Don't Call Me Cupcake

by Tara Sheets

  “Okay,” he said softly, nodding.

  She sucked in a breath. The smallest tendril of hope spiraled through her and she exhaled, afraid to embrace it in case it was her imagination.

  Hunter nodded and looked her straight in the eyes. “Show me. I’ll try to keep an open mind. I promise.”

  Emma grabbed a mixing bowl from the bottom cupboard and slapped it onto the counter. When the full moon came, she and Juliette would see him gone. But here in this kitchen, surrounded by the storm outside, time stood still. For just a moment, she wanted to show Hunter Kane the truth. She wanted him to believe in her.

  * * *

  An hour later, Hunter sat shirtless and barefoot at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of cinnamon-infused coffee. A deep sense of warmth enveloped him as he watched Emma in the kitchen. She was all fluid grace and movement, whipping up a bowl of frosting until the zesty scent of lemons and vanilla filled the air. Occasionally, she would brush past him, and it was all he could do not to grab her and draw her closer. The kiss they shared in the attic was seared into his mind and his body was still thrumming from the memory of it.

  A single ringlet fell over one of her eyes, and she sucked her lower lip in concentration. He shifted uncomfortably and took a quick gulp of coffee, scalding his tongue. She was the most intriguing, alluring woman he had ever seen, and that was the problem. He had no business even thinking about her, not when he didn’t even plan on staying. He suddenly wondered how she’d react if she knew his real plans. If all went well, in just several weeks his restaurant would be booming, along with the rest of the wharf properties once he acquired and upgraded everything. When things were running smoothly, he’d move on to his next project. Maybe he’d scope out other islands in the Puget Sound to expand his businesses, or maybe he’d move south to Portland. A pang of guilt flooded him and he pushed it away. This was what he did; what he was good at.

  “Okay,” she said brightly. “Bring me two of those cupcakes on the table. You, Mr. Skeptic, are about to be dazzled by the Holloway magic.” She brushed the curl off her forehead with the back of her hand and beamed up at him.

  Hunter sucked in a breath. God, he wanted to kiss her again, but she was like a scared rabbit now. The moment in the attic had passed, and he could sense her nervousness. It made him want to hold her until her tension fled. He wanted to unlock all that wildness that lay just beneath her surface.

  He brought two warm vanilla cupcakes to the counter and she began frosting them with simple swipes of a butter knife.

  “They’re not going to be pretty because I didn’t have a lot of time, but it really doesn’t matter,” she said. “They should work just fine.”

  The storm still raged outside, charcoal clouds roiling on the horizon. Every few minutes, thunder rumbled and lightning shook the house.

  “What exactly are these supposed to do?” he asked, distracted by the way she bit the tip of her tongue while icing the last cupcake. He wanted her mouth, and that tongue. Again.

  Emma held out a frosted cupcake and winked. “You’ll see.”

  He took the cupcake and bit into it, his eyes never leaving her face. It was delicious, and the blend of lemon zest and creamy vanilla warmed him to his toes. “Delicious.”

  “I know.” She bit into her own, and for several moments they chewed in companionable silence, with only the sound of the storm outside. Hunter glanced out the window and stopped chewing. He stared in surprise as the black storm clouds seemed to roll backward toward the horizon, as if being pulled back from where they had come. It was the oddest thing he’d ever seen. The sky looked like a movie reel on rewind.

  “See.” She pointed out the window. “The storm is leaving. That’s why I call these ‘Summer Sunshine.’”

  He swallowed, frowning as the fog dissipated on a spring breeze. Clouds parted overhead and the sky dawned a clear, crystal blue. The rain droplets on the grass and trees outside sparkled like crystalized sugar. He licked the last of the frosting off his fingertips just as a brilliant rainbow arced across the sky.

  Very slowly, Hunter turned to Emma. She stood in front of the sunlit window, glowing softly around the edges as though lit from within. In that moment she looked so much like an angel, Hunter could almost believe in anything. “You did that?”

