by Robyn Neeley
Jason sat down and stared at the gravestone. He wasn’t sure what to say next, so he just started talking. The hours ticked by as he talked about everything and anything. He filled her in on the newspaper stories he’d written over the last couple of years and vacations taken with Brandon, including the Las Vegas bachelorette party they’d stumbled upon. Three hours passed, one for each year that he’d stayed away.
Toward the end of the third hour, he let out a slow breath. He knew what he wanted to talk about next. This wouldn’t be easy, but he needed to tell her.
“I met someone,” he said with a nervous laugh. “But you know that, don’t you? You’d like her. Her name is Emma, and she’s smart and feisty . . .” He looked up at the blue sky and then brought his gaze back to the stone. “And funny . . . I don’t think she means to be, but you can’t help but laugh at some of her actions. And she knows how to put me in my place.” He thought back to the hot sauce she had mixed into the cupcake batter and chuckled.
He cracked his knuckles, knowing what he had to admit. “I liked her from the beginning, but man, she did not care for me.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure my dimples wore her down, too.”
“I think I’m falling in love again. But I can’t do this without your permission. I need to know you’re okay with this.”
He touched the headstone. Logic, reason, and hard facts had always been staples of his life. Yet, this summer, his dead fiancée had found a way to communicate with him. The question: would his past give him permission to write a new future with another woman? He sat there for a while longer and waited for a sign, hoping for some reassurance from Emily.
“No, I’m not doing it.” Emma stood her ground behind the Sugar Spoon counter, arms crossed. It was Monday night and a special request had just been made. A ridiculous one as far as she was concerned, and hell would freeze over before she’d grant it. “No way. No how.”
“Come on, love.” Brandon gave her a toothy grin and touched her hand, letting his linger far too long on hers. “Do it for Jason’s best friend. He’d want you to.”
“First, the name is Emma, not love.” She yanked her hand away and grabbed a wash cloth from underneath the counter. “Second, I know you’re expecting to see Caitlin’s name in the batter. What if you don’t? Then it’s all my fault.” She put her hands on her hips. “Third, how do I know you won’t run off and write a story for your silly west coast newspaper?”
“Um . . . that silly paper circulates close to a million daily.”
“My point exactly.” Emma began to wipe down the counter. She’d already said way too much. What she should have done was asked one of her bachelors to throw Brandon’s ass out the minute she realized he was in her bakeshop.
She studied him. The weasel had snuck in, blending with the other bachelors. Best friend to Jason or not, she didn’t owe this arrogant jerk anything. There was no way she’d do the spell in front of him, let alone on him.
All of Buttermilk Falls had been abuzz about Caitlin’s new boyfriend, a reporter for the Los Angeles Times who was even hotter than Jason. Apparently, he liked to take long jogs around town with his shirt off. Emma couldn’t stomach the gossip. Who cared whom Caitlin was banging? Hot or not, Brandon didn’t hold a candle to her handsome reporter in looks or manner.
She sighed and turned, wiping her wet hands on a paper towel. Her handsome reporter wasn’t exactly hers. Did Brandon know how Jason was doing or when he’d be back? It had been just over a week since she’d virtually kidnapped Abby and stopped her uncle’s motorboat in the middle of Buttermilk Lake in a lame attempt to protect her heart from breaking any more than it already had.
Abby had forgiven her for the stunt. The pain Emma felt that day hadn’t let up. The sadness over Michael leaving all those months ago didn’t come close to the heartache Jason’s departure caused.
Emma squared her shoulders. Right now, she needed to get Brandon out of her bakeshop. He’d already gotten an earful, with the bakery filled with twenty single guys, and the buzz about the latest bachelor chickening out. Besides, she suspected he already knew what happens here on Monday nights. Even if Jason hadn’t told his best friend about Batter Up, Brandon’s bed companion probably did.
