“Oh… I…” Darn it, so much for cool and collected. She was burning up and so flustered she couldn’t get a word out.
“So tell me, Lacey, you live right here in Marietta—what does a bright girl like you do day to day?”
Solid ground. Lacey grabbed the safe topic thankfully. “I run the local radio station, I have the afternoon drive time slot and I’m the station manager as well, plus corporate videos and some online work like the Bake-Off films.”
“And you enjoy that?”
“Yes. But I am wondering where to go next.” The words had left Lacey’s mouth before she was even aware that she was going to utter them; but once they were said the truth of them hit home. At some point, without even noticing it, she had outgrown the cozy world she had hidden away in. She was ready to spread her wings a little. Anticipation shivered through her, warring with fear and excitement. “I love what I’ve done with the station but I don’t think there’s enough in Marietta to enable me to grow.”
Annabel Whyte’s smile widened. “That is really good news. I produce Meeting Montana and we are on the lookout for a community reporter. Someone to cover events like this, put a feature together for our Friday evening show, and come into the studio in Billings to chat about it and also release two- or three-minute teaser segments for our online channel every weekday. It could be learning to bake with lovely bachelors like this, covering the new tango classes in Missoula, or spending a whole week at the State Fair. Fun, community-minded but with a heart—just like your online channel.”
“That sounds like an amazing opportunity.” Lacey’s heart was hammering. A job like that would mean statewide travel, staying over in different towns—possibly a night in Billings every week—but she could still have a base in Marietta if she wanted. Although, much as she loved her great-aunts, maybe at twenty-five it was time to move out of Crooked Corner and fend for herself. She should know how to pay her own bills and buy—and cook—her own groceries and when to call a plumber. It was time to grow up.
“I’d love to discuss it with you further.” Annabel handed her a business card. “Call me next week and we can arrange for you to come in and have a chat and maybe a screen test. Based on what I’ve seen I think you would be a perfect fit, Lacey. Think about it.”
“I will, thank you so much.” Lacey pocketed the card, her blood thumping as she did so.
“Great, I look forward to hearing from you.” Annabel turned back to her crew with a last smile at Lacey who stood holding her camera, her knuckles white. This opportunity might not work out but it was a definite sign. Her life needed to be shook up and she was finally going to do it—with or without Zac Malone.
*
Zac breathed a sigh of relief as he finally pulled up at the Graff Hotel. A delayed flight had meant that his already tight schedule had been far too close to the line. He was supposed to start baking in a little over ten minutes.
Luckily Patty Hathaway had promised to have all his ingredients bought and ready at his workstation, although she had been less than impressed with his choices—in marked contrast to his employees who had been equally suspicious and surprised when Zac had shown up to work bearing three sample homemade cakes. They had been even more surprised when he turned up the next day with five.
It hadn’t just been the cakes that had surprised them—it had been that Zac himself had brought them into work. It was clear that although they regarded him as a fair boss (he hoped) and that training, development, benefits, and salary were all good for a still small and new company, Zac himself was seen as aloof and apart from his employees. Certainly not someone who would bring in baked goods to the office. Not someone who would have a coffee and a chat in the kitchen while eating said cake.
Turned out the kitchen was the place to find out more about his employees, not just about their lives outside the office but also about their hopes for their future, the ways they saw their roles developing—and they had some good ideas. Ideas he would never hear locked away in his office or on the road.
He got out of the car, wincing as the cold air hit him. He palmed the car key and strode toward the hotel entrance, aware that adrenaline and anticipation were driving him, that every nerve was humming. Where was she?
There was no time to look for Lacey. The second he set foot inside the hotel he was pounced upon by a pacing Jane and escorted through to the kitchens. He blinked. Surely they weren’t going to let a bunch of amateurs loose in these state-of-the-art rooms? Not unsupervised, certainly. A man in gleaming chef whites stood by the wall, arms folded and eyes narrowed as he looked each bachelor over. Zac was all too aware that the jeans and shirt he had thrown on this morning were travel-stained and wrinkled. If only he’d had time to change.