  She gave a half shrug. “I told you. This is what I do.”

  Hunter felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed once. Twice. “How?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’ve just always loved baking, and my grandmother explained that my good wishes and hopes sort of flowed over and around me whenever I made something in the kitchen. That’s how it starts. The Holloway abilities. It’s something we are naturally born to do.”

  A bird began singing in the maple tree outside. Hunter ran a hand through his hair, roughing it up as if to clear his mind from the fairy-tale fog he was in. “How long will it last?”

  “Only a few days, if we’re lucky. Mother Nature always has a way of taking back control.”

  He stared into her liquid silver eyes and wanted, more than anything else in the world, to understand. “So you bake these, and then things happen when people eat them?”

  She nodded and began clearing up the kitchen, as if it were any other normal day. Maybe for her, this was business as usual. Hunter felt a strange yearning somewhere in the region of his chest. It was not unlike the feeling he remembered when he was a kid on Christmas morning. All the bright, shiny packages he couldn’t wait to open. The mystery and the surprise, mingled with the bittersweet knowledge that the day would end and the joy couldn’t last. He remembered that hollow feeling when his parents would start the drinking that would eventually lead to the arguing. For a few shining hours he could pretend things were good and that they were a real family, but it didn’t last. He wished it could.

  For the next half hour, Emma explained her different recipes and how they helped people. He watched in fascination as she flipped through her grandmother’s ancient recipe book. He could barely grasp what she was saying. If it really was all true, then why wasn’t the world banging down her door for her creations?

  “You could sell your cupcakes on a grander scale, you know.” The idea was almost too overwhelming to contemplate. “The entire world would fight for these.”

  “No,” Emma said. “It doesn’t work that way. If I tried to exploit it, it would fade away. That’s just the nature of it. And it doesn’t work on me, either, which is ironic. I can make other people feel good or have good luck, but I’m immune.”

  “But you just changed the weather. That was for your benefit.”

  “For the house’s benefit.”

  He frowned in puzzlement. “The house?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” She began filling the sink and placed the mixing bowls in the soapy water. “It’s going to sound weird.”

  “I can assure you it won’t be the first weird thing I’ve heard today.” A mischievous humor filled his voice.

  Emma turned, wringing a dishrag in her hands. “My house is sort of . . . sentient. By fixing the weather, I was easing its distress.”

  A door shut quietly upstairs and Hunter glanced up toward the ceiling. “It’s haunted?”

  “No, no. That’s what Bethany Andrews would say. Or small-minded people who are afraid of things they can’t explain. But it’s not haunted. There aren’t any ghosts or anything like that. It’s just . . . opinionated. It always has been. It’s been in my family for generations. Just another weird Holloway quirk.” She tried to laugh it off, but Hunter could see she was afraid of what he would say. He suddenly saw the little girl she must have once been. Big eyes, hopeful, wanting so badly to be accepted. It made that place inside his chest ache again.

  He laid a hand on her arm. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “I don’t know.” She focused on the dish towel in her hands, twisting it nervously. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I guess I just wanted you to believe in me.”

>   He couldn’t wait any longer. Hunter pulled her into his arms and a lightning-hot energy seemed to radiate outward, fusing them together. None of what he had just witnessed made logical sense, and he couldn’t care less. In this moment, with her in his arms, all he could do was believe.

  He pushed her up against the counter and kissed her slowly, savoring the sweet taste of her, the softness of her skin, and the unbelievable feeling that everything with her felt so right.

  The overhead lights in the kitchen dimmed and winked out as the back door swung open to let the puppy into the garden. Soft music began to play on the living room speakers and all the curtains in the downstairs windows drew quietly closed. It was odd, to be sure. But with Emma in his arms, Hunter just didn’t care.

  * * *

  Emma woke the next morning, feeling deliciously warm and floaty. Her skin felt flushed, her leg muscles shaky, and for several moments she kept her eyes closed and savored the complete sense of contentment that settled over her. It felt good to be alive. She yawned and snuggled deeper into her comforter, hovering on the edge of sleep. But sleep didn’t come. Something niggled at the back of her mind....