Dressed “incognito” in jeans, black T-shirt, and a NY Yankees baseball cap, Brandon had sauntered in and blended easily with the other bachelors. It was only after the selected bachelor got a case of cold feet and bolted did Brandon make himself known and pipe up that he wanted to be the last-minute replacement.
“So, what do you say? Make me the next bachelor?” Brandon waggled his eyebrows. “You know you want to.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Come on. I’ll pay you fifty dollars.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet, slapping a crisp bill on the counter.
Emma stared down at Ulysses S. Grant. She could use the money. After buying Abby a new phone, she was flat broke. “One hundred,” she countered.
He grinned and pulled out a second fifty dollar bill. “Quite the negotiator. I like you, Emmy Stevens.”
“It’s Emma,” she said through gritted teeth. In the history of bad ideas, this was a bad idea. Her instincts were screaming it. However, two Ulysses S. Grants were better than one. One hundred dollars would fill her gas tank, buy her groceries, and probably leave her with just enough to go see a movie or enjoy happy hour with Bridget and Abby later in the week.
“Fine,” she conceded, motioning to an empty stool. “Sit down and promise me that what you see doesn’t leave this bakery.”
He raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Abby slid into the stool next to Brandon and rolled her eyes. “You’re not seriously going to predict his future bride, are you, Emma?”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “You know this guy?” She grabbed her mixing bowl from underneath the counter and began to add the ingredients. Oh, right. She’d sent Brandon to the Sugar Spoon for muffins last Monday.
She sighed. Had it really been only a week since that amazing night with Jason? A slight shiver went up her spine as she flashed back to them tearing clothes off one another in the back office. If only she knew a spell to go back in time to that one awesome moment.
Abby’s shrill voice knocked that thought to the back corner of her mind. “We played pool last night at the Buttermilk Tavern. I kicked his butt.” She turned to Emma. “He’s not very good.”
“I heard that. I let you win,” Brandon insisted. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Maybe if you had pried your hands off your skank, you would have beaten me.”
“Hey,” Brandon interrupted. “I’m going to marry that sk—woman.”
“Good luck with that,” Abby shot back. “You two deserve each other.”
Emma stepped in to referee. “Enough, do I need to separate you both?”
“I have a great idea.” Abby smiled sweetly. “Emma, why don’t you make Brandon one of those extra special cupcakes like the one you made for Jason. I’m sure he’d love it just as much as Jason did. Could make one for Caitlin, too.”
“Hey, if it was good for my buddy, it’s good enough for me,” Brandon agreed, oblivious to the joke and the hot sauce Emma had poured into the batter that time. “So, Emma, are you going to kidnap my best friend tonight?”
Emma set down her measuring cup and blinked. “Jason’s back?”
“He will be.” Brandon looked down at his watch. “His plane should be landing any minute.”
“Who’s picking him up?”
“Caitlin.”
“Oh.” She gazed down into her bowl as the butterflies began to swarm around inside her stomach. Jason was coming back.
Of course he was. The note he’d written said he’d return in a week. Still, when he left that day, she felt like she’d never see him again.
Would he stop by the bakery or her cottage tonight? More importantly, was she ready to see him? She’d thought about what
she’d say. How sorry she was for casting the spell and then reacting like she did.
But he’d left that night without a word. He hadn’t even tried to explain.
Earlier this week, she’d thought about giving this Emily woman a run for her money. Last week, she’d all but convinced herself that she wasn’t giving Jason up without a fight. However, with each passing day, doubt had crept in and squashed pretty much any hope she had.
Emma reached underneath for her grandmother’s mixing spoon and quietly went to work on the batter while Brandon continued to goad Abby.
“So, Red, how is your boy toy?” Brandon asked. “Did you pay big bucks for him, too?”
“It’s summer fling, you idiot.” She swatted him. “And yes, he was worth every penny.”
Emma laughed inside. Her cousin seemed to be holding her own with Jason’s best friend. That didn’t surprise Emma, though she knew Abby was putting up a front regarding her summer fling.
