She’d spotted Josh.
He gave her a nod.
Then added a wink.
Kimmie got him with a solid elbow to the ribs. Josh held his breath and clenched his gut to keep from oomph-ing.
Her mother’s cheeks had taken on the same jagged flush Kimmie was sporting, but unlike Kimmie, there was nothing innocently attractive about any part of Marilyn. Ice couldn’t catch fire, but her eyes were.
“I now pronounce this meeting opened,” Marilyn finished in a tight voice.
“I had a dream once that I found the portal to hell inside a flower pot of dirt pudding. This is more terrifying,” Kimmie whispered.
Without moving her mouth.
Josh squeezed her arm. “I’ll behave,” he murmured. “For now.”
“She’s going to pickle your cucumbers.”
“He has more than one?” Natalie whispered.
“That’s between me and Kimmie,” Josh replied.
Kimmie hit him with an elbow again. He bit back a grunt and turned his attention to Marilyn.
But he casually brushed Kimmie’s arm with his fingertips too. Her cheeks sported that fascinating blush, and her bright blue eyes were wide and hypervigilant, quickly scanning the room.
A week ago, he would’ve assumed she was simply flighty.
Tonight, though, he wondered what she was looking for. What she saw. What weighed in as significant.
If she even realized how much she knew and what she could do if she put her mind to it.
If her mother knew what Kimmie was capable of.
Why Kimmie was still afraid of her.
Marilyn called for the minutes. Josh turned from studying Kimmie and instead put his focus on learning what he could about Bliss and this Knot Festival craziness. It was the event of the year in these parts, he’d picked up. Brought in a hefty portion of Bliss’s annual revenue. It was the only wedding festival in the US, and Bliss got major press coverage for it.
From a business perspective, he could easily understand why it had been so important for Marilyn to save the festival that she’d sold half her bakery to make sure Knot Fest happened after the flood.
But while he might have respected her business intentions, he hated her for what she put Kimmie through.
A sturdy older lady lumbered to her feet to read last week’s minutes while the man beside her—her husband, Josh assumed—grunted and nodded along, hands propped on a walking cane.
The rest of the meeting was long but efficient. Kimmie seemed to have a hand in nearly every bit of the festival. There must’ve been eighteen subcommittee reports for Knot Festival week activities, from publicity to the pre-festival pageant to the kick-off parade—called the Bridal March, of course, with a path from the courthouse at one end of The Aisle to the wedding cake monument at the other—and every subcommittee chair-couple mentioned Kimmie had done something for them this last week.
Marilyn finally rapped her gavel on the table. “If any person knows of any reason this meeting should not be adjourned, speak now or forever hold your peace,” she said.
“I have something to say.” An older gentleman two tables over rose to his feet.
Kimmie stirred. Surprise and open curiosity dotted the room.
“Mr. Hart?” Marilyn said.
“Thank you.”
Marilyn stared at him expectantly.
“That’s all,” he said. “Just thank you. From all of us. Having Knot Fest after the flood wasn’t something any of us thought would happen. But you did it. You motivated us, both for Knot Fest and for getting our shops fixed in time. We didn’t know the extent of your sacrifice to make it happen. But now that we do, thank you.”
He turned a sharp gaze to Josh. “You too,” he said. “Thank you.”
Heat rose from Josh’s neck to his face. He nodded.
The older gentleman sat down. A slow applause started in the middle of the room, and soon it surrounded them. Kimmie beamed at him.
The heat under his skin got worse. His tie was choking him, except he wasn’t wearing a tie. His grip tightened on Kimmie.
He’d taken applause at dozens of charity dinners. This wasn’t new.
But this was different.
This was personal.
Marilyn banged her gavel and cleared her throat over the slowing applause. “Well, thank you.” Some of her ice had melted, but she still wore her annoyingly haughty nose tilt. “By the power vested in me as Knot Festival chairperson, I now declare this meeting adjourned. Kimberly, Mr. Kincaid, a word.” She banged her gavel again.
A murmur of voices spread through the room.
“Need us to stay?” Natalie asked Kimmie.
She shook her head.
But if Josh could read people at all, Natalie and CJ were staying, and there was a solid chance half the ballroom was too.
Gawkers?
Or as a buffer between Kimmie and her mother?
Kimmie moved to stand.
Josh clamped his hand on her thigh. The lean muscle tightened under his fingers, and his groin stirred. “She’ll come to us if she wants to talk,” he said.
“That’ll anger the beast more,” she whispered.
“The beast is only a beast as long as you’re afraid of it.”
Kimmie couldn’t win by being a jellyfish. Not that a backbone alone would solve the Marilyn problem, but it would be a start.
“It’s not about fear,” Kimmie whispered. “It’s about intelligence.”
“He’s right, Kimmie,” Natalie said. “She’ll be insufferable as long as you let her.”
Kimmie’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “I’ve been handling her for years, you know.”
