Don't Call Me Cupcake

by Tara Sheets

  Gertie stared in the mirror, arranging her green spiky hair. “Well, it sounds to me like you don’t have a lot of control in this situation. You may not intend it to go anywhere, but be open to the possibility.”

  Emma shrugged and pretended to dig through the eyeshadow palettes. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her possible future with Hunter. She felt bad enough hiding her secret agenda from her well-meaning friends. What would Gertie and Molly think of her if they knew she planned to send him away forever? Juliette was the only one who knew, and the more Emma thought about it, the rottener she felt.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Emma sat in Juliette’s garden with a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea.

  The setting sun lit up the sky with streaks of fuchsia, orange, and gold, casting a rosy glow over the gardens that ran along the edge of the woods. At any other time, Emma would be filled with the usual contentedness that Juliette’s amazing garden instilled. But tonight all she felt was a nagging sense of unease.

  “I don’t know, Jules. I’m all conflicted inside. Everything Hunter has been doing for the waterfront businesses has been helpful. Why does he have to be so . . . great? And here we are, two weeks away from the festival. His new restaurant is looking so perfect and chic, and the menu items were posted on the door outside. Everything looks divine. His shop will be the death of me. I know this, yet I can’t seem to stop wanting to be with him.”

  Juliette gave her a sympathetic look. “Okay, I understand how you feel, but can I just say one thing? When you’re not stressing about the upcoming festival, you positively glow. Being with him has made you happy again—I can tell. And I know it’s going to be hard for you to send him away, so . . .” She trailed off and gave Emma a pointed look.

  “So?”

  Juliette shrugged. “What if we don’t send him away? What if you try to somehow make things work between the two of you? We could try to find another way to save the house.”

  Emma sighed. “I wish. But I can’t think of any other way to come up with the money I need to pay my overdue mortgage. This festival is usually the big moneymaker that allows me to stay afloat.” She took another sip of tea, leaning her head back against the wicker princess chair that sat out under Juliette’s rose trellis. “In a perfect world, there’d be no overdue bills and no falling-apart house and no empty bank account. Everything would just be roses.”

  “And Hunter Kane,” Juliette added.

  Emma sighed and plucked a rose from the trellis behind her, breathing it in. Yes. In a perfect world, he would fit into her life. But the world wasn’t perfect. She knew that better than anyone.

  So what now?

  * * *

  Emma poured food into Buddy’s dish in the kitchen, surprised when he didn’t come running. He was snuffling around near his favorite corner of the kitchen cabinet, as usual. For the past several days, the puppy had been scratching near a crack in the woodwork, where Emma assumed he’d seen a mouse.

  “What’s so exciting about this corner?” She bent down to stroke his soft fur. “I just fed you and the food is that way.” She pointed to his red dish.

  Buddy didn’t go for it; instead he began pawing at the crack in the wall. He suddenly let out a yip of excitement and scratched the cabinet with both paws, tail wagging furiously.

  Emma frowned and peered closer to the crack in the woodwork. A tiny corner of parchment stuck out from between the cabinet and wall. She leaned down and gripped the corner with her thumb and forefinger, slowly pulling to reveal a single sheet of weathered paper. The handwriting was so faded, it was barely recognizable, but Emma could tell it was a recipe. The words were scrawled across the top in loopy, formal letters.

  She stood, blinking down at the ancient piece of paper. How long had it been stuck back there? The page was yellowed from age and covered in dust. As she blew on it, the dust scattered to reveal the words “Bliss Day” at the top of the page. It looked even older than Emma’s grandmother’s recipes. She flipped through her book and noticed several other recipes—the oldest ones—written in the same hand.

  “Wow.” Emma blew out a breath. “Buddy, I think you found a recipe from one of my ancestors.” It wasn’t that unusual to have recipes written on loose leaves of paper. The entire book was filled with handwritten notes tucked here and there. It never ceased to amaze Emma how often she would come across a note or amendment to a recipe that she had never noticed before. It was as if the book held secret chambers and there was always something new to discover.

