All for You (Sweetbriar Cove Book 2)

by Melody Grace

  “Just living up to the terms of our lease agreement.”

  She watched Grayson take another bite, and another, demolishing the pastry in just a couple of mouthfuls. A drop of plum syrup dribbled from the edge of his lips, and Summer had to hold herself back from scooping it up with her fingertip.

  Or better yet, her tongue.

  “Well?” she asked, trying to focus on the pastry—and not the other tempting treat sitting right in front of her, waiting to be devoured. “What do you think?”

  Grayson gave her a look. “You know it’s good.”

  Summer laughed. “But how good? ‘Knock your socks’ off good, or ‘make your skirt fly up’ good?”

  “Seeing as I’m not wearing either, I can’t really say.” Grayson looked amused. He leaned back on his elbows, and gave her an assessing look. “So is this what you’ve been up to this week: accosting strangers and force-feeding them your pies?”

  “You’re not strange, just odd,” Summer replied before she could stop herself.

  Grayson quirked an eyebrow. She laughed. “Sorry. I just meant . . . the whole aloof British thing. It’s very . . . inscrutable.”

  “Inscrutable,” Grayson repeated slowly. “I like that.”

  “You would.”

  Summer looked around at the placid water, the trees rustling gently overhead. “I should have guessed I’d find you here, away from everything.”

  “Actually, it was Poppy’s idea for me to come,” Grayson said. “Not that I realized it at the time.”

  Poppy?

  Summer was surprised, but then again, Poppy had a habit of trying to nudge people together. Maybe it was because of her writing: she spent all day pulling the strings of her characters, she couldn’t resist doing the same in real life.

  Either way, she owed her BFF a drink.

  “Another?” she asked, offering Grayson the next pastry and changing the subject before he could wonder why Poppy would be setting the two of them up. “This one is my favorite, I think. The balsamic vinegar really balances out the sweetness of the cherries.”

  Grayson took it, then carefully broke it in two and handed her half. Summer nibbled her corner, watching him take the first bite. His eyes fell closed as he savored it, and his tongue swept sweet flakes from his lower lip.

  Summer’s heart beat a little faster. She could watch this man eat all day long.

  “Damn, that’s good.” Grayson swallowed and gave her an admiring smile. “How long have you been doing this?”

  Drooling over him? Oh, about three weeks, now.

  “I’ve been baking since I was a kid.” Summer pulled her mind out of the gutter. “Just messing around at home to begin with, but I really got serious about it after high school. I trained and then started working in restaurants in the city, working my way up with any chefs who didn’t hate the Bloom name on sight, because of my mom.”

  “Your mother?” Grayson looked puzzled, and Summer could have kissed him.

  “Blonde, effortless, ‘perfect just takes a little longer’?” she said, quoting her mom’s famous catchphrase. “Anyway, she’s a big deal in the food world. Casts a long shadow.”

  “Ah.” Grayson nodded. “Well, Sweetbriar’s a good a place as any to find a patch of sun.”

  He took another bite, and Summer sat back, relaxing now. She wriggled her bare toes in the sand, and glanced over at him again.

  “What about you?” she asked, not able to hide her curiosity any longer. “You’re a long way from home.”

  Grayson shrugged. “England never really felt like home to me,” he said. “Work, home, a pint down the pub on a Friday night . . . I was going through the motions. Most people do, I’m sure,” he added. “It wasn’t a bad life, it just . . .”

  “Wasn’t you,” Summer finished. He rewarded her with a glimmer of a smile.

  “Exactly.”

  “And this is?”

  “More so.” Grayson scratched his beard. “At least, when I can get some peace and quiet.”

  “Well, the bookshop’s the right place for that,” Summer agreed. “Did you have one back in England?”

  “No, I was a corporate guy. Vice president of purchasing and logistics,” Grayson announced with a dry tone, and she laughed. “Believe me,” he added, “it’s even less thrilling than it sounds.”

  “How did you even wind up there? I can’t picture you in an office.” Summer studied him, trying to imagine him with a shirt and tie—and clean-shaven face—wilting under strip lighting in a cubicle somewhere. But Grayson was too rugged and at ease in the natural surrounding to even picture it. “Nope, it doesn’t add up.”

