Easy Bake Lovin'

by Maggie Wells

  “True, but he’s still…remembered.” Megan paused long enough to purse her lips and reload. “I bet the market for children’s birthday parties must be incredible,” she gushed. “I mean, Mikey and I were lucky to get a Betty Crocker box mix when we had a birthday, but these days, kids are certainly more…indulged.”

  “Maybe,” Georgie said with a shrug. “I had some pretty elaborate setups when I was a kid, but it doesn’t take long to figure out Mom and Dad are making up for something. My parents were so busy, I think they forgot they had children most of the time.”

  Mike cringed as the torpedo breached his sister’s thin shell of friendliness. “Oh, this a rebellion?” She gestured to Georgie’s hair and clothes. “Poor little rich girl?”

  “Not at all,” Georgie replied coolly. “I can buy a thousand bottles of hair dye, and I’ll still be rich.” She raised her ringless eyebrow at him. “You two enjoy your chat, I’m going to go help serve.”

  Georgie turned on her heel and scampered off in her socks, unicorn mane bouncing behind her.

  Without a backwards glance at his sister, Mike followed.

  She conjured a smile when he crowded in beside her, but it was hard and brittle. “Cake, cupcake, or cookie?”

  “Georgie, I—”

  She held up a hand to stop him, then pointed to the array of sweets. “Cake, cupcake, or cookie?”

  He paused for a moment, then chose what he’d consider the more masculine of the three options. He’d already given her reason enough to dump him; he didn’t need to self-select out of the running. “I’ll have cake.”

  Seconds later, he had a slice of triple-layer cake thrust at him. “There you go. Make sure you eat it, too,” she said, turning back to her self-appointed duties.

  “Georgie—”

  “Not now,” she answered without sparing him a glance. “Go somewhere else.”

  Mike did as he was told. He found a spot along the wall where he could keep an eye on them all—the kids, his sister, his friends, and his girlfriend—then started kicking himself. Hard. He thought back to what she’d told him about trusts and loans. True, she didn’t have to scrape by like most of the world, and even if her business failed, she’d never really be destitute. But she worked. She worked so hard to make her bakery into a success. And he’d made it sound like being born to the right parents was her crowning glory.

  “So, this is uncomfortable,” James said as he sidled up beside him.

  Mike stabbed a forkful of cake. “Ya think?”

  James took a bite of a cupcake and groaned in appreciation. “Holy hell, she’s fantastic,” he muttered as he chewed.

  When Mike turned to look at him, James held out the cupcake to show off the creamy chocolate ganache Georgie’d injected into the center of the soft sponge. “She is,” he agreed. “And not only with the cakes and stuff.” The second the words were out, Mike closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever lascivious commentary his friend found irresistible.

  “Looked intense over there.”

  He glanced over at James, then down at the plate in his hand. “You have no idea.”

  “Sorry, man, but I wasn’t about to wade in. Only an idiot sticks his hand out in the middle of a catfight.”

  “Only an idiot calls a confrontation between two grown women a catfight,” Mike rebutted.

  James shrugged. “I never claimed to be anything but an idiot.”

  “She’s looking for a place to crash, and I think she’s looking at your place,” he warned, shooting a worried glance at James. “Don’t let her, man.”

  “I’m not gonna let her. I’m an idiot, but I’m not a complete chump,” James said, slightly defensive.

  The two men lounged against the wall, watching the women flutter around cleaning up the cake service while Colm and Melody’s husband policed the kids squirming and jabbering on the bench seats. Megan drifted in Georgie’s direction and Mike’s muscles tensed. James shook his head to stop him from diving in.

  “Don’t. Meg’s only trying to bait her. I’m betting Georgie has dealt with worse.”

  “She shouldn’t have to deal with any of this,” Mike groused, but he forced himself to unclench. “Megan’s my sister, not my mother. And Georgie and I aren’t about to get married or anything.”

  James looked at him sharply. “No?”