  Emma flipped to her grandmother’s least favorite recipe, “Day of Bliss,” and compared them. The ingredients were exactly the same, until the very last one. Where her grandmother had written over the smudged ink “lavender,” the last ingredient in the older recipe called for “lilac.”

  Emma gasped. Was it possible that the recipe never worked for her grandmother because, over the years, one of the ingredients had been accidentally misinterpreted? She scanned the recipes again, matching the ingredients. The only difference was the lavender and lilac.

  A soft breeze tickled the hair at her temples and she smiled. “It’s still not going to happen, house. You know I don’t mess with any old spells that call for a ‘dollop’ of this or a ‘shake’ of that. It’s too vague.” She tucked the ancient leaf of paper back into the book and shut it firmly. “Nice touch, by the way, using Buddy. That’s a new tactic.”

  Emma walked over to Buddy, who was now joyously scarfing down his puppy chow. She stroked the back of his little head. As alluring as the “Bliss Day” spell seemed, she wasn’t going to risk it. Not only were the ingredients imprecise, her own grandmother had said it only caused heartache. Even if the spell didn’t work because the last ingredient was wrong, there were still so many ways to mess it up, and Emma had enough to worry about without the possibility of another magical mishap.

  She thought about the upcoming festival and the plan to mix strong magic with Juliette on summer solstice. It was so unlike her to do anything that crazy, but what other option was there? An unsettling feeling of guilt washed over her and she crossed her arms, hugging herself. The recent picnic with Hunter had been one of the happiest moments she could remember in a very long time. He made her feel things, and it wasn’t just the wild sex they were having, although thinking of that made her skin flush with desire for the umpteenth time that day.

  No, it wasn’t only the physical connection. With Hunter, she could be herself. She could tell him things about her childhood and show him who she really was, and he didn’t judge her for it. He listened and accepted. Emma had never had that with another man. But maybe the reason she had it now was because she didn’t feel the need to guard herself. He was leaving soon, anyway. Maybe that’s why she was being so free with her emotions.

  But she couldn’t deny that lately, she just wanted to be around him. And the more she accepted how strong her feelings were, the worse she felt.

  He wasn’t hers to lose, she had to remember that. When he left and took his business with him, everything would go back to normal. Everything was going to be okay.

  “It’s just a fling,” she said out loud.

  The teapot on the stove let off a sudden burst of steam. Clearly, the house did not agree.

  “It is,” Emma insisted. Maybe if she said it enough times, she’d keep believing it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hunter made his way up the stairs of the B&B, glad it would be the last time he had to spend the night with the chintz and ruffles. He couldn’t wait to pack up and move into the furnished rental house the next morning.

  Bethany had become increasingly clingy, which was getting to be a real pain in the ass. Just that morning she had been waiting for him in the lobby downstairs. Again. He remembered the shocked look on her face when he told her he was moving. She wasn’t happy, which just made him more eager to get out of the place.

  He unlocked the door to his room and stepped inside, tossing his keys on the table
near the entrance. The curtains were drawn but he walked to the window, peeking out at the waterfront. Not for the first time that day, his mind strayed to a pair of smoky gray eyes and a smile so warm and genuine, it could melt ice in Alaska. Just thinking about Emma made his blood stir and his hands tingle with the desire to touch her. He was beginning to think he couldn’t stay away from her anymore, even if he wanted to.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” a sultry voice said behind him.

  Hunter spun around, startled. Bethany Andrews was draped across his bed in what appeared to be some sort of gauzy black negligee. She looked hard-edged and sexy, her impressive breasts straining under the flimsy fabric. Everything was where it was supposed to be: the curves, the artfully arranged hair, the bedroom eyes and red lipstick. The actress had set the stage, but he didn’t care to see the show.

  “What are you doing in here?” he demanded.