“Make her handle you for once,” Josh said. “She’d be up shit creek without you at the bakery, and she knows it. You have power. Use it.”
“If you keep talking, I might start liking you,” Natalie said to him.
Kimmie gripped Josh’s wrist. “And what will she do to Rosita and Paige and all the other girls at the bakery if she’s mad at me?”
She wouldn’t do a damn thing, because Josh wouldn’t let her. “Kimmie.”
Her cheeks went up in those brilliant red streaks. “One step at a time. Okay?”
“Holy shit,” Natalie whispered. “You two are doing that talking-without-talking thing, aren’t you? Oh, you are cute.”
Josh didn’t do cute. Nor did he appreciate her implication. “You can go,” he said to Natalie.
She cackled and rubbed her hands together. “Not a chance.”
“Kimmie!” An older couple descended on them, the lady taking the lead. “Congratulations! We’re so excited to be doing the flowers for your wedding.”
Uh-oh.
Kimmie blinked at the lady. “Um, my… wedding?”
Josh stood and cleared his throat. “Kimmie’s been so busy with Knot Fest, she left the details to me. I wanted to surprise her.”
“Ooooh. We weren’t here. Didn’t say a thing.” She winked. “But we’re thrilled we had a cancelation and could squeeze you in,” she said in a rushed whisper.
She grabbed her husband, turned, and then froze with a squeak.
“You’re doing flowers for my daughter’s wedding?” Marilyn said in an icy, deadly tone that made the hair on Josh’s arms stand up. “During Knot Fest?”
“Kimmie deserves the wedding of her dreams,” Josh said. “Doesn’t she, Marilyn?”
“Oh, I do like him,” Natalie whispered.
Marilyn’s nostrils flared. Josh half-expected to see flames, or at least smoke.
Instinct made him grab Kimmie’s hand.
She was about to bolt.
“But if you’d rather elope, sweetheart, we could leave tonight,” he said.
The panic receded from Kimmie’s eyes and irritation lit an entirely different spark. She’d most likely be decapitating him with a frosting spreader made of goat cheese in her dreams tonight. “For a man who hasn’t bought me a diamond yet, you’re very sure of yourself.�
��
“I can help with that,” a gentleman to Josh’s right said.
“Oh, but don’t buy without coming to see us first,” said a woman to his left. “We’ll make you a better deal.”
Kimmie glared at Josh.
But Josh?
He grinned.
He couldn’t have hidden it if he wanted. “There’s that spirit,” he murmured. He hooked his arm around her waist and had the pleasure of watching her eyes go wide again a second before he claimed her mouth in a slow, seductive, thorough kiss.
He needed to do it for the show, he told himself. To demonstrate for Marilyn she wasn’t Kimmie’s world anymore. To keep up pretenses.
Not because Kimmie was an intriguing combination of soft and strong, sweet and spicy. Not because her lips were ripe and juicy, her mouth hot, her hair soft and silky around his fingers.
And he didn’t keep kissing her because she wasn’t fighting him. Or because she was hesitantly kissing him back with those full lips, her fingers clutching his shirt over his hammering heart.
He didn’t want to stop.
Yet.
He wanted—
More.
He wanted more. From Kimmie. Fluffy, kind-hearted, overlooked Kimmie.
A shrill whistle split the air. Two more followed, along with hearty laughter and clapping.
Kimmie pulled away, ducked her head, and smoothed a hand over her hair.
Josh could appreciate that.
He wanted to do the same.
“It seems I owe the lady a diamond,” he said instead.
There was another round of laughter, but it wasn’t until Josh took his fourth hearty backslap and fifth handshake that he realized Marilyn was gone.
Not as comforting as it should’ve been.
Josh needed to get back to Chicago, to Sweet Dreams, but he’d be staying in Bliss another night.
He still had business here that he’d been neglecting.
* * *
Sundays and Mondays were the biggest baking days at Heaven’s Bakery. On Sundays, Rosita generally oversaw the baking and wrapping of the majority of the wedding cakes for the week, and Monday, it fell to Kimmie to finish baking the wedding cakes and start the cupcakes for the daily crowd. She’d had a key to Heaven’s Bakery since she’d gotten her driver’s license, so though she generally reported to work around seven a.m. after a Pilates session, this particular Monday, she snuck out of her apartment at four, while Josh was fast asleep on the couch.
He wouldn’t leave.
But she couldn’t fix things with General Mom with Josh hovering.
Nor could she think straight when he was close enough to touch. Or smell. Or feel. Which he hadn’t been since they’d left the Knot Fest meeting last night. Kisses apparently didn’t mean anything to him, but that kiss had meant something to Kimmie.
It had been different from his first kisses. Not awkward like the kiss before cakemageddon. Not aggressive like the kisses when she’d tracked him down at the alehouse and then when she’d surprised him at his apartment.
Instead, it was almost tender. Possessive. Inspiring. And hotter than any oven she’d ever used.
Could a playboy like Josh fall for a cupcake like Kimmie?