  Struck by the amount of disbelief and disappointment his ersatz brother-in-law managed to inject into the single syllable, Mike jerked out of his sulk. “What? No,” he said, instantly defensive.

  James came back at him as quickly. “Why not?”

  A reasonable question, but each of the two words landed like a punch to the gut. Why not? Because she had hair like a My Little Pony. She specialized in pornographic puff pastries. And the day she figured out this was all he was—a guy who loves Saturdays dedicated to lawn mowing and little league games—and decided he’s too boring for her? What was he supposed to do then? How would he ever explain his ability to drive women away with sheer boredom?

  Pushing from the wall, he bypassed the cake orgy and moved to the edge of trampolines extending beyond the party area. He didn’t need to look back to see if James followed. He could feel his friend dogging his footsteps. Gripping the edge of a safety mat, he tried to find the words to explain. But what could he say? Right now, he was something different and exotic for her, as she was for him. Yes, he thought about rolling their relationship from temporary to permanent, but when he tried to picture what the future would be like, the vision was always sort of fuzzy. His life was uneventful. Unexciting. Exactly the way he wanted it to be.

  “I’m not sure I see us together long-term,” he said at last.

  “Yeah, I don’t either.”

  Mike jumped and whirled, searching for the person who dared to doubt his relationship with Georgie. His sister smirked at him, then at James.

  “Weren’t you even gonna say hi, Jamie?” Her naturally husky voice dripped with hurt, but somehow the question came out with an edge of menace.

  James’s jaw tightened and he took an instinctive step away. “Not if I could avoid you.”

  The playground retort made him want to laugh, but there was nothing funny about James and Megan’s train wreck of a relationship. He bit his tongue as the two of them exchanged a few more barbs. If the tenor of the conversation was any indicator, he needn’t have worried about James falling prey to Megan’s charms again. There was no way his friend would be bunking with his baby mama anytime soon.

  He turned away from the so-called adults to check on the kids. And Georgie.

  Her hair swung down as she carefully boxed the remainder of the cake. He curled his fingers into his palms and gazed at the tempting tangle of blue, pink, green, and pale purple. He knew how achingly soft those waves were. He’d memorized the slinky slide of each tendril as they slipped through his fingers. Breathed in the scent of her—shampoo and sugar. Always sugar. He wished he’d paid better attention when they learned about osmosis in school. The sugar had to be the reason her skin tasted so sweet.

  “You have a real knack for stirring stuff up.”

  James’s sharp rebuke brought Mike out of his reverie, but he wasn’t quick enough to defuse the confrontation between his sister and his friend. Frankly, he wasn’t inclined to. Megan deserved every ounce of James’s ire.

  Hectic color washed the redheaded man’s cheeks and set the tips of his ears on fire. Mike fought the urge to press his hands to his own face in sympathy.

  “Do you even care about seeing the boys, or are you here to cause trouble?” James persisted.

  Right on cue, Megan bowed up. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re not welcome here,” James snapped. “You can’t do this anymore—stroll in and out when the whim strikes you. The kids are older now. They see their friends’ moms and you don’t even come close.”<
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  Mike thought the accusation was a stretch, seeing as how the twins’ best pals were his kids and Colm’s son Aiden. Every one of them motherless for all practical purposes. But he let the exaggeration go. Megan loved mirrors, but she never looked beyond her reflection.

  Megan crossed her arms over her chest and thrust one hip to the side. It was the same belligerent stance she’d used when she’d want a particular swing on the playground, or to stretch her brother-imposed curfew by an hour or two. Seeing her facing off with his friend made his chest ache. Despite her many, many faults, Mike missed his sister more than he’d admit to his friends. And though Colm had been his best friend through all those formative years, he’d never been on the inside. Try as they might, his friends could never imagine what life in the Simmons household had really been like.

  “Well, I’m back.”

  “Stay away from my kids,” James growled, then turned on his heel and stalked away.

  Mike flinched. He rarely heard his normally laid-back friend speak harshly. The protective big brother in him wanted to call him back and punch the guy in the nose, but one glance at the snide smirk on his sister’s face squelched the impulse. James deserved to revel in his rancor.