  Bethany smiled like a cat licking cream. “I know you’re moving tomorrow so I thought I’d give you a proper good-bye.” She parted the sash on her robe and it fell over her shoulders, revealing a perfect tan and perfect curves. “Maybe I can give you some incentive to stay in touch.”

  Hunter glanced at the wall, annoyed. The woman knew she looked good and had no problems flaunting it, but he felt nothing for her. At another point in his life, he might have taken her up on the offer, but not anymore. Things were different now. Emma represented everything honest and true. It brought into stark relief the desperation of someone like Bethany. If he felt anything at all for her, it was pity. “Bethany, you need to leave. I’m in no mood for this.”

  She laughed, low and throaty. Apparently, she didn’t believe him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stretch and sit up slowly. She leaned back on her hands. “I bet I could get you in the mood.”

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to shut her down, fast. “You need to go. I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

  She slid off the bed and started walking toward him.

  “Stop,” he said more harshly than he meant to. “I don’t want you. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m seeing someone else.”

  Bethany’s smile slid off her face and she narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

  “That’s not your concern.” Hunter grabbed a bathrobe off the hook on the door and held it out.

  “Who is it?” she persisted. “Is it Emma Holloway?”

  He said nothing.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Bethany demanded.

  “Put the robe on, Bethany, and go.” Frustration mounting by the second, he clenched his jaw and waited for her to cover herself. He’d been very clear that he wasn’t interested in her, even back before he had started getting involved with Emma.

  Bethany yanked the robe from his hands, shoving her arms through the oversize sleeves. “You know the Holloways are all crazy, don’t you? Her mom was the town slut. Slept with anyone who looked at her twice.”

  Hunter refrained from pointing out that Bethany wasn’t exactly Mother Teresa, standing half-naked, uninvited, in his room. He waited until she was fully covered before turning to face her. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. Emma and I are none of your business.”

  Bethany gave a harsh laugh. The throaty purr was gone from her voice and now she just sounded catty. “So it is Emma.”

  Hunter said nothing.

  She tossed her hair and shrugged. “Well, you might want to ask yourself what happens to all the men who get together with Holloways. Think about that. None of them are still around, you know. It always ends badly. Someone either gets hurt”—she cinched the bathrobe sash around her waist—“or worse.”

  Enough. Hunter pointed to the door. “Get. Out.”

  She gave him a mean little smile and jerked it open. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.” Then she stormed down the hall and was gone.

  Hunter shut the door and locked it, drawing the deadbolt home. He shook his head and let out a silent curse. What the hell had that woman been thinking? Of all the men she could try to entice, he was her least likely victory.

  He grabbed a beer from the tiny fridge in the corner of the room, flopping back on the chair near the window. There was a time not long ago where he’d have gone for it. And why not? A woman like Bethany knew exactly what she was doing. She was hardwired to play the game. He cracked open the beer and leaned his head back against the wall. He had been hardwired to play once, too, but not anymore.

  All thoughts strayed to Emma. Soft gray eyes filled with mischief, laughter that made him want to kiss her until that same laughter flowed inside him, filling up the empty places. He took a sip of beer and closed his eyes. What was happening to him? He couldn’t get her out of his head and it didn’t even bother him anymore. When he wasn’t with her, he thought about her. When he was with her, he felt like everything else just faded in the background and he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Emma was feisty and generous and kind and caring. She was giving and honest and . . . impossible.

  Hunter shook his head. It was all just so impossible. Magic? The whole idea was illogical and ridiculous, but he just didn’t give a damn anymore. He was going to accept her for what she was—a delicious, glorious, fascinating mystery. The barest hint of a smile ghosted across his face as he pictured her mixing up cupcakes in her kitchen. She was so open with her feelings. He hadn’t expected to share so much of his past with her, but it had all tumbled out as easy as breathing. Because of her, his past troubles in Seattle were just a faded memory. She was the closest thing he had ever felt to . . . what?