  Grayson gave her a wry smile. “You’d be surprised where people wind up. It’s the domino effect, really. One choice, down the road, and suddenly you’re on a path you never expected.”

  “That’s true. I definitely didn’t expect to be here,” Summer agreed, looking around. “And if that damn cat hadn’t tried to kill me, I’d be back in New York still.”

  “Cat?”

  “Long story.” Summer shook her head. “So what was your one choice?”

  There was a long pause. “What’s the reason for most bad choices a man makes?” Grayson picked up a pebble and tossed it in the water in a lazy arc. “A woman.” He stopped, then continued, almost embarrassed. “I was young and dumb and trying to impress her. I dropped out of college to get a job, ran up my credit cards, and got into debt . . .”

  “Ouch.” Summer winced.

  “That about sums it up.” Grayson nodded. “Anyway, once I had collections agencies on my case, the corporate ladder seemed like a lifeline. And I guess it was. I managed to get it all paid off eventually, and by then, well, I was already miles down that road.”

  “What happened with the woman?” she asked, unable to resist.

  He snorted. “What do you think? The minute I went on a budget, she disappeared onto the next chump.”

  “I’m sorry.” Summer gave a sympathetic smile. But Grayson seemed unperturbed.

  “It worked out in the end. I learned my lesson, that’s for sure.”

  “Give the AmEx a rest?”

  He laughed. “That too. No, I mean stay away from drama.” He stretched out, giving her an unreadable look. “Excitement is just the body’s way of releasing adrenaline. It’s a warning sign, not something to embrace.”

  Summer couldn’t help but giggle then. “Sorry,” she said, “I mean, I get that you like to keep things simple, but you’re always talking like you want to run off to a monastery and never lay eyes on another person again.”

  “Now that you mention it, it has its appeal.” A smile touched the edge of his lips, and Summer felt breathless all over again.

  “You don’t mean that,” she teased. “Think of everything you’d miss. The food . . .”

  “I don’t know about that,” Grayson countered. “I’ve heard those monks are pretty handy with a vegetable patch.”

  “Lights? Electricity?”

  “It’s a spiritual retreat, not a portal back to the 1800s.” He smirked.

  “Fine then. Women,” Summer challenged him. “Tell me you’d be fine swearing off sex for the rest of your life.”

  He paused. Their eyes met, and she saw the heat there again, that quiet blaze of wanting that even Grayson couldn’t hide.

  “You’ve got me there,” he said, his voice thick, and Summer felt it all the way through her body.

  If only she did.

  She looked away, hoping he didn’t notice the goosebumps prickling over her bare skin. He was so controlled; so casual and remote. What would it be like to see him give in to something passionate and wild?

  Like her.

  “So which one do you like the best?” she asked hurriedly. “The cherries, right?”

  Grayson cleared his throat. “Right. Go with that one.”

  “OK!”

  She wanted to bolt straight back into the cold water, but Grayson beat her to it. He got to his feet and strip
ped off his T-shirt and jeans. She barely caught a glimpse of his navy briefs before he gave her a nod.

  “Good seeing you,” he said politely, and then waded out without a backwards glance, diving under the water, then surfacing to swim out with sure, steady strokes to the middle of the pond.

  As exits went, it was pretty clear.

  Summer exhaled in a rush. What was it about this guy? One day, he kissed her, the next, he was fleeing like she had an infectious disease. When he dropped his guard, even for a moment, she felt that connection between them again, but then he went and made it clear that she was just the kind of adrenaline-fueled warning sign he liked to avoid.

  But he was wrong. Life’s unexpected detours were the best parts: that rush of heat, the thrill of possibilities. Summer thrived on it, and she knew her instincts led her in the right direction, every time.

  And right now, her instincts were pulling her straight to Grayson, and that dark, steady gaze. She’d had a taste of him, but she knew it wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted more.

  So how was she going to show him that a little excitement was exactly what he needed?

  10

  Summer was still musing the question the next day when Poppy and her new friend Mackenzie came by to help her decorate the bakery.

