by Tara Sheets
“You sure you’ll be able to get him to eat it?” Juliette asked.
“I’ll figure something out,” Emma said. Although how, she had no idea.
“You can always just tell him you’ve reconsidered his offer. Then say something like, ‘Let’s have coffee to go over details and, oh, hey—how about a cupcake?’”
“Yeah. That’ll work,” Emma said glumly. She felt horrible, because she knew it would work. She knew she would be able to play him so easily. Because in spite of everything, she believed he really did care for her. Probably in the only way he knew how. It would be totally devious on her part, and he would never suspect her because he trusted her. The thought of it made her feel wrong on so many levels, so she pushed it out of her mind.
An hour later, she garnished the perfectly frosted cupcake of doom with a tiny slice of candied pineapple.
“Gorgeous,” Juliette said. “Makes me want to take a bite.”
“Don’t even joke about it.” Emma set the cupcake under a tiny glass-domed cake stand, and heaved a sigh. “I have to run back to the shop. It’s getting late and I need to frost my last batch before I close up.”
“See you tomorrow, then.” Juliette gave her a hug that was much longer than normal. When she drew away, her eyes were soft with understanding. “We don’t have to go through with it, you know. We can still try to find another way.”
Emma lifted her chin. “There is no other way. Even if he didn’t leave, he doesn’t love me enough, Jules. He made that very clear. It’s one thing to have to deal with the financial hardship of competing with his new café, but it would be even worse if I had to see him whenever he comes into town. In less than twenty-four hours, I won’t have to worry about him ever again. I’ll be totally fine.”
A door shut firmly in the hall and Emma ignored what the house was clearly saying. Liar.
* * *
Emma was just leaving her house when Sam Norton pulled up in his old Datsun pickup. She walked out into the driveway to meet him.
“Hey, kiddo,” Sam said, slowly easing his body out of the car. “Do you have a minute?”
A sinking feeling came over Emma. “Is this about the rent on my shop? I’m sorry, Sam. I know it’s overdue but I’ll have enough to pay you by the end of tomorrow.”
Sam raised a hand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that. This is about something more important.”
Emma walked over to his car, noting the weariness in the old man’s eyes. “What is it?”
“I know Hunter has told you by now that I’ve sold him the waterfront properties.”
Emma nodded, trying to ignore the painful jolt at the mention of Hunter’s name. “Why’d you do it, Sam? He said part of the reason you decided to sell is because of me. Why?”
Sam folded and unfolded his hands, shifting on his feet. “Did you know your grandmother and I had a history together, when we were younger?”
Emma crossed her arms and leaned against his pickup. “She said you used to be good friends.”
Sam nodded and stared at the ground for several moments. “Emma, we were much more than that. We loved each other.” He glanced up. “Did she ever tell you?”
Emma slowly shook her head. Her grandmother and Sam? “I never knew that.”
“It was a long time ago and we both had full lives since, but I did love her.” He seemed so sad and wistful. It made Emma want to comfort him, but she had no idea how. Sam was always the jovial one. She had never seen him this way.
Sam cleared his throat. “I’ve come to tell you this because I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”
“What mistakes? I don’t understand.”
“My family didn’t approve of me being with your grandmother. They said I was too young to know what was best for me and they swore they’d disinherit me if I didn’t break things off with her and focus on the family businesses.” He shook his head. “I listened to my parents because I was too cowardly to take a chance on the unknown. I was too afraid to embrace change and go my own way.”
Sam’s face was etched with regret and Emma felt her heart constrict. “I’m so sorry, Sam. Grams never told me.”