Last week, Carter had informed Abby that his work with the animal shelter finished up earlier than originally expected, and he’d be moving back to Indianapolis immediately. Abby seemed to be okay with it. She’d declared that her fling was over, and she needed a break from the dating scene. Emma knew her cousin well. She’d be back in the game in no time.
She tried to think of a bachelor she could set Abby up with. Too bad Lance was now taken. That fireman certainly knew how to kiss. Emma laughed at the memory of how determined she had been to make Jason jealous that day in the kissing booth. How Jason had come inches from kissing her for the first time . . .
Clutching her grandmother’s spoon, she closed her eyes and ran through the spell in her head.
Brandon grew impatient. “What’s she doing? Is this when the magic happens?”
“Shh . . . Geez, it’s not like you don’t know the outcome.” Abby pushed off the stool and went to check out the game score.
Minutes later, Emma opened her eyes and peered into the bowl. She broke out into laughter.
“What? Why are you laughing?” Brandon leaned over. “What’s so funny?”
Emma snatched the bowl from him, fighting to regain her composure. She wasn’t quite sure she should show him. It certainly wasn’t the name she’d expected to see.
Abby returned to the counter and stood next to Brandon, hands on her hips. “So, what’s the verdict? Did Caitlin’s name burn a hole in the bowl?”
“Not exactly.” Emma tilted it so they both could see. “It says ‘Abby.’”
16
Jason waited for his coffee to brew. He was the first one up. It was nice to be back in Buttermilk Falls. Stepping off the plane last night, he’d finally felt like he was home.
Home. Would this place be his home?
He hoped so. Now that he was officially unemployed, he didn’t know what his future held. The day after he visited Emily’s grave, he’d walked into the Miami Herald and quit. Tina wasn’t happy, far from it. Especially since he wasn’t giving the standard two weeks’ notice unless he could do it remotely. After trying to talk him out of it for an hour, his editor relented and gave him some contacts for some freelance gigs.
She told him to go find happiness. That’s exactly what he planned to do.
A few freelance jobs along with his savings would buy him time while he made some decisions. Correction—while he and Emma made some decisions. He hoped she would be part of this next chapter in his life.
Visiting Emily’s grave had brought not only closure but clarity. He finally realized he needed to say good-bye to her and the life they once had to move on. But it was more than that. For some reason, he felt he was on this new journey to discovering how fate and destiny could intertwine with logic and facts. Meeting Emma hadn’t been an accident. He was certain of it.
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out some creamer, inspecting the expiration date. He didn’t trust Brandon with expired groceries, thinking back to their grad school days as roommates. Pouring the cream and then sugar into his piping hot coffee, he thought about how he should approach Emma.
She was no doubt infuriated with him and had every right to be. He had bolted out of the bakeshop after seeing Emily’s name in the batter without so much as an explanation. Then, he’d written her that stupid note saying he’d be back in a week. She deserved more. At the very least, he could have told her he was leaving in person. It’s just that if he stared into those beautiful green eyes, he might not have left.
Peering out the front window, he noticed that Caitlin’s BMW wasn’t parked in the driveway. That’s strange. Something was up. He’d been surprised by Caitlin picking him up at the airport and not his buddy who had his rental car. Then Brandon came back to the cottage around midnight, barely saying two words to Jason before whisking Caitlin outside.
God, he hoped Brandon didn’t propose. Maybe his pal had come to his senses. Jason hadn’t been woken up by any post-engagement celebrating in his buddy’s bedroom.
“Hey, dude. I could use some coffee.” Brandon strolled in, wearing grey sweatpants and an old Rolling Stones T-shirt.
“Sure. Is Caitlin still sleeping?”
“She’s not here.”
Jason poured the hot coffee into a mug and handed it to Brandon. “Everything okay?”
Brandon shook his head. “We’re done.”
“Really?” Jason took a seat at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Me, too.” He grunted. “Best damn sex of my life, but the freakin’ batter didn’t predict that we had a future.”
Jason spit out his coffee in response to that last sentence. Was he hearing things? He set his mug down. “What did you say?”
