Easy Bake Lovin'

by Maggie Wells

  Mike smirked at the logo printed on the cocktail napkin beneath his glass. “I still think he’s risking some kind of copyright infringement on the name.” He took a sip of his champagne, then nudged the glass aside in favor of the microbrew he’d requested. “When I told the guys you were taking me to Chuckie’s Cheeses, they almost lost their minds.”

  “The restaurant business is very high-risk. If Charlie makes this one last long enough to capture the attention of a pizza-slinging mouse, more power to him.” She drained her glass and reached for his. “They know I’m coming to the bouncy place, right?”

  “Trampland,” he supplied.

  She bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I know, but I can’t bring myself to say the name. Sounds too much like slut-shaming. Why can’t they use the ‘oline’ part?”

  “I bet they think they’re as clever as Chuckie and his cheeses,” he replied. “Colm reminded me to thank you for the cake offer.”

  “Did you tell him I’m making the Big Kahuna?”

  “I told him I’d make sure this cake was more of a big cowabunga.”

  “Cowabunga?”

  “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle speak,” he clarified.

  She sighed and toyed with the stem of her champagne flute. “I have so much to learn.”

  His skeptical look told her he wasn’t buying the innocent act, so she gave up. Reaching for her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. “Wanna see a picture of the design?”

  His expression changed completely when she showed him the photo. “Perfect. Aiden’s going to love it,” he said with genuine warmth.

  A full second into basking in his bright smile, Georgie realized he’d actually looked apprehensive. She tried not to be offended, but failed. Switching off the screen, she cocked her head as she dropped the phone into her bag. “What did you think I was going to do?”

  “What?”

  “You seemed…surprised. Did you really think I was going to make a six-year-old a penis cake?”

  “No.”

  But the denial was too sudden and a shade too adamant. “Maybe give him his own copy of Where Did I Come From?”

  Mike seemed taken aback by her direct questions but quickly recovered. “No, I’m glad you understood what I meant about not making them scary. The kid has this obsession with the Turtles, but the movie gives him nightmares. We walk a fine line.”

  She eyed him long enough to let him know she was choosing to accept his explanation. A waiter appeared with a platter loaded with bite-sized pieces of meats, fruits, vegetables, and breads. Charlie appeared a second later with a steaming fondue pot and placed it into the warming rack at the center of the table. The interruption, coupled with the heavenly scent of melted cheese, chased the tension from the room. The waiter returned with two glasses of white wine they hadn’t ordered. No doubt the chef’s pairing.

  Beaming her thanks, Georgie made a show of blowing profuse kisses in Charlie’s direction as her friend left their tiny alcove.

  Mike was staring at the platter in amazed confusion. “I had no idea there was so much to this.”

  Smiling, she picked up a long-handled fork and used the tines as a pointer. “Beef medallions, this is the spicy sausage I was telling you about, and, oh!” She motioned to a small pile of golden-brown pretzel nuggets dusted with coarse salt. “Charlie makes his own pretzel bread with beer in the dough.” She speared a hunk of cauliflower, swirled it in the pot of herb-fragranced cheese, waited for the excess to drip away, then slid the morsel onto her plate. “When eating cheese fondue, you should stir the pot. You want to get the full flavor of the herbs.”

  Mike chose one of the beef medallions and followed her lead. As he waited for the excess to fall away, he smirked. “I suppose eating off this fork is bad form.”

  She let a shoulder rise and fall. “You can if you don’t want to dip again.”

  “The double-dipping thing.”

  “Pretty simple, really. Anything touches your mouth, it doesn’t touch the communal pot.”

  He carefully transferred the tidbit to his plate, then looked up for additional guidance. “Do I keep dipping, or do I eat this first and then get something else?”

  Georgie grinned, swirled her wine and took an appreciative sniff. “Let’s not make a lot of fondue rules. Do what feels right.”

  A contented silence fell over them as they loaded their plates. The quiet was punctuated by occasional grunts of approval—his—and moans of appreciation—hers. Georgie popped a bite of the spicy sausage into her mouth, and the combination of Cajun kick and the creamy, mellow cheese made her close her eyes in near-orgasmic bliss.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  The gruff compliment almost sent her food down the wrong pipe. She gave a soft cough, swallowed carefully, then opened her eyes to find him staring directly at her. There was something raw in his expression. Something that made her chest ache and her heart rate speed up. A twisting in her gut told her whatever was on his mind wasn’t entirely good.

  Wetting her lips, she managed a soft “Thank you.”

  “Your hair is…beautiful.”

  The repetition made her smile. Not because of the double compliment, but because she’d seen the shocked expression on his face when she answered the door. She’d given her stylist permission to go all out this time. The result was a magical mix of silver, blue, pink, and purple guaranteed to make a mermaid green with envy.

  She chuckled and picked a piece of cheese-drenched pretzel off her plate with her fingers. “And kind of a shock, huh?”

  He gave her the sheepish smile and her insides went wobbly. “Yeah, but a pretty shock.”

  She inclined her head, letting the barely tamed waves tumble over one eye. “Thank you.”