He nodded absently, his eyes staring off into the distance, a million miles away. “Your grandmother was . . . she was special to me.” He swallowed visibly and his eyes misted with tears. “Did you know I almost got up the courage to ask her to marry me once? We were on a picnic over by the old lighthouse.” A grin ghosted across his face at the memory. “She baked something special for the occasion and I brought champagne I stole from my parents’ wine cellar. I can still see her sitting on that picnic blanket with the purple cupcake, smiling as if she had swallowed the sun. I had never seen anyone so bright and beautiful.” He seemed to catch himself and shook his head. “But it didn’t go well. I told her what my parents wanted for me and we fought. I never did get the chance to ask her, and after a few days things just weren’t the same.”
Emma placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I never knew, Sam.”
“Well, now you do. And I’m here to ask you to give Hunter a chance. He has good ideas, Emma. And they might not be things you are comfortable with, but I truly believe he wants what’s best for the waterfront. He can take much better care of those properties than I ever did. And I also believe he loves you. I’ve been around long enough to know it when I see it.”
Emma wrapped her arms around herself and pressed her lips together, crushed under the grief that welled up inside her. He was wrong. If Hunter loved her enough, he wouldn’t leave. “Sam, I can’t do what he wants. I can’t give up my shop and go work for him.”
“I understand that, and I agree with you,” Sam said. “But I only ask that you try to find a way to work things out. The only reason I agreed to sell to him is because it became clear how much he cares about you. Whenever he talked to me about his plans, they were all centered around how he could help you save your home and business. I know his ideas are different, but at least try to find a way. If you truly care for each other, there has to be a way. I don’t want you to regret not taking the leap of faith later. It will always haunt you if you don’t at least try, believe me. I’m living proof of that.”
“Thank you for telling me, Sam,” Emma said. “But it’s not going to work out.” She swallowed past the pain in her throat. “He doesn’t actually love me. He asked me to be his bakery manager because he’s moving back to Seattle. That’s his plan.”
“And it’s a ridiculous plan,” Sam agreed. “The man doesn’t know how to change, either. You have to make the first step. You’re strong, Emma. You have to find a way.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” she said.
Sam heaved a sigh. “I hope you’re wrong, my dear.” He patted her on the shoulder and turned to go. At his car, he paused. “You know, back when I was just nineteen, my whole future was laid out for me. The Norton family properties were passed on from my grandfather to my father, and they were soon going to be mine. I never had to worry about bills or mortgage payments, or anything like that. Life was pretty easy and I believed that the path my family chose for me was the right one. But Emma, if I had it to do over”—he shook his head and smiled sadly—“I’d have taken the leap. I’d have listened to what was in my heart and tried harder to make it work with your grandmother. Maybe I’d have failed, but at least I could stand here, knowing I gave it my best shot.”
Emma watched Sam drive off toward the highway. She felt as though her entire future were just a hazy fog. It would be so much easier to take a leap of faith if she could just see through it to the other side, but she couldn’t. And Hunter didn’t love her the way she loved him. He had made that very clear, and as painful as it was, she couldn’t change that.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The red and blue lights of two police cars flashed like a bad omen when Emma pulled into the parking lot behind her shop. Mrs. Mooney was talking excitedly to one of the policemen, wh
ile Bonbon yipped at her heels. Something was very wrong.
“Oh, Emma! You’re finally here,” Mrs. Mooney cried. “We called you twenty minutes ago, did you know? Your shop has been vandalized!”
Emma’s heart stutter-stepped in her chest. She slammed her car door shut. “What? When?” Her phone had been on silent mode all evening, because she couldn’t stand the grief that spiked inside her whenever it rang.
“Less than an hour ago, Ms. Holloway.” A tall, gray-haired police officer stepped forward. He had a kind, Pillsbury Doughboy face that should be offering after-school cookies, not news of vandalism. “Mrs. Mooney here saw the perpetrator and called us.”
Mrs. Mooney, now clutching Bonbon in her arms, nodded her head vigorously. One side of her shellacked pouf had fallen like melted ice cream. “Oh, I saw him all right. It was Rodney Winters, I tell you. I’ve known that little hooligan his whole life and there’s no mistaking it. He was weaving down the street, coming out of O’Malley’s, which made me suspicious because it was clear he’d been drinking. And the next thing you know he was breaking the glass on Emma’s front door. That’s when I called the police.” Mrs. Mooney gave the officer a huge smile and batted her eyes.