“Your girlfriend’s batter. It didn’t spell out Caitlin’s name.”
“Wait. Start from the beginning. You went to Batter Up night?”
“Yeah. More like F’d Up night, if you ask me.”
“What happened?”
Brandon reached into the fruit bowl and pulled out a small teal box. “Not this.” He opened it, flashing an engagement ring still inside.
Jason gazed down at the small diamond. “You were really going to pop the question.”
“Yep.” Brandon closed the box and set it down.
“And Emma selected you to do the spell. How’d that happen?”
“Some guy chickened out, and I came up with the idea. I was going to take a picture of the batter and show it to Caitlin before I proposed. Chicks like that romantic soul mate stuff.”
“So, why didn’t you propose?”
“Aren’t you listening? Because the freakin’ cake mix didn’t spell her name out, that’s why.”
Jason leaned back. He felt bad for his friend, but his asking Caitlin to marry him had never been a good idea. The ink on Brandon’s divorce papers was barely dry. Jason cocked an interested eyebrow. “So, who did the batter spell out?”
“Abby.” Brandon shook his head.
“Emma’s cousin?” Jason chuckled. That was a surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish.” He reached down and adjusted himself. “I get your girlfriend’s annoying little sidekick.”
“Emma’s not my girlfriend yet, and Abby is actually very funny, and you can’t deny she’s pretty on the eyes.”
“Yeah. Whatever. She’s jailbait.”
“She’s twenty-five. I’d hardly call that illegal.”
Brandon stood. “Doesn’t matter. Not interested.” He reached down for his running shoes and put them on.
“Wait. You didn’t tell anyone about what you saw?”
His friend shrugged and looked away.
“Dammit, Brandon. Who did you tell?”
“I might have sent my editor a text.”
“What the hell.” Jason stood, hands fisted. He’d never wanted to hit his best friend, but right now he could deck him.
“What? You said you weren’t going to write the story. Man, what I saw last night is incomprehensible. Someone’s got to break it. So, you
don’t want it for the Miami Herald. Why can’t my paper have a crack at it? Besides, it’ll probably make your gal one rich cookie. Visitors from miles will flock into the bakery. She’ll probably get a deal or a cooking show or something.”
Jason started to pace, rubbing his chin. He needed to fix this and protect Emma. He reached across the table for Brandon’s phone, setting it in front of his buddy. “Story’s a no-go. Call her right now.”
“And say what?”
Jason thought for a second. If Brandon said it was a hoax, that might intrigue his editor to have him investigate what was really going on at the Sugar Spoon. “Tell her, the Miami Herald is about to break the story.”
“When?”
“In two days.”
“Fine. I’ll call her at a decent time. It’s only six a.m. in L.A.”
“Thanks.” Jason sat back down.
“Whatever,” Brandon said, stripping off his shirt. “I’m going for a run.”
“Say hi to Abby.” Jason laughed sarcastically as his friend replied with his middle finger. He got up and leaned against the kitchen counter. That was a close call. Although, it probably was only a matter of time before another reporter came knocking, digging for the truth. What if Brandon’s editor demanded he write the story, or worse, assigned it to someone else?
”Maybe I should write it,” he mumbled but thought about it for a second. That wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. At least then he’d have control over both direction and angle. Should he expose Batter Up? He turned and peered out the side window that gave him a direct shot of Emma’s cottage.
He knew his answer, but Emma wasn’t going to like it.
Emma watched a shirtless Brandon run through the park and smirked. “Looks like your soul mate has nice form.” Her head cocked to the side in unison with Abby’s.
Abby’s head straightened. “Does he? I didn’t notice.”
Emma giggled. “Yeah, right.” She leaned back on the park bench and tugged her cousin’s shirt. “Come on, Abs. I’m only teasing you.”
“It’s not funny.” Abby looked up at the sky. “Lord, what did I ever do to deserve this? It’s the time I fibbed to get out of a speeding ticket, isn’t it?”