie Office Space.

  His twin wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

  She reached across the table and placed her hand on his where it rested by his plate. Her worried eyes searched his. "Are you angry with me?"

  “Why would I be angry with you? This is between Paige and Tanner. And you know what?" He picked up her hand and pressed his lips to her inner wrist, smiling when she shivered in response. "I think it’s time for dessert."

  Morgan’s lips puckered into a cute O while she wiggled in her seat. “You read my mind. I can’t wait!”

  Ten minutes later, they were finishing up generous slices of one of the best cheesecakes he’d ever made, if he did say so himself.

  “Heaven on a plate, that’s what this is,” Morgan said.

  “The strawberries in the topping came from the farmers' market. As did the butter for the crust.”

  “How is it no one has snatched you up yet? Seriously, you’re like a total catch.” She crossed her arms on the table and narrowed her eyes. “Or are you hiding something? Do you have bodies buried in the backyard?”

  He grinned. “Nah, too much standing water. They won’t stay under. I quit burying them out there after the third one surfaced.”

  “You’re a nut.” Morgan laughed, then shot him a dubious glare. “Seriously, is there something I should know about you? I don’t want to be sidelined like my sister was.”

  Garrett reached across the table and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re more in danger of being bored out of your mind if you keep hanging out with me.”

  “Are you kidding? I’d say I’m in danger of being three hundred pounds if you keep cooking like that for me.”

  He lost himself in her smile—so bright and pure. Those big, beautiful eyes twinkled in the candlelight. A few wavy strands of pink hair had come loose and caressed her wine-blushed cheeks.

  "What is it?" Morgan asked, dabbing the corners of her mouth.

  "Oh, I was just thinking about how beautiful you are and wondering why I never had the nerve to ask you out in high school."

  "Aw, you're sweeter than this dessert. I guess I'm as much to blame as you for that last bit, though. I always wondered what it would be like if we got together. Maybe we were both too shy, too immature..."

  "Not anymore." Garrett stood and held out his hand.

  Morgan took it, smiling sweetly. As soon as she stepped around the table, he quickly pulled her to him. She let out a surprised cry, but stared up at him with a steady, eager light in her eyes.

  "What now?" she asked, threading her arms around his neck.

  "Kiss me," he commanded, his voice deep and confident.

  "Are all you Air Force guys this bossy?"

  "It's yes, sir."

  "Well then. Yes, sir!"

  She pulled his head down, locking her lips onto his. Though he had eaten his fill, he responded hungrily, craving what food couldn't satisfy. Morgan's tongue flicked across his lips. He'd not expected her to take the lead like this, but he kind of liked it. His head swam, and things got very cramped in his pants just from knowing how far this could go.

  He slid his hands around her slender body. She shivered when his fingers brushed her ribs before he fisted both sides of her open plaid shirt and coerced it from her shoulders. With a little shake, Morgan let it fall to the floor. The smoothness of her skin beneath his fingers compelled him to leave her lips. She held to his waist, fingers clinging to his shirt. He planted gentle kisses across her jaw, down her neck, lingering at her earlobe. Morgan shivered and sighed, her warm breath blowing across his ear. He continued his quest, kissing along her collarbone until he reached the perfect skin of her shoulder. He followed the path of light freckles until he met the spaghetti strap of her tank top and the silky strap of her bra. Smiling against her warmth, he captured both between his teeth and tugged them down until they hung loosely on her arm.

  Morgan laughed softly.

  He kissed the smooth skin, enjoying her scent—fresh, clean, and uniquely hers. He lifted his head, heart racing at the flush on her cheeks, the slight swell and redness of her lips. With the top of one breast displayed so beautifully and the nipple hardening into a gentle peak beneath her shirt, he had to explore this new territory. But would she shrink away if he went too far?

  His answer came when her chest arched toward his. She wanted him. Empowered with her response, he lassoed one arm about her waist, and with his other hand, he cupped her breast. The nipple hardened even more against his palm. He was rock hard now, almost painfully so. Those two thin layers between them had to go.

  Before he could strip it away, Morgan hooked her fingers over the top edge of her tank and bra then pulled them down.

  Garrett's breath left his lungs in a whoosh of air and a low moan. Her breast was perfect—ivory skin stretched tight and dotted with goosebumps, converging to the summit of a small, pink nipple, hardened into a beautiful red peak.

  He didn't hesitate. His palm covered her breast, and he squeezed gently, kneading the firm flesh beneath his fingers.

  Morgan's head fell back, eyes closed, and breathed, "Yes, more."

  He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. So velvety and hot. He needed to taste it. He dipped his head down, and he cupped the underside of her breast, lifting it up as his lips closed around the firm peak.

  "Garrett," Morgan whispered.

  He froze.

  "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

  He grabbed her ass with one hand, squeezing it hard, while he kneaded her breast and suckled, drawing the nipple in and out between lips and tongue. She tasted so sweet, so hot, so ready to be his. Breaking the seal for a moment, he lavished his tongue over the areola, feeling it contract. Then he flicked it across the peak, faster and fa
ster, until she shuddered, then drew it into his mouth again, suckling it harder until she let out a shaky cry of pure pleasure.

  Morgan let go of his shirt. Her fingers fumbled with his belt. Oh, yes, this was happening. Right here in the shop. He'd sit her on the table and plunge into her until they were both spent. She got the belt loose, then unbuttoned his jeans, sliding her fingers down until they brushed across the throbbing head of his erection.

  A car alarm shrieked, totally killing the moment.

  With a frustrated groan, Garrett hurriedly fastened his jeans and buckled his loose belt. "Talk about bad timing."

  "No kidding." Morgan readjusted her bra and tank top, then shrugged back into her long-sleeved shirt. She did look disappointed from the interruption, which stroked Garrett's ego if nothing else.

  "I'll go check it out. It's probably nothing." He kissed her cheek and headed outside.

  Other than a potato chip bag skipping across the sidewalk, nothing moved. Beach Pointe was like a ghost town at this hour on Sunday afternoons. Most of the cafes on Main Street were closed, so all the after-church folk ventured to the commercial area to invade the fast food and casual sit-down joints. The only other car he could see was parked four buildings down across the street. But the Jeep's headlights blinked, and the alarm screeched, demanding attention despite no obvious disturbance. Garrett stuck his hand in his pocket to get the keys, but a flash of something shiny caught his eye. There in the driver’s side tire, the butt of a knife stuck out from the deflating rubber.

  Morgan joined him there on the sidewalk and squeezed his arm. "Who would do that? Tanner's going to lay an egg, isn't he?"

  "Hang on." First he silenced the alarm with the key fob and stepped closer. White paper enveloped the handle of the knife. The corner flapped in the breeze while a rubber band secured the rest of it. He knelt and carefully removed it, then unfolded a sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper. In the middle, in all capital letters, someone had written, YOU’RE NEXT. He crumpled it in his fist and stuffed it into his pocket.

  He stood, walked over to Morgan, and whispered, "Go back inside."

  Her eyes were wide, full of questions Garrett had no answers to yet, but she nodded and went back toward the store. He followed, walking backwards behind her in case someone rushed them. No matter who had vandalized the Jeep, his number one priority now was to keep Morgan safe.