Look Before You Bake: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 2)

by Cassie Wright

  "Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Whitman. Thank you so much."

  "The pleasure has been all mine. I look forward to hearing from you. Goodbye."

  Chapter 2

  I flip my phone shut and stare at it thoughtfully. Rachel and Hui are waiting impatiently at our table, so I drift back over and sink into my seat.

  Hui has a spear of asparagus pointed at her open mouth. "What happened?"

  I sigh, unsure how to resolve the jangly feeling of hope and the uneasy sense of the whole thing being out of reach. "That was Mr. Whitman, the Bake Off's sponsor. He's willing to invest fifty thousand dollars in my bakery if I can find more of that magic honey to bake with."

  Hui goes wide eyed, and Rachel immediately picks up her empty wine glass and motions to the waiter for refills all round. Hui sets her asparagus down carefully. "But you don't have more honey."

  "I know," I say, resting my chin in my palm.

  "And you don't know where to get more," continues Hui.

  "I know, Hui."

  "And –"

  Rachel cuts in smoothly. "There's always a way. I'm sure Blake can ask around, and find out where this bear shifter lives. Then all you have to do is ask him if he'd be willing to either give or sell you more honey." She pauses as the waiter, a sly, foxy-looking young woman with flaming red hair steps out of the shadows to pour outrageously delicious wine into our glasses. With an enigmatic smile, she gives us a bow, and steps back into the shadows. "But, Anita. You have to think carefully. Having Whitman invest this money would make him a partner, right?"

  "Yes." I raise my glass to my nose and inhale. Visions of blackberries, old leather, and a faint hint of fall come floating into my mind. I swirl the wine, then take a sip, and those visions blossom across my tongue, till at last I drink. "Hmm. I love this wine. Can bakeries serve wine?"

  "Anita." Rachel sounds stern.

  "I know." I set my glass down. "He said he'd ask for minimal interest, or to be a minor partner. Neither sounded very scary."

  "Hmm." Rachel sits back, swirling her own wine. Hui watches her do so for a moment, and then sits back as well and mimics her. "You have to be very careful with the small print in these kinds of things. Trust me on that one. But, fine, say you're happy with the terms. Do you even want a partner?"

  I stare into my wine glass and allow that question to bounce around my mind. Do I? "Oliver Whitman is very big in the culinary scene. He's published books, has a chain of successful restaurants, and years and years of experience. His career has been so amazing that some people think he's had supernatural help." The others listen as I figure things out. "While I'd love to go it alone, I'd benefit from his wisdom. Maybe having him on my team would really help make my dream a reality."

  The others nod. Hui sniffs at her wine suspiciously, then takes a sip. Her eyes light up, and she takes a second. "This is good wine. It is important to be practical. Dreams do not pay the bills. Good bookkeeping does."

  "Yeah. I don't know. I'll think it over, and look at what his eventual offer is. But – well – maybe I'll try to get some honey regardless. It would only help my business grow."

  Rachel sits forward and spears the remaining sliver of her filet mignon with her fork. "True. So you want me to ask Blake?"

  "Yes, please." A cage of butterflies opens in my tummy, and they flutter around, tickling and making me breathless. "Can you imagine? If I managed to get a constant supply of that miracle stuff? My bakery would take off like a rocket!"

  "You know," says Rachel, setting her cutlery down, "with Honeycomb Hall now the official Cairn Lodge, Honeycomb Falls is going to get more foot traffic from shifters. Maybe you could create shifter-focused baked goods."

  The idea hits me like a massive pillow to the back of the head, and I sit upright. "A bakery that caters to shifters? Oh! Can you imagine? Hot werecats strolling in looking for a glass of milk and – and – a mouse cookie? Wait." I frown as the others laugh.

  "Steak and kidney pie," suggests Hui. "For the werewolves."

  "Blood sausage for the werebats," grins Rachel.

  "Big pieces of raw meat for the werelions!" Hui pauses. "Wait. That's not baking."

  "Hmm. I'll need to think on this more." I drink my wine. "But first, the honey."

  "Agreed," says Rachel. "Let's get the check, then head home."