  Hunter stood and began pacing the room. Best not to think too hard on it. He cared deeply for her and he had grown to trust her; that’s all that mattered. And now that Sam had finally given him the news he’d been waiting for, it was time to let Emma know.

  A thrill of anticipation shot through him. All she did was help other people. Her very calling in life was to inspire happiness in others. In the short few weeks that he had known her, she had made a positive impact on him in ways he hadn’t believed possible. Now he had a chance to help her attain everything she needed, and he couldn’t wait to give her a little bit of happiness back.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next day flew by in a blur of activity. Emma met with Hunter to oversee the final waterfront preparations. All the picket fences were bright, sparkling white. Storefront signs had been repainted and spruced up, and there were baskets with profusions of brightly colored flowers hanging on every streetlamp. The terra-cotta pots from Juliette’s planting party also lined the sidewalks at intervals, and everything looked like a page from a gorgeous storybook. It was hard to admit, but Hunter had been right about the changes. The nostalgic, vintage feel was still present, but just brighter and cleaner. It was perfect.

  Hunter was immersed in readying his place for its grand opening, and even though Emma felt a slight trepidation every time she saw the sleek new place, she also felt a surge of hope. Maybe his coming here was a good thing, after all. Whatever happened, she would figure out a way to survive. She no longer wanted to get rid of Hunter.

  She wanted to keep him.

  The revelation had literally knocked her off her feet that morning. She was in the shower, remembering the last time he visited and they had ended up “showering” so long the water went cold. She smiled at the memory, imagining how it would be to have him in her life permanently. Then it hit her, and she slipped. The jarring sensation of landing on her butt on the bathroom tiles was nothing compared to the crazy realization that she wanted him to stay for good. It was unreasonable. It put her livelihood in jeopardy. But there it was.

  On Friday evening, Emma drove home with renewed determination. She was going to find a way to make things work with Hunter.

  Like a bad omen, Rodney stood in the front yard, leaning against the porch railing. Shirtless and tanned, he looked like the boy she once believed was Mr. Right. Except now he was Mr. Not-in-a-Million-Year
s. He smiled, and pushed off the railing, his six-pack abs flexing. Rodney knew he still looked good, but it did nothing for Emma.

  “I fixed your porch step,” he drawled. “I thought you might like it.” He looked so smug, so certain of himself. Emma wanted to slap the lazy grin off his face.

  “I never asked you to fix it, Rodney. What are you doing here? I know it’s not to actually help me.”

  “But I do want to help you. Look, I’m sorry for the past, but can’t we put that behind us?” He almost pulled off the genuine, wounded boy routine. Almost. But there was a slight whiny edge to his words that made Emma certain she was dealing with the same old Rodney.

  “There is no ‘us,’ Rodney. How many times do I have to tell you I’m done? All I want is for you to leave me alone. Can you help me with that?”

  He stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. “You’ve really changed, you know that? You used to be so sweet. Now you’re—”

  “—Be really careful what you say right now. I’m not in the mood.”

  He bristled, a vein pulsing in his temple. “What the hell has gotten into you? I’ve never seen you like this. Not when we were in school. Not even when your grandmother was sick. It’s like Juliette’s rubbed off on you and now you’re all bitchy.”

  “No one has rubbed off on me.” Emma clenched her fists against her sides, enunciating each word carefully. “This is me. This is me, choosing to no longer be manipulated by you. I’m going to tell you one last time. Leave me alone, Rodney.”

  Rodney’s lips curled into a sneer. “Well, forgive me for trying to help you. Trying to make your life easier.” He flung the hammer he had been using on the front porch step and glared at her. “So I do you a favor and this is how you treat me? It’s not like I asked for payment for that,” he said, jerking his chin toward the porch.

  Emma gaped. “I wouldn’t pay you one penny, even if I had the money. The whole reason my house is falling apart is because you stole my savings and left me when I was at my lowest. I haven’t had the funds to make the necessary repairs.”