  “And by ‘help,’ we really mean eat our way through the entire menu,” Mackenzie greeted her with a wide grin. Summer liked her immediately. She had wild, curly hair and a bright orange sundress, and even came bearing a bakery-warming gift: a stack of cute ceramic bowls glazed in bright azure blue and forest green.

  “Thank you!” Summer gasped when she saw them.

  “Isn’t she talented?” Poppy said. “She makes them all herself.”

  “Stop, I’ll blush,” Mackenzie protested. “No, wait, don’t stop. Keep lavishing me with praise as long as you like.”

  Summer laughed. “These are beautiful. I almost want to put them on the shelves instead of using them. What if someone breaks one?”

  “Then you’ll just have to order some more.” Mackenzie grinned. “I can’t believe what you’ve done with this place,” she added, looking around. “It’s exactly what Sweetbriar needs.”

  “Let’s hope the permit guy agrees. He’s coming by tomorrow for the final inspection.” Summer set down the bowls by the windows, which now sparkled in the sun. “Then I’ll just need paying customers.”

  “Don’t worry about that part,” Mackenzie reassured her. “News here travels fast. I’ll get Franny to put something in the town blog, and you’ll have people lined up on opening day.”

  “Ooh, I know a reporter for the local newspaper,” Poppy spoke up. “Eliza something . . . She interviewed me for the literary festival, I still have her number. I could see if she wants to do a story about the opening.”

  “That would be great.”

  Summer brought out a tray of fresh-baked cookies and tea, and they set about unpacking her boxes of old baking tchotchkes and artfully arranging her cookbook collection on the shelves. She’d picked out a few mismatched bistro tables from an antique store down the Cape, and with the assortment of old chairs and the airy white sheer curtains, it was beginning to look like a real little café.

  “When we’re finished here, we should get a drink at the pub,” Mackenzie suggested. “You can meet Riley, I think you’ll hit it off.”

  “Too late,” Poppy said, before Summer could answer. “She’s already got her eye on something tall, dark, and British.”

  “Really?” Mackenzie brightened. “Grayson?”

  “Poppy!” Summer protested. “Whatever happened to being discreet?”

  “Sorry. But Mac’s lived here her whole life,” she added quickly. “Maybe she can help. Figure what his deal is.”

  “He does play it pretty close to his chest,” Mackenzie agreed, looking thoughtful. “Most of the time, he stays out of the way at the bookshop, or at his farm. A man of mystery, if you like that kind of thing.”

  She did.

  “Any girlfriends?” Summer asked, wondering if he was really as monastic as he claimed.

  Mackenzie shook her head. “Nothing serious—enough for us to know about in town, at least. But I have seen him with dates a couple of times, up in Providence or out of the way. So, at least we know which way the wind blows.”

  “Oh, we already know that.” Poppy gave a mischievous little smile, and Mackenzie raised her eyebrows.

  “Really? This sounds like we need more cake.”

  Summer laughed. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she warned her, heading to the kitchen. “It was the shortest kiss in recorded history.”

  She checked the timer, then opened the oven door and pulled out the rack of coffee cakes she had baking—each with a different proportion of cinnamon swirl baked into the crumb.

  “I think I just died and went to calorie heaven.” Mackenzie appeared and groaned at the spread. “One cake would have been enough!”

  “It’s the only way to test a recipe,” Summer explained. “You have to compare the flavors side by side, otherwise you’ll never remember.”

  “Far be it from me to stand in the way of science. Sorry, Poppy,” Mackenzie added, leaning in to sniff the rich aroma. “But you’ve been replaced as my new favorite Sweetbriar resident.”

  “So fickle.” Poppy laughed. “But I understand. I’ll take the second-place spot if it means having this girl around.” She hugged Summer, and Summer squeezed back, glad to be there. It still felt like a vacation to her: setting up the bakery, spending time with her friends, and testing out all her recipes. Although she knew that once the bakery opened its doors it would be a whole different picture, she was still savoring every sun-filled moment.

  “I like this one,” Mackenzie declared through a mouthful of cake. “No, wait, let me try the other one again.”