  “I think you’d better move on, Meg,” he said as gently as he could manage.

  Megan rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She unfolded one arm and held out her hand, palm up. “Gimme your key.”

  “No.” The answer simply popped out of him.

  “What?”

  “No. I’m not gonna give you my key. You have fifty million ‘dear friends’ in this city,” he reminded her, cringing at his involuntary use of air quotes. “I have enough going on. I can’t deal with your circus of a life.”

  “Enough going on with the mayor’s daughter,” she retorted, never one to let a potential dig slip by.

  Fed up, he turned to face her full-on. “Stop trying to make something out of nothing. She’s not sixteen or married or something. Nothing to see here.”

  “I’m an artist. Making something out of nothing is pretty much the job description.”

  “Then make some money being an ‘artist’…” Again, he used the horrifying air quotes, but he couldn’t stop himself. “…and you won’t have to spend your nights crashing on people’s couches. Stay put long enough to have an actual bed of your own. Maybe spend some time with your kids.”

  Her brows shot up, then slammed down in a fierce scowl. “You heard the man. I’m supposed to stay away.”

  “For God’s sake, Megan—”

  “How do you get off being so sanctimonious? You’re the one stringing some poor girl along. Does she know she’s ‘nothing’ to you? Have you told her you don’t see the two of you together ‘long-term’?”

  He closed his eyes, reeling at how quickly his baby sister could turn the stupid air quotes on him. “Stop.”

  “Have you told her she doesn’t fit the image? I mean, sure, she’s a Carson and all, but come on, the hair? Isn’t she a bit old to be punking out on old Mumsie and Dadums?”

  “My mother keeps hoping I’ll outgrow this phase, but the miraculous transformation hasn’t happened yet.”

  Georgie. Every muscle in Mike’s body went rigid and he chomped down on his lower lip. How much had she heard? He hissed an exhalation as he felt her thread her hand through his arm.

  “I’m the black sheep of the family.”

  Opening his eyes, he found her laser-beam gaze locked on him.

  “There’s an image?” The prod was gentle, but there was a serrated edge in Georgie’s voice. “Like a template?”

  He shook his head, but his ever-helpful sister chimed right in.

  “Yes! Exactly! If he could have created a life-sized stencil for his perfect woman, you can bet your bippy he would have. Mikey likes things all nice and uniform. His favorite color is beige.”

  “Not anymore,” he muttered. But the women didn’t notice. They were more focused on talking about him than to him.

  “He has this cookie-cutter ideal he can’t seem to shake.”

  Something inside of him started to crack, but he was paralyzed. Speechless. Unable to refute the truth. Or what was the truth. Once. Before he met Georgie.

  “Lucky for me, I have tons of cookie cutters.”

  Georgie spoke in a low and even tone, but he heard the hurt, and it made his chest tight.

  “Ah, but I bet not one of them is in the shape of the all-American suburban girl. Personally, I blame Nick at Nite programming.” Megan aimed a saccharine-sweet smile at the two of them and tipped her head to the side. “I can’t remember… Did Carol Brady or Donna Reed ever put magenta streaks in their hair?”

  “I’m pretty sure Fran Drescher could rock them,” Georgie quipped.

  Megan didn’t miss a beat. “But you’re not the nanny, are you? No, you’re a debutante pretending to be a cook.”

  “Chef,” Mike corrected. Straightening his shoulders, he hopped into the fray. “Cordon Bleu trained, actually.”

  “Ooh, fancy,” Megan cooed. “And now you have your own bakery. I imagine you get to do all sorts of fancy party things. Debutante balls, society weddings, and teas. Don’t you guys spend all your time sipping tea or champagne?”

  Megan wrinkled her freckled nose, and for the first time since they were kids, Mike wanted to punch her.

  Georgie smiled sweetly, unfazed by the incorrect assumptions. “Do I look like the debutante type?”