  “Chrissie will be begging me to let her do hers.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her I had to sit still for about three hours.”

  He laughed. “She doesn’t really have a well-developed concept of time at this point, so not an effective deterrent.”

  “How about we get her a mermaid wig?”

  A sunburst smile lit his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Beautiful and brilliant.”

  “I was born thinking on my feet.” She snared another piece of the sausage, then held her dinner fork to his lips. “Eat this.”

  He gave her a long, searching look she couldn’t quite decipher, but opened his mouth to accept the morsel. “What?” she asked as he chewed, his eyebrows lifting in what appeared to be shocked surprise.

  Mike eyed her speculatively as he washed it down with a gulp of his beer. “Wasn’t that something from Alice in Wonderland? Try this?”

  “Eat me,” she corrected. His eyes widened, and she had to laugh. “The cake said EAT ME. She drank the DRINK ME potion, which made her small. The EAT ME cake made her grow.”

  “My sister loved the cartoon one,” he said as he skewered some more victims for the pot.

  The rare mention of his life beyond work and his kids intrigued her. She decided to press. Gently. “Your sister?”

  He hesitated a moment, as if he hadn’t realized he’d opened the door. “Megan.”

  When he didn’t expound, she started in with the leading questions. “Your sister’s name is Megan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Megan and me?”

  “Yes.”

  “We were closer when we were young. We’ve grown apart.”

  “How come?”

  “Different ways of life, I guess.” Mike shifted on his cushion, clearly uncomfortable in every way. “So your family… Wow. Your family is famous.”

  Georgie gave a short laugh. “Nice try. Everything you need to know about my family is on Wikipedia.” She leaned in, stabbed a piece of bread with her fork. “I want to know more about your family.”


  “Nothing exciting to hear. Mother, father, sister, me.” He shrugged. “My parents and my sister do their own thing, I do mine.”

  “Do you see them?”

  “Occasionally.”

  Georgie gave him a few beats, but no further information seemed to be forthcoming. Sighing, she set her fondue fork aside, and crossed her arms in front of her. “You know, this disclosure thing is going to have to go both ways.”

  Mike raised an eyebrow. “Funny, I don’t remember you telling me your family is the city’s most famous political family.”

  She nodded, taking the verbal slap as her due. “You’re right, and I should’ve told you, or at least given you the heads-up. Most of the time I try to stay as far away from the spotlight as possible. Everyone is happier.”

  “Including you?”

  “Especially me,” she answered without hesitation. She reached across the table and threaded her fingers through his. “The point of this dating business is to get to know each other better, right? There’s no Wikipedia page for the Simmons family. You’re going to have to give me more to go on.”

  Mike sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m not very good at opening up about family stuff.”

  “I don’t think either of us is.”

  “My dad isn’t a particularly nice guy,” Mike said quietly. “As a matter fact, everything I’ve ever wanted to be is the exact opposite of what my dad did.”

  “Abusive?”

  “Yes and no.” He toyed with his fork. “Yes.”

  “Physically?”

  “Sometimes, but not most of the time.”

  “Verbal.” Georgie nodded. “Hurts as bad, and the scars don’t show. I’ve told you my mother has a way of speaking one might say was not particularly encouraging.”

  “Yeah, my dad wasn’t exactly the type to mince his words.”

  “And my mother uses hers as weapons.”

  Mike’s fingers tightened on hers. “I don’t want to talk about this, Georgie. Not when I’m with you.”

  “But who they were is part of who you are.”

  “Not anymore.” He blew out a long breath. “I left home when I got a scholarship for college and never went home. My dad likes to say I think I’m too good for them. I guess he’s right in a way.” He withdrew his hand from hers. “I am too good for them. I want better things. Not stuff or money things, only a better life for me and for my kids. Normal is all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t think wanting a stable home for my children is wrong.”

  “No. Not at all,” Georgie said quietly.

  “Every choice I’ve made since I left their house has been with the goal of living a different kind of life.”

  “I get that.”

  His eyes met hers. “I think you do.”

  Georgie laughed. “Probably better than anybody. I mean, come on, look at me.”

  He stared at her intently. “I am, and you’re beautiful.”

  “You used that line earlier.”

  “I stand by my statement.”

  “Good. I like to have plenty of positive reinforcement.”

  “I have tons of positive thoughts about you.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”

  “Now and most of the time.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do most of those positive thoughts include clothing or not?”

  “Both.”

  Laughing at his vaguely affronted expression, Georgie decided to let him off the hook. “We’re having this incredible Mexican chocolate fondue for dessert.” She drew a slow circle around the rim of her wineglass and looked up at him from under her lashes. “And I’ve been thinking about all the things I’d coat in that sweet, spicy goodness.”

  “How insulted would Charlie be if we asked for dessert to go?” he asked, not bothering to mask his eagerness.

  She leaned back and caught her weight on her hands. Mike’s eyes widened as the change in position thrust her breasts into the air. She let her head loll, feeling every inch the enchanted creature her new hair color purported her to be. “Very, but don’t worry. I already asked him for extra to go. You know, for experimentation in the bakery.”