The officer glanced away uneasily. “I’m sorry, Ms. Holloway. There’s been considerable damage and we’ll need a statement.”
Emma barely heard him over the whooshing sound in her ears as her adrenaline took over. Her shop. She started running for the back door, then stopped at the threshold.
It looked like a war zone inside. Her kitchen supplies were scattered all over the floor, covered in flour and sugar and broken dishes. Ruined bits of cake and frosting littered every surface. All the carefully prepared boxes were smashed and torn.
“This Rodney Winters has a criminal record, Ms. Holloway. We’re going to need to ask you some questions.” Emma nodded mutely, unable to take her eyes off the wreckage in front of her. She slowly walked through the kitchen, stepping over broken glass and debris.
The dragonfly wind chimes were torn from the hook above the front door, the iridescent wings cracked and scattered on the floor. The cash register lay open, and what little cash she had was now gone. But that part didn’t matter. Rodney had single-handedly ruined all her inventory for the summer festival. Emma shook her head in disbelief, tears gathering in her eyes. “Why?”
“I’m so sorry, Emma,” Mrs. Mooney said, patting her on the back. “That boy was never any good. I always said so. And he has a criminal record in Southern California and Nevada, did you know? This isn’t the first time he’s been in trouble with the law, but once these nice officers find him it will be his last.” She continued patting Emma’s back. “A real hooligan.”
Emma murmured something and followed the policemen outside. They asked her a series of questions and she answered mechanically, as though her entire body and mind were on autopilot. Through the whole ordeal, all she could focus on was one blinding truth. It was all over. She was finished. First Hunter’s betrayal, and now this.
She had nothing left.
* * *
Emma crossed the street to Hunter’s shining new restaurant. The Haven sign glimmered in the moonlight with bits of mosaic stone and glass, a gorgeous work of art to mirror the lush interior. Hunter’s car was parked outside and she sent out a silent prayer to the universe that he was still there. It would be easier to tell him straight to his face.
She drew a serrated breath and lifted her chin, determined to make it quick. This was what defeat felt like. Her face was dry, thankfully. Crying was useless.
She knocked at the back door, then wrapped her arms around her waist and waited. When Hunter opened the door, she took a tiny step back. His gaze was so intense that it brought back a flood of memories, and she forced herself to breathe evenly.
For a small space in time, he had been hers. Or at least she had thought so. It almost hurt to look at him. This was why she needed him to leave. There was no way she could go through the rest of her life seeing him; a constant reminder of what she would never have.
“Emma,” was all he said. They stood there for a few moments and the silence roared in her ears.
She cleared her throat. There was a permanent lump that had taken up residence there over the past couple of days, but she was learning to talk around it. “I came to tell you I’m unable to fulfill my obligation at the summer festival. I won’t be there tomorrow.”
Confusion creased his brow. “Why not?”
She fought to keep her voice steady, but she couldn’t help the needle-thin tremor that stitched each word together. “My shop—everything. It’s all been ruined.” Emma plunged ahead, filling him in on what had happened. As she spoke, Hunter’s expression grew darker, his eyes glittering with suppressed anger.
“I’m just here to let you know that you’ll be solely in charge of the catering tomorrow, since I have nothing to sell. Also,” she said, and swallowed hard. “Also, I probably won’t be able to make rent on my shop, so it looks like you can go ahead and do what you want with it. Or maybe you were planning on doing that anyway. I don’t know.” She couldn’t look at him. She looked at the doorframe, the floor. “So that’s all.”