  ***

  We find Blake tinkering with his new motorcycle, or perhaps more accurately, his recently acquired ancient motorcycle. It's a massive beast of iron and steel, rusted and falling apart, which he bought for ten dollars at a junkyard a few towns south. Ever since then, it's been parked next to his gardener's shed, and that's where he can be found when he has a spare moment, working on obscure parts with all kinds of tools, sanding, replacing, and alternating between excited grins and angry curses.

  I try not to get all shy around Blake, but how can I not? Especially when he's got grease on his hands, is wearing one of his ragged white shirts that do nothing to hide his lean and delicious body, and the sun catches the scruff on his jaw so that it lights up with flecks of gold and red? He's a drop dead gorgeous man, and I'm truly happy for Rachel. It's just that he represents everything that I've never had. I can't help but imagine what it would be like to have a man like that gaze at me in the way he looks at Rachel, his golden eyes lighting up with affection, love, and desire. I watch as she steps into his arms to receive a kiss, their foreheads touching as they grin, still as in love as when they first met, and hold back a sigh. Hui isn't so tactful. She coughs loudly and looks away. The pair separate, but I can see the promise of more to come later in their eyes.

  "So, how'd it go, Anita?" Blake's looking right at me.

  "Oh, I, well –" Why do I always fumble around for basic words like this?

  "She won!" Rachel claps her hands with delight. "And guess what? She's going to open her own bakery in town!"

  "You won? Congrats!" Blake steps over and gives me a hug, and oh, sweet magical apple pumpkin pie. His muscular arms wrap around me. I wrap my own arms around him. It's a brief hug, a friendly one, but for one quick moment I imagine it's more, a prelude, a setup to greater intimacies. His smell is masculine, cut through with the sharp odor of engine grease, and there's an easy fluidity to his movements, a dangerous grace, that I could just watch all day.

  I step back smiling like a fool. "I guess I got lucky."

  "Lucky?" Hui snorts. "You kicked butt. And now she needs your help."

  "My help?" Blake looks all kinds of confused. "Um. I'm not really good in the kitchen."

  Rachel chuckles. "Trust me. When we first met, he made this terrifying sandwich –"

  "Terrifying? You loved it!" Blake swats at Rachel's ass with his rag, and she dances back laughing.

  "No, not in the kitchen," I say. "I was hoping – well, wondering – if you could help me track down a werebear. He gave Rachel a vial of honey as a gift, and it's, well, magical. Amazing. The most delicious thing in the world. If I can get more, I might even have a serious investor who'll partner with me in opening the bakery."

  "Werebear, huh?" Blake tosses his rag over one of his bike's handlebars, and scratches at the back of his head. "There's a tribe of them a good fifty miles west of here, the Black Rock Clan, but I doubt they're the ones who came over. Let's see. It'd be someone local, permanent." He rubs his jaw. "There's a lone bear who lives a few mountains over. Solitary fellow. Nice enough, though. Goes by the name of Soren. Could be him."

  "Soren?" Rachel thinks carefully. "Yes! That sounds right. I think that might be him. Handsome young man. Very large. Soft spoken. I think that's what he called himself when he dropped off the vial."

  Blake smiles. "Well, that's settled, then. I can't go this week, but if you can wait till the end of next week, my pack and I can escort you to his valley. It should be a three day walk at most."

  "Oh, that would be wonderful!" I smile, but my heart sinks. Next week? I don't know if I can wait that long. There's a wild desire in me to get this project g
oing, to run with it, to make it happen now. "Thank you, Blake."

  "No sweat." He grins at us all. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm very close to figuring out how the –"

  "Sure, honey, sure." Rachel leans in and kisses him before he can get started on his technical jargon. "Have fun."

  "I will." He lets out a mock growl. "See you soon."

  "If I can fit you into my schedule." Rachel lets out a squeal as she jumps away from his grabbing hand again, and then walks toward the house laughing, looking over her shoulder at Blake in a way that does nothing to hide her desire. Hui shakes her head and follows, but I head toward the front gate, seized by an impulse.

  "I'll be back in a bit," I call out. "Just going to check something in town!"