  Crap! She sat bolt upright in bed, hand covering her mouth. Crappity crap crap.

  She had sex with Hunter Kane.

  Sex. She pulled the comforter up under her chin, eyes wide, toes curled.

  With Hunter. She yanked the comforter over her head, but it didn’t help.

  Visions of the night before began flipping through her mind like an erotic movie reel. Hunter’s torso flexing as she ran her hands over the smooth ridges of muscle. The slick glide of his tongue against her skin. The dark, sensual taste of him. His hands guiding her back against the counter. The weight and heat of him as he covered her body. His mouth. His mouth on her.

  Emma had the sudden urge to fan herself because, holy heart attack. In all her adult life, she had only ever slept with one man, and it had never been anything like that. Last night she had acted like a lusty nympho, and he had been demandingly, deliciously game. This. This was what everyone talked about. The all-consuming sexy thing that made really bad decisions seem like good ones, in the moment.

  She stood and walked over to the mirror above her dresser. Yep. There was no denying that some bad decisions were made last night. Her hair was the epitome of bird’s-nest chic, her lips looked swollen from all the kissing, and there was a faint mark at the base of her neck and another, lower on her stomach. A residual flutter of lust at the memory of Hunter licking his way down her body washed over her. For a few seconds, a goofy grin spread across her face, but she shut it down, fast.

  Okay, okay, okay. She launched out of her bedroom, grabbed a towel from the hall closet, and strode to the shower. What the heck had she been thinking? She turned on the shower and immediately stepped in, gasping as cold water hit her in the face. Swearing, she adjusted the water nozzle. She hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. But it didn’t have to be a problem. Because she could totally handle this. A faint thrill shot through her. Whatever this was.

  Shrugging, she poured vanilla shower gel into her hands, trying to mentally lessen the impact of what had happened between them. So they had sex. It wasn’t that big a deal. Normal people did this kind of thing all the time. Maybe not her, because she wasn’t super normal, but whatever. No big. She closed her eyes and massaged shampoo into her hair, practicing what she would say. What did a person say after something like this? How did you move on from it?

  Hey, Hunter. Thanks for the ride, but this is where I get off. Sure, that would be awesome. If she were Rizzo from Grease.

  Hi, Hunter. I’m a professional, so let’s get down to business. Straightforward. Nice. It worked in Pretty Woman. Then again, prostitute.

  Hi, Hunter. What? Oh, I barely remember . . . Bingo. Sex amnesia. It could happen.

  A soft smile played around Emma’s lips when she finally stepped out of the shower. The weirdest thing of all was that she didn’t truly regret it. Once she got over the initial shock, she rather liked the memories of what they’d done last night. Every reckless one. No matter what happened afterward, those memories were hers to keep. Even if he wasn’t.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Wait, you kissed him?” Juliette dropped the rose she was pruning in her garden and gaped at Emma.

  “It just kind of happened.” Emma stooped to pick up the flower, placing it back in Juliette’s basket. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Hunter had shown up at her house. Since she had first kissed him right there in her attic. Just the memory of it gave her butterflies in her stomach. And then there was the kitchen thing. That had been mind-blowing. The butterflies started doing synchronized backflips. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about what it all meant. With barely two weeks left before the summer festival, Emma was all too aware her time with him was running short.

  “What about the good-bye–forever plan?”

  “I’m not changing the plan, Jules. I know what has to happen.” Emma fiddled with a rose stem, careful not to touch the thorns. “Go ahead and tell me. I’m being a fool.”

  Juliette continued pruning. “Oh, I’d never say that. Everyone’s a fool for love.”

  “I’m not in love. I’m just—”

  “—lusting?” Juliette gave her a sly grin.

  “I was going to say living. Look, you’re the one who’s always telling me I need to shake things up a little. I think this counts.”