  They dug in, eating straight from the tins without even a pause to let the cake cool. “So what are we going to do about Grayson?” Poppy asked, after they’d demolished half the spread.

  “We?” Summer echoed, amused.

  Mackenzie chuckled. “You’ll learn soon enough that any romance here is everyone’s business.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Summer paused, thinking about the afternoon they’d shared by the pond. “When he lets his guard down, there’s a real connection, but then suddenly, he can’t get away from me soon enough.”

  “Didn’t Coop try the same thing with you?” Mackenzie asked Poppy.

  “He did?” Summer was surprised. “But he’s crazy about you.”

  “Now,” Poppy replied, taking a sip of tea. “But it took a while to show him that falling in love wasn’t the end of the world.”

  “Never mind love,” Summer joked. “I’d settle for a wild fling. Or even ten minutes of hot make-out action.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Remember when you were sixteen and it felt like kissing someone was the greatest thing in the world, never mind all the other stuff?”

  “I don’t know.” Mackenzie cracked a smile. “I’m kind of a fan of the other stuff.”

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Summer asked.

  Mackenzie snorted with laughter. “Nope. I’m the Spinster of Sweetbriar. It’s official, they made me a sash and everything.”

  Summer laughed. “Please. You have a few years until you’re in spinster territory.”

  “You’re right.” Mackenzie grinned. “I’m still more of a ‘maiden aunt.’ ”

  They laughed. “So how did you convince Cooper to take a chance on love?” Summer asked. She’d heard the story in bits and pieces, but she’d been so busy with work—and Poppy with her book deadline—that there were still gaps in the story.

  Poppy gave a smile. “I seduced him.”

  “That’s right!” Summer exclaimed, remembering. “You took my advice, for once.”

  “And mine,” Mackenzie added. “I sent her off to woo him with a bottle of wine and her best blue bra.”

  “How do you know what color bra I was wearing?” P
oppy demanded.

  “Like I said, news travels fast in this town.” Mackenzie winked.

  Seduction . . . Summer considered it. In her experience, few men protested if you arrived on their doorstep and started taking off your clothes, but that wasn’t exactly the path to a meaningful connection, and despite her jokes, she didn’t want to force Grayson into anything he didn’t want.

  She just wanted him to want her enough to do something about it.

  “Why don’t you come into town tonight?” Mackenzie suggested. “They’re screening a movie in the park, and there’ll be food, music, the whole shebang to kick off summer. I’m sure Grayson will make an appearance. And if you bring a couple of trays of cake, it could be a good way to drum up business,” she added.

  “That’s a great idea.” Summer mentally scanned through her recipes. “What do you think about hand pies, and maybe a lemonade spritzer?”

  “I think you’re going to need a full-time taste-tester.” Mackenzie grinned. “I volunteer as tribute!”

  The girls left around three, and Summer spent the rest of the afternoon putting the finishing touches to the main bakery room. She polished the display case—waiting for all her sweet treats—and ventured into the garden, picking armfuls of fresh thyme and rosemary to sit on each table in tiny glass jars, perfuming the room with a sweet, herby scent. In the kitchen, she already had her equipment unpacked: the massive stand mixer in pride of place in one corner, and her new island the perfect size to roll out a vast sheet of dough for morning rolls, or the dozens of hand pies she set about baking for the town event that night.

  It was a peaceful afternoon, with the windows open and the summer breeze dancing light on her shoulders as she worked. Summer thought she would have missed the noise of New York. After all, she’d spent ten years with traffic horns hooting and garbage trucks clattering, but measuring out her ingredients in the bowls and simmering the thick, fruity jam on the stove, she almost wanted to dance.

  She was finally home.

  And all it had taken was one wrong turn . . .

  She thought back to what Grayson had said the other day, about unexpected paths. Part of Summer was still scared that she’d been too impulsive: leaping into this Blackberry Lane Bakery idea like it was a life raft that could rescue her from the stress and rejection of the restaurant world. But looking around the room now, she could hardly contain her joy. This was hers, all her own. And it was better than she could ever have dreamed.