  His sister turned away with a shrug. “Maybe this is on-trend for your kind.”

  “My kind?”

  Megan let a shoulder rise and fall as if she’d already lost interest in the conversation. “I see them all the time in the art worlds. Rich kid, sort-of famous parents. You’re a dabbler. A trust-fund baby.”

  “Georgie works hard. She runs a very successful business.”

  “She bakes cupcakes and petit fours,” Megan said with a sneer. “How hard could it be?”

  Mike was about to retort, but Georgie stopped him with a raised hand.

  “My work is quite literally a piece of cake,” she said with quiet firmness. “I am the luckiest dabbler in town.”

  Having reached his limit, he turned toward her. “Georgie—”

  But her hand came up a few inches higher. “Your sister’s a bitch, Mike.”

  A protest sprang to the tip of his tongue, unbidden. He clamped his lips shut firmly. She wasn’t wrong, and he wasn’t inclined to give Megan the benefit of the doubt this time. “Yes, she is,” he replied, his gaze never straying from hers.

  Lifting her chin a notch, she narrowed her eyes. Every nerve in Mike’s body went on high alert.

  “And you’re an ass.” She slipped her hand from the crook of his elbow and took a step back, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I’m no man’s cookie-cutter ldeal, and I hope to God I am never beige.”

  “Georgie, wait—”

  But she didn’t wait. She left. And he had a sickening feeling the boulder lodged in his throat was stuck there for the long term.

  Chapter 14

  Of course Mike called her. She had three missed calls in the cab. A dozen more, by the time she let herself into her apartment. Each came with an increasingly desperate voice mail message. Georgie listened to every one of them, but she didn’t call him back. Instead, she called her big brother.

  “Hey, Gerrymander,” she said when he answered.

  “Georgie Porgie,” he said, sounding surprised but pleased to hear from her on a random Saturday afternoon. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.” Georgie stretched out on the couch and draped an arm over her head, seeking tactile comfort from the silky tassels edging the throw pillow.

  “You decided to call me out of the blue? For no reason other than your undying love for me?” he teased.

  The anger and indig
nation that fueled her flight from Trampland dissipated by the time the cab dropped her off. All she had left now was a nearly overwhelming sadness. Though her protective older brother couldn’t see her, Georgie managed a wan smile. “Are you busy?”

  “T-ball practice,” he said succinctly.

  “Isn’t it too cold for baseball?”

  “We practice indoors until the season starts.”

  She smiled at the mental image of the city’s leading mayoral candidate standing in a stinky gym watching kids whack at a ball perched on a stand. Then, her brother started shouting and clapping, jolting her out of her reverie.

  “Atta boy, Trey! Way to hustle!”

  Tears filled her eyes as she listened to the muffled sounds of the crowd around Gerry shouting similar words of encouragement. A fiery lump of emotion lodged in her throat and she closed her eyes.

  Gerry was a dad.

  Not a father like their father had been. He was the kind of dad who went to T-ball practice even though the mayoral election was mere weeks away. A real dad.

  Like Mike.

  And like Mike, he was stuck with a sister only a brother could love. A sob pushed past the fireball in her chest and escaped on a gasp. In an instant, she had Gerry’s undivided attention.

  “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked. She heard the ca-chunk of a heavy door closing, then the background noise was gone. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “I’m fine,” she wailed unconvincingly. Wiping away the tears with the heels of her hands, she sniffled loudly. “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah, I’m totally buying the fine bit,” Gerry said dryly.

  “I just…I think I… Oh, Gerry,” she sobbed.

  “Is it a guy? Because if it’s a guy, I’ll kill him. Well, not me, personally. Hell of a headline, huh? Mayoral hopeful goes vigilante on sister’s boyfriend? But, I know some guys.” He paused for a second. “Okay, I don’t know them, but you can bet dear old Gerald does, and we can sic—”

  She croaked a laugh. How many girls had a brother willing to engage their father’s goony henchmen to assuage a broken heart? “No, don’t kill him.”