  "Sure thing," calls back Rachel, and then she and Hui disappear into kitchen. I take a deep breath and head down the driveway, the gravel crunching under my shoes. I feel nervous, excited, worried, and a little scared. It's been only three months since I ran away from home. Three months since I attempted the impossible, and struck out for independence and freedom. I can still remember that night like it was yesterday. How I went to bed fully clothed, shaking with anger at my father's refusal to let me live my own life. Our words in the living room echoed in my mind as I lay there in the dark. Oh, how I felt betrayed. My father, the one man I admired above all others, a principled, honest, strong man who had taught me to love cooking, who had taken me on countless hikes as a child, who had raised me alone after my mother died in the car accident that had robbed him of his ability to walk. That night he'd gone strange and cold, and refused to meet my eye.

  "I have no choice in the matter, and neither do you, Nita." The light of the fireplace was reflected in his sunken eyes and along the metallic frame of his wheelchair. "I swore to Harold that you would marry his son, and I can't put it off any longer. You're almost thirty. Far past the time you should be married. He's threatening – never mind. This has to be done."

  "But – why?" The anguish in my voice made my father flinch. "Who will take care of you if I leave?"

  "I'm a grown man, and I can't depend on your kindness forever." His voice sounded blustery. "You need to begin your own life. You need your own house, your own home, your own man. And for you, that man is Gerry, Harold's son."

  I wrung my hands, unable to believe this conversation was taking place. "But why? What's going on, Dad? What are you hiding? Please, tell me." I crouched by his legs, hands on his knees, and looked up beseechingly at his face. He finally looked down at me, and I was shocked to see tears gathering there.

  "Oh, Nita." He covered my hands with his own. "I'm so sorry. If there were any other way, you know I would take it."

  "Then why? I hate Gerry. Why are you doing this?"

  "I have no choice!" His voice regained some of its former strength. "None! This must be done. I swore it would happen, and so it will!"

  I leaped to my feet, heart beating wildly. "No. You can't make that decision for me. Nobody can. It's not right, and it's not fair."

  "No, it's not." His agreement chilled me. "But it's the way it is. Come morning, Harold and Gerry are coming to visit. We'll arrange the wedding details." His voice had turned wooden. He stared into the fireplace as if he was lost. "Harold won't wait any longer. It will happen soon."

  I stepped back. Never in my life had I felt so confused, horrified, and alone. My father, whom I adored more than any other person in the world, had become a stranger to me. I'd spent the past ten years living at home with him, taking care of him, and this was how he repaid me? I left him without another word, climbed into bed, and waited till the house was quiet and still before stealing out the back door and running away, intent on never returning.

  Now, I take a deep breath. Here I am, ten thousand dollars to my name, with another fifty perhaps coming my way. The winner of the Franklin County Bake Off. Me. Anita Hall. I stride along the winding road as it curves through the autumn wood, only a quarter mile till town. The trees are beautiful, but I have trouble focusing on their fall colors. Instead I walk, hands in my pockets, deep in thought. I wish my dad had been at the Bake Off to celebrate my winning. He'd have loved it. Again I think of calling him. Checking in. Has he been doing all right without me? I didn't sleep during my first week at Mindy's General Store, thinking of all the difficulties and challenges he'd have to face alone. But he's a capable man. He'll be all right. Won't he?

  Torn, conflicted, I walk into town, the sound of the waterfall alerting me to the Conway River before I see it. It's late afternoon now, and the sunlight is golden and soft. I walk up the street, following the Conway River to the truss bridge where Mindy's General Store sits. And next to it, my future bakery. I stop before the empty display window. It was owned by Mindy, and she had tried to turn it into a coffee house, but had been unable to draw the crowds that flocked to the Gypsy Café. I also don't think she appreciated just how much work it would be. So she closed it, gutted it, and had set it up for rent months ago.

  It's cute. Perfect. Peering in through the dusty window, I can imagine the layout I want, see where I'll install the oven, and maybe even squeeze in a couple of little tables. My conflicted emotions are soothed by the prospect of making this place mine. I step back to glance up at where I'll hang my sign: "Anita's".

  "Anita." The voice jars me out of my reverie. I turn, and my blood runs cold at the sight of Gerry. He's a weasely man with a massive nose and a sparse mustache lost beneath it. Small eyes, thinning light blond hair, and a bony frame. "I knew I'd run you down."

  "Gerry." We're out in public. He can't do anything to me. Still, I cross my arms over my chest. "What do you want?"