Hunter said nothing and for a moment Emma wished she could just disappear. She wished she could collapse in on herself like a dying star until nothing was left but a blank space. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to feel.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into his warm embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. Except her face was wet all over again and he smelled so familiar and felt so warm and wonderful. He was the enemy, but she wanted his comfort anyway. Everything was so messed up.
“Emma,” he murmured into her hair. “We can fix it.”
She was shaking her head. “No, we can’t. We can’t. Everything’s ruined, don’t you get that?”
“Not ruined,” he said forcefully. He drew back and held her face between his big, warm hands. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but you wouldn’t answer your phone or see me. Sam said you needed time, but it’s been damn hard to stay away. I don’t want to lose you like this. I’m so sorry I asked you to leave your shop and come work for me. That was”—he grimaced—“that was asinine of me. I was an idiot to think you’d just walk away from everything you love. Emma, please,” he said, and hugged her again, so tight she felt the air whoosh out of her. “Please don’t give up on us. We can fix this. I already have. I’m not ever going to tear down Fairy Cakes, not if you want to keep it. I understand that it’s as much a part of you as this island. It’s part of what you call home. I’m not ever going to take that away from you.”
She was afraid to believe what he had just said. He wanted her to keep her shop? “But it’s been vandalized. Half of my equipment is ruined beyond repair, and I’ll never make my financial quota for the festival tomorrow. Everything’s over for me. I won’t be able to stay afloat, anyway.”
“Yes, you will. You’ll think of something because you are an amazing, brilliant, talented woman. I’ll help you. I want to help you. If you’ll let me.” He stroked her face with one hand. “Please don’t push me away. I—” Hunter stared down at the ground for a moment.
Emma held her breath, though she didn’t know why. The wind swirled around them suddenly, and Emma could almost hear that whispering melody she had heard earlier in her kitchen.
Hunter clenched his jaw and lifted his head. “Emma, I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do whatever you want. You’re too precious to me.”
Her mouth opened on a tiny inhale. “Oh.” Then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and everything else and all the problems and all the worries fell away, and the world was just the two of them, standing there in the moonlight. A little while later, he leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at her. She could feel a silly grin splitting her face.
“Everything’s such a mess, though,” she said, swiping
at her tears.
He nodded, then took her hand. “You don’t know the half of it. Come here, I have something to show you.” Emma followed, dazed, as he led her into the huge industrial kitchen. Everything was state-of-the-art gorgeous, bringing into stark relief the contrast of her tiny, ruined shop. The new equipment and ovens gleamed and there was enough space for an army of cooks. On the kitchen island, sealed boxes of pastries were stacked halfway to the ceiling. Hunter opened a box of croissants, and held one out to her.
“Taste this,” he commanded.
Emma frowned at him, then looked at the croissant. “I’m not very hungry.”
“Just taste it. Please?” He held it out.
Emma took the croissant and bit a small corner, chewing carefully. She coughed, then swallowed. “It’s—”
“—Stale,” he finished. “They all are. I ordered this shipment last week from Seattle. My kitchen staff was so busy working on the new menu for the grand opening tomorrow, that I thought it would be easier to ship the pastries in from the mainland. And now, I’m stuck with all these boxes and they’re useless.” He turned toward her and gripped her shoulders softly. “You see, Emma? I’m an idiot. All this time you’ve been trying to tell me to pay attention to what’s important, and I was too busy with the finances and investments. I wasn’t looking at the details. The bakery that made these stocks some of the hotel chains in Seattle, so I just assumed everything would go according to my plans. But I didn’t check the quality and now, I’m screwed.”
Emma slowly walked around the kitchen island. It was big enough for ten people to sunbathe on. She peered into the boxes of croissants, muffins, and cookies. “Are you sure they’re all stale?”
“I checked. They’re garbage.”
“So without your catering, or mine, there won’t be much in the way of vendor food at the festival tomorrow.”
Hunter placed his hands on his hips and stared at her intently. She had come to recognize that gleam in his eyes. He had a plan. “Unless we do it together.”