“Patty Hathaway gave me these,” Jane said and pressed a bag into his hands. “There’s a cloakroom out back with a shower if you’re quick. We’ll be starting in ten minutes.”
Zac thanked Jane and sent a heartfelt message to Patty mentally as he looked inside the bag. Fresh gray wool pants, a short-sleeved blue shirt and a folded towel along with, he was devoutly thankful to see, fresh socks.
It took him just under the ten minutes to shower, change, and slip on the crisply ironed apron, which was de rigueur for the Bachelor Bake-Off contestants. He checked his workstation. All his ingredients were there. Some wonderful person had put a mug of fresh, strong coffee on the side but something was still missing. He still hadn’t seen Lacey and he had no time to look around.
The judges were gathered at the front of the kitchen, notebooks in hand, and there were—he blinked. Good Lord. How many cameras?—press behind them all intently filming. Zac took a look round at his fellow contestants and suppressed a smile as he clocked granite jaws and focused eyes. His fellow bachelors were ready to get their bakes on. Whereas Zac, he just wanted this over and done with so he could finally see his girl.
And then he did. Lacey was standing behind the crowd of reporters and cameras, a one-woman band, her own camera in her hand. He blinked. Her hair was loosely knotted up, wisps falling down to frame her heart-shaped face and instead of her usual uniform of jeans and a soft fitted sweater she wore a pink and white dotted dress which fell to her knee. It was a very demure dress with an old-fashioned vibe, but it clung to her curves lovingly and she took Zac’s breath clean away.
She didn’t look in his direction though. Not once.
Zac managed to drag at least half his mind to the work at hand. Thank goodness he’d spent every evening christening the hitherto unused oven in his condo, perfecting his cake. He barely needed to use his scales as he creamed his butter and sugar, added the eggs and sifted the flour, adding copious amounts of cinnamon as he did so. And as he mixed and folded and whisked he watched the brightly colored figure make her way around the room, as she teased, flirted, and laughed with every bachelor there except him.
He beat the mixture a little harder.
Peeling, coring, and slicing the apples took a little more concentration if he didn’t want to add his own flesh into the recipe. It would, of course, be at that moment Lacey finally showed up at his workstation.
“Last but not least. Bachelor number eight. Hi, Zac, can you tell me about the cake you’re baking for us today?” She sounded completely impersonal, as if they hadn’t spent a day skiing together, hadn’t shared a house and a kitchen, hadn’t gone on one perfect date. He should have been cast down by her apparent disinterest but she was trying too hard not to look at him and the hand holding the camera wasn’t quite steady.
Zac suppressed a smile. “Apple and cinnamon with a brown sugar topping.”
He glanced up in time to see her eyes lighten. “I love cinnamon.”
“I know,” he said quietly and watched her swallow. “That’s why I chose it. It reminds me of you.”
She switched the camera off with unsteady hands, laying it down on the counter. “You didn’t leave as much as a note.”
“I didn’t expect to be gone so long.�
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“That isn’t the point.”
“I know and I’m sorry. The truth is I didn’t know what to say and so I didn’t say anything at all.”
“It didn’t have to be deep and meaningful. Just a quick acknowledgement I existed would have been nice.”
He looked down at the half-peeled apple. “I knew you existed, Lacey. I was aware of your existence every moment I was gone.” He looked up again. “I like you in that dress by the way. I’d think it was a shame that you usually hide those gorgeous legs of yours in jeans if the thought of anyone else admiring them wasn’t driving me half mad with jealousy.”
She flushed. “I don’t hide them, and you have no call to be jealous, or right to be either, and actually I don’t think you should be mentioning my legs at all.”