  Juliette sighed. “Oh, it counts all right. Lord knows it’s high time you did something. I bet even Mrs. Mooney’s had more action than you.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “We both know how this has to end, right? I just don’t want you getting in over your head and getting hurt.”

  Emma flopped on the garden grass and stared up at the sky. “I’m not in over my head. Just, maybe knee-deep. Or . . .” She stole a sideways glance at Juliette. “Neck-deep?”

  Juliette stopped cutting the roses and narrowed her eyes. “What exactly does that mean, ‘neck-deep’?”

  “Well . . .” Emma stared back up at fluffy clouds, afraid to see her cousin’s face. “We kind of had sex, too.”

  “What?” Juliette’s shriek sent a bird fleeing from a nearby tree. “Kind of? Okay, spill, you tramp. I want every detail. Was it what you expected? Is he as good as he looks?”

  Emma couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across her face. “Better.”

  Juliette gave a theatrical moan and landed in a heap beside Emma on the grass. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

  “I’m telling you right now.”

  “Yeah, but you waited until today! That’s like, a bazillion hours of withholding important information from me, your dearest friend and relative.”

  Why hadn’t she told Juliette after Hunter left yesterday evening? Maybe because she wanted to hold the memory close and keep it special, all to herself. It had been so unexpected, and he was like some exciting, unbelievable surprise. That morning he had called to tell her he was moving into a furnished waterfront condo down by the wharf. It rented by the month, which Emma thought was a good sign. He wanted to see her again tomorrow, and he seemed genuinely interested in the town, and her. Perhaps she didn’t tell Juliette right away because for just a little while, she wanted to pretend it wasn’t going to end.

  “It wasn’t planned,” Emma said. “Just kind of an accident.”

  “Yeah,” Juliette snorted. “Gotta watch out for those accidental sexcapades. How exactly did it start?”

  Emma shrugged. “He helped me patch a window in the attic when the storm rolled in. Then we were in the kitchen and I had just told him about the house, and my baking magic. Then I made those ‘Summer Sunshine’ cupcakes again to chase away the storm, you know? And then he kissed me. And before I knew it, I was on the kitchen island kissing him back and it just sort of escalated from there.”

  Juliette let out a whoop of laughter. “On the kitchen island. Very k
inky of you guys. Did he say, ‘Gimme some sugar, baby’? Just tell me he did, even if he didn’t.”

  Juliette was on a roll, talking so fast Emma could barely get a word in edgewise. She proceeded to grill Emma on every sexy detail she could think of, until both of them ended in a fit of giggles.

  Finally, Emma sighed. “I can’t believe I did it, Jules. I’m going to see him in person tomorrow. We have a meeting after I close up. I’m going to have to tell him it was a mistake.”

  “I’m sure that’ll go over like a lead balloon,” Juliette said wryly.

  “No, he’ll understand. I’ll just tell him I’m not normally like that, and I don’t want to mix business with my personal life. He seems pretty reasonable, all things considered.”

  “I’m not sure reason has a front row seat at the show when hot sex is on the menu.”

  “There’s nothing on the menu, Jules. Not anymore. It was just one of those crazy things and I don’t plan on doing it again.”

  Juliette gave her a look. “Uh-huh.”

  “Shut up, I’m serious.”

  “I believe you’re serious now. But what’s going to happen when Mr. McSexy is standing in front of you, all godlike, and all you can think about is your ‘accidental’ excursion in the kitchen? And speaking of that, one more thing. Did you actually do it on the kitchen island? Cuz that’s really the largest surface space and granite’s pretty cold, right? I mean, how was that? I guess with a hottie like him, the cold probably didn’t register. But seriously, Emma, you’re not going to be able to just cut it off that easily.”

  “Look, yesterday was a fluke. It probably only happened because we were suffering from the residual effects of that jasmine potion you spilled on us in the forest. Every day that passes will only get easier.” Emma lifted her chin, trying very hard to believe it.

  “I hate to break it to you, but that little jasmine spell wore off days ago. And even if it did set you two in motion, everything that happened yesterday and everything that happens next is all going to be your own doing.”