  “I love the way you think.”

  He delivered the compliment in an offhand sort of way, but the gruff edge in his voice ignited a spark of hope. Perhaps there was more in store than the sensual play she knew would come as the evening unfolded. Something involving the first two words of his statement, but ending with the word “you.”

  She wanted him to love her. Plain and simple. In the just the way Mark Darcy loved Bridget Jones.

  Georgie sighed and watched him wriggle around on the cushion, glancing up as one of the staff swooped in and began to clear the table for the change in courses. The bits and pieces she’d pried out of him would have to do for now. She’d surely pick up a lot more when they went to Aiden’s birthday party. She believed one could tell a lot about people by the way they acted around kids and dogs. Since she was without a furry friend, she’d have to count on his kids to give her a glimpse into the real life and true loves of Mike Simmons. And she couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 12

  Mike huffed impatiently as he shooed the kids through the glass door and into the surrealist nightmare known as Trampland Trampoline Park.

  He was running late. So late, he hadn’t been able to pick Georgie up as planned. She’d been understanding. Cheerful even. Meeting at the party was her idea. But now he was here and he was thinking it wasn’t as great a suggestion. No one should face this alone.

  He drew in a hit of overheated air and winced. Rooted to the spot, he watched as the kids sprinted toward the children’s area in the back. Tyler and Chrissy were old pros. Trampolines had taken over from paint-your-own-whatevers as the popular activity on the birthday party circuit.

  Georgie’d taken him to a sexy hole-in-the-wall restaurant where they’d lounged on cushions and hand-fed one another hunks of fruit dipped in decadent chocolate. He was giving her an afternoon out in a converted warehouse that smelled like sweat socks and looked like Picasso had done the interior design in some sort of drunk acrobat phase.

  Primary colors as far as the eye could see. Canvases coated in bold red, blue, and yellow spatters, squiggles, and whirly-dos covered the walls. He was no art critic, but, frankly, he thought Chrissie did better work at her daycare. But the paintings weren’t the most jarring part. Nor were the streaks of neon lighting someone thought would look cool along the ceiling. Or the massive stretches of blue mesh and matching padded mats. No, nothing could compare to the horror of Trampland’s choice in wall-to-wall carpeting.

  “Wow.”

  A hushed exhalation of mock reverence jerked him from his perusal. He turned to find Georgie standing at his elbow, her unicorn hair a wild mane his daughter was sure to covet. He’d be willing to bet the goodies she had stashed in the pink pastry boxes she carried would be enough to merit the undying love of every male in the place.

  “Hey.” Recovering quickly, he swooped in to kiss her hello. “You made it.”

  “The cab driver refused to believe there was such a place until I showed him the website on my phone.”

  “There are many of us who would like to pretend this is all a bad dream. Sadly, for me, this has become a recurring nightmare.”

  “Come here often, huh?” she asked with a lascivious wink.

  “Too often.”

  He tried to take hold of two of the two larger boxes, but she snatched the tall cake box off the top. “I’ll hang on to the cake.” She nodded to the boxes he held. “Those are cookies and mini-cupcakes.”

  “In case we couldn’t get them high enough with one cake?”

  “Exactly.”

  Cradling the boxes in one arm, he placed a hand in the small of her back and guided her into the heart of the mayhem. “Follow the
crazy boomerang road,” he instructed, nodding at the wild pattern of yellow and red shapes scattered all over the navy-blue carpet. “If you see any flying monkeys, duck.”

  “This is wild.” Georgie craned her neck to watch some rubber-bandy jock type do a series of aerial flips. “If they’d had this kind of place when I was a kid… Ha! I never would have known.”

  The resigned note in her voice made his heart squeeze. “No kiddie parties?”

  “At home. With a few select friends. Carsons don’t celebrate anything other than election victories in public.”

  “Ah.” He had no clue what to say. His dad was a drunk and his mom a doormat, but they sprung for a couple of birthday parties at the neighborhood pizza parlor.

  She smiled reassuringly. “Don’t look so grim. I wasn’t abused or even neglected. I had a pony one year.”

  “Wow. You were a rich kid, weren’t you?”

  She beamed an unapologetic grin at him, but her bravado faded as quickly as it appeared. “He tried to bite me.”

  Sliding his hand around her, he squeezed her waist. “I can’t blame him. You’re delicious.”

  Her step faltered and she gripped the box, leaving tiny creases in the pale pink cardboard. “What if they don’t like me?”

  Startled by her sudden fit of insecurity, he stopped in his tracks. “Who?”

  “The kids? Your friends?” She stared up at him, her eyes wide, and a line of worry etched between her brows. “The guy who splints the legs when people fly off these things?”

  “First, you’ve met my kids. They liked you. They’ll like you even more today.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “The hair, for starters,” he said without hesitation.

  “Not funny.”

  “Not kidding.”

  “Mike.” A hint of panic undercut the warning.

  “The hair will help,” he insisted. “I’m pretty sure they’re going to like you more because I like you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You told them you like me?”

  “I don’t have to tell my kids anything,” he said gravely. “They’re omniscient.”