  "What do I want?" He steps closer and smiles in that cold, cutting way of his. "What a dumb question. You, obviously. You're mine. Promised to me."

  "I'm not yours." I try to say that with feeling, but I'm too nervous, too shocked by his sudden appearance to put much fervor into it. "And I never will be."

  "Like you have any choice in the matter." He closes one eye and cocks his head to one side, as if he's appraising me. "You're mine, like it or not. Now. Where're you staying?"

  "I'm not going to tell you." Instinct tells me to walk away, but I know he'll just follow me if I do. Now that he's found me, he'll stick around, badgering me and threatening me till I go crazy. No. I have to face him down now, once and for all. "Leave me alone."

  "Now, listen here." He steps in closer again. He's a short man, just barely taller than me, but his sharp teeth and huge nose make him look threatening. "Cut this shit out. Your dad promised you to me, so you ain't got any choice in the matter. An oath was sworn, don't you see?"

  "I didn't swear anything." I hate how my voice shakes. Why can't I be as tough and confident as Rachel in these moments?

  "No, you didn't." Gerry grins as if he's playing his trump card. "But your daddy did. Didn't he? And you're making him an oath breaker. You want to know what happens to oath breakers?"

  My eyes go wide. I don't speak. Gerry's grin gets wider. He's loving my fear. Loving having me off balance. I've known him ever since I was a teenager, and he's always been like this. The kind of boy who likes to pull the wings off flies. Nasty. Cruel. Sarcastic. A bully and a coward.

  "Want to know what will happen to your daddy?" He steps in closer, and I back up, right against the glass window of my store. God, Gerry's breath is foul. He raises his thumb and rakes it across his throat, his nail rasping on his stubble. "That's what will happen. And that's why you've got no choice in the matter." He leans in, his face inches from mine, forcing me to turn mine aside. "You're not the kind of girly to let her daddy get hurt, are you?"

  "Get away from me," is all I can say.

  "You're mine, Anita. You hear me?" My skin crawls as I feel him caress my hair, and then curl a lock of it around his finger. "The things I'm going to do to you. The things I'm going to make you do to me. Oh, we're going to have ourselves some real nice times. You have no idea."

  I feel like
I'm going to puke. Anger flares in my heart. Anger that this piece of garbage thinks he can treat me like this. Right in public. Speak to me this way. I narrow my eyes. "No. I'll never be yours. Not ever!" And I shove him as hard in the chest as I can.

  Gerry's eyes flare wide as he stumbles back, nearly falling, and only his natural agility lets him keep his feet. I turn to run, but he reaches out with one long arm and grabs at my hair, yanking me back. Pain shoots across my scalp and I cry out, but it's too late. He presses me against the display window and leans in, face red with anger.

  Suddenly Gerry stiffens up like a board and lets go of my hair. I open my eyes, and see a mountain of a man standing behind Gerry, a huge hand placed firmly on his shoulder, storm clouds gathering in his eyes.

  Chapter 3

  "Are you all right, miss?" The stranger's voice is a low rumble, like rocks shifting deep within the earth. Gerry turns around and looks up, then higher, and then even higher till he's looking the stranger in the face. I'm gawking too. The man is unbelievably gorgeous, muscled and broad chested as if he's spent his life hauling logs across the mountain peaks.

  "Get your hand offa me," says Gerry.

  The man ignores him with sublime indifference. He's gazing down at me with the most wonderful eyes. They're gentle and rich, like the world's most delicious chocolate soufflé. They're such expressive eyes, kind but with depths to them, flecked with gold, hinting at a personality that's steadfast and confident, a man who's at peace with himself and the world.

  "I said, get your damn hand offa me," says Gerry again, and he tries to break the stranger's grip. He fails miserably.

  "Ma'am?" The man's rumble prompts me to speak. "Is everything all right here?"

  "I – thank you. Gerry was just about to leave. Weren't you, Gerry?"

  "What? I was going to do no such – argh!" The man squeezes Gerry's shoulder with no visible effort, but suddenly Gerry is wincing and dancing in place. "OK, yes, I was going, damn!" The man releases him, and Gerry darts away, only to stop and point his finger at me. "I know where you're hiding, Anita. This ain't over."