“It’s come as a shock to me to find myself behaving like such a Neanderthal,” he agreed. “The last girl I dated was a fitness guru. She spent her life in yoga pants and a cropped top the better to show off her six pack and I never once batted an eyelid when she was openly ogled in the street. Mind you, neither did she. She would usually just hand out her business cards. Her body was literally her business advertisement and very honed it was too, maybe a little too much so. She was all angles, no soft edges anywhere mentally or physically. Besides, it was never going to work out with someone who thought adding nonfat nondairy yogurt to a kale smoothie the height of decadence. So what I am trying to say is that I’m not the jealous type, not usually. And yet here I am.”
He picked up the apple and resumed peeling it, resisting the urge to see how—or if—his words had affected Lacey. She stood speechless for a moment and then picked up her camera and walked away. Zac took a deep breath. Step One complete. He had told her that she was unlike anyone else he knew, that the way he felt was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Now he just had to hope she would allow him to progress to Step Two and change both of their lives. Forever.
Chapter Seventeen
“Lacey, dear, you look flushed.” Aunt Patty arched an elegant eyebrow as Lacey skidded to a halt at the table her aunts had sponsored for the Bachelor Bake-Off afternoon tea.
“Do I? It was hot in that kitchen,” not to mention how fast she had exited said kitchen or the way her whole body had heated up to smoking temperature when Zac had told her, in the calmest, most conversational way ever, that she had brought out his inner Neanderthal. She still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not but her body had decided to run independently of both her head and her heart, and was reacting in overly enthusiastic acceptance.
He hadn’t been all cool and collected though. There had been a moment when he had looked straight at her and the heat in his eyes had almost made her combust on the spot.
“How’s dear Zac getting on? His cake isn’t looking too boring is it?” Aunt Priscilla asked. She had swapped her trademark sweatshirt for a pretty floral blouse, her vibrant hair scooped back in a chignon. It was a shock to see her usual casual and comfortable aunt so dressed up.
“You look beautiful, Aunt P.” Not that she was putting off answering the question. How was Zac getting on? She only wished she knew. “Fine, I think. It’s pretty busy in there. It’s too early to tell what the cake looks like but he seems to have everything under control.”
She smiled as brightly as she could but that only made her aunts stare at her harder. “It looks lovely in here,” she added quickly. The table was laid for six with delicate china plates and small silver cutlery. A tiered tray sat in the middle of the table laden with a huge variety of tiny sandwiches.
Lacey slipped into the empty seat and looked around the table. Typically her aunts had decided against wining and dining any clients and instead had invited a few friends to the afternoon tea. Ty, looking as uncomfortable as she would expect a teenager to look at a table where the average age of the other diners was over seventy, sat next to her aunt Patty and his grandfather was seated next to Priscilla. Mrs. Hoffmann was sitting on Patty’s other side and next to Lacey, and Lacey turned to the older lady in surprise. She hadn’t realized the aunts had invited her. “How lovely to see you here, Mrs. Hoffmann. We need to sort out a date to record your memories. I should have some time now the Bake-Off is nearly over.”
“Whenever you can manage, dear. I have nothing but time,” Mrs. Hoffmann said. “Although the next few weeks will be busy. The house has sold and the buyer wants a quick sale.”
Lacey paused, her arm still stretched out toward the sandwiches. “It sold? Already? I thought the realtor said it could take months for a property like that to sell; that’s why she asked for the video.” It had been a good video but not that good!
“Take a sandwich, Lacey, and stop blocking the table,” Aunt Patty said and Lacey hurriedly scooped up two smoked salmon, two beef, and a cheese sandwich. They were so tiny they were barely a mouthful each. “I was with Mrs. Hoffmann when she got the call and she realized she wasn’t quite ready to move into a home yet…”
“All those people,” the older lady explained. “I’m used to my own space, you know. To doing things at my pace. But I can’t live alone either.”
“So she’s going to come and live with us.” Aunt Priscilla eyed the sandwiches. “Do you think it would be greedy to have just one more? I need to save room for biscuits and cake.”
“They’re so small you could have ten more and it won’t make any difference; that’s the joy of afternoon tea.” Lacey turned to Mrs. Hoffmann. “You’re coming to live in Crooked Corner?” That decided it. She loved her great-aunts and liked Mrs. Hoffmann immensely but she couldn’t keep living with two nearly seventy-year-olds and a ninety-year-old in Marietta’s very own version of The Golden Girls. Especially when at times said almost seventy-year-olds seemed a great deal younger than she did.
“Your Aunty Patty suggested it but of course I said no. I don’t want to be a burden and there’s no reason for her to take me in. But she was very persistent, said I would have my own rooms, complete privacy, and Carola will still come in to clean and help care for me, although your aunts will kindly prepare my meals. I’ll be a paying guest. Of course. That I am quite determined on despite what Patty Hathaway thinks.”
“It’s what Sam would have wanted, and I want to as well. There’s a lot of catching up to do.” Aunt Patty smiled affectionately at the older woman and Lacey’s breath caught in her throat. There was a world of lives not lived and opportunities missed in that smile.
Aunt Patty was the most glamorous person she knew and, as children, Lacey and her cousin Fliss had pored over seventies magazines to see their aunt modeling a variety of outlandish clothes, her lifestyle the stuff of fantasy. But in the end family ties and affection had brought her home and Lacey knew that although her aunt had enjoyed every moment of her improbably glamorous life, part of her had never left Marietta and the man she had loved and lost.
She searched for something to say. “That’s great news. Welcome to Crooked Corner. Which suite of rooms will you be moving into?”
Her aunt looked surprised. “The usual ones we rent out; as soon as Zac leaves we’ll have them redecorated and freshened up. I think Mrs. Hoffmann will want her own furniture around her.”
“It all seems very sensible.” Lacey decided to leave her own news about the possible new job and her decision to move out for another day. She would hate for Mrs. Hoffmann to think that her imminent arrival had anything to do with Lacey’s departure. Besides, the job was far from a done deal yet.
Lacey stared down at her plate, her throat thick. She might be cross with Zac for leaving without a word—and crosser that he had come back so nonchalantly cool and full of matter-of-fact compliments she hadn’t had time to take away and deconstruct—but she still didn’t want to face his imminent final departure. When he left next time that would be that. There would be no coming back, no reason for him to come back. Not unless she gave him one—and soon.
*
Lacey barely tasted the rest of her sandwi
ches, biscuits, and the slices of Bake-Off cakes that had been divided between the tables—which was a real shame with red velvet cake, and a pumpkin buttermilk cake amongst the contenders, both favorites of hers. She had decided against staying seated for the whole of the tea; instead she took her camera around the room to interview some of the other diners and get them to critique the cakes for her. Every time Zac’s apple cinnamon cake got a compliment she found it hard to maintain her professional composure, his words running through her head again and again: “That’s why I chose it. It reminds me of you.”
Finally, once plates were pushed away and replete diners were murmuring that they couldn’t manage one more crumb, the final judging was announced. Lacey made her way, camera as ever in hand, through to the ballroom filled with excited people and a buzz of expectation.
This was it; this was when they would see if they had enough money for the repairs. If not, then the house would be handed over to a commercial business and Harry’s House would be nothing but a dream once again. She crossed her fingers. They had all worked so hard. Surely, surely they would hit their target of twenty-five thousand dollars. Her gaze flitted over to the Sheehan brothers, relaxed and laughing in the corner. Lacey was pretty sure that Troy would be putting up a sizeable donation and Cormac was unlikely to let his brother take all the limelight and would match whatever donation was pledged.
The four judges stood at the front of the room, scorecards in hand. Once again the bakes were being judged on everything from texture to looks to taste. The bachelors were standing to one side, joking with each other now that their ordeal had finally nearly ended. Lacey knew all of them either from prior acquaintance or through her promotional work, but her eyes skated past seven of the men, her gaze locking on the intense dark eyes of Zac Malone, his own gaze focused firmly on her. She shivered. There was a purpose and a heat in his eyes mixed with a tenderness she had not seen in him before.
Baking for Keeps Page 17