She growled to herself and shoved her key in the lock at Heaven’s Bakery. Kimmie stepped out of the well-lit alley and hit the light switch.
The fluorescents flickered to life in the sterile kitchen. White walls, white counters, white sinks, white drawers and cabinets hiding anything that wasn’t as pure as bridal virginity.
Kimmie grabbed a white apron, but then paused and looked about the room again.
Flowers.
If she owned Heaven’s Bakery, she’d have flowers painted on the kitchen walls. Whimsical flowers, with long curly stems and cupcakes for petals in all colors of the rainbow. She’d paint the ceiling too. She’d hang pictures of her favorite wedding cakes in the customer lobby, and she’d have a pen holder with those cute pens that had fake pink daisies taped to the top. Or maybe with miniature brides and grooms.
She could do it.
She could suggest—gently—that General Mom consider retirement even with Josh in the picture. Enjoy more time with Arthur. Take a cruise.
Maybe around the world. Those lasted at least six months, didn’t they?
Kimmie giggled.
The doorknob clicked behind her, and she swung around.
“Kimberly.” General Mom was dressed for success in her white business suit, white heels, diamond earrings, and her perfectly styled short brown hair. But her frown was dressed for an impending murder.
Specifically, Kimmie’s.
Kimmie fumbled for a smile. “Hi, Mom.”
General Mom’s facial muscles didn’t move, but she somehow managed to convey the lip curl of disappointment with the brow of don’t get comfortable all the same. “You’ve decided to join the ranks of the honest, hardworking people of Bliss today, have you? Or do you have nefarious purposes for being in my kitchen two hours early?”
Kimmie’s stomach rolled. General Mom did have a way of making a person feel about as tall as the short side of a dull butter knife. “I didn’t quit,” she heard herself say. “I took a day off. To try to do what you wanted me to do.”
“You will remove that tone from your vocabulary if you wish to remain employed here, Kimberly. You’ve lost my trust, and I will not tolerate any further misbehavior. Am I understood?”
Kimmie swallowed. Yes, Mom. It was the expected answer. The normal answer.
But, perhaps, not the right answer.
“Why did you rig the Miss Flower Girl pageant when I was little?” she blurted instead.
General Mom’s lips parted. “Kimberly Anne Elias, how dare you—”
“I heard you,” she whispered. “I dream a lot of crazy stuff, but that wasn’t a dream. It was too normal. You told Mrs. Sparks that Blythe family descendants always won, that it put them on the path to leading Bliss, and that if I didn’t win, she’d be dooming the future of her own business. You threatened her.”
“Everyone’s businesses are doomed without proper leadership in the next generation, Kimberly.”
And Kimmie wasn’t leadership material. Her heart fluttered like a cupcake with broken wings. “That’s when you quit calling me Kimmie.”
General Mom’s eyelids fluttered shut, and her perfect posture drooped. “Your father called you Kimmie,” she said quietly. “He… I had a dream. You were grown up, and I hadn’t taught you to bake cake, or to properly clean and sanitize your frosting tips, or to order supplies or manage inventory or to do payroll. And you and your father had stolen Princess Diana’s wedding cake and were grabbing handfuls of it to fling at your grandfather’s picture while you… The point, Kimberly, is that I realized I was failing you. You’ve always been your father’s creative, imaginative child, but I was failing to properly train you for the necessities of everyday life. Your father didn’t know how to balance a checkbook. He never thought to have the oil changed in his car. He would’ve lived on boxed macaroni and hot dogs without me.”
But Mom didn’t sound irritated or haughty. She sounded… sad. Lonely. “Opposites attract,” Kimmie whispered.
“We were well balanced. But you—you had so much of him. And so little of me.”
“Mom? I know Josh can be irritating, but he—”
“He’s playing games with you, Kimberly. I never should have suggested you fix my problem.”
I’m severely displeased, Kimberly. She didn’t say it out loud, but she’d said it after every report card, every piano recital, every science fair, and that time Kimmie’s cookies took second place at her first—and only—county fair.
The only thing Kimmie had ever done right was cake.
And having the one thing she loved be the only thing she did that her mother was proud of dimmed her love for cake.
“I am terminating your extracurricular assignments with Mr. Kincaid,” General Mom said. “I’m unsure as to
our next course of action, but I have obviously erred in my strategy.”
You can’t do it, Kimberly. You’re incompetent, Kimberly. “What if Josh agreed to sell the bakery to me after you retire?”
“Kimberly, Mr. Kincaid has risen from the ranks of the poor and unfortunate to the rich and pampered. A man with his background, resources and outward charm will not simply surrender a profitable business to you, and any contract he might present suggesting that he would will be full of legal loopholes that we don’t have the resources to fight. If he’s promised you anything, he’s done so with the intention of taking advantage of an easy adversary. And I sincerely regret that I’ve put you in a position to make you emotionally vulnerable to a man with the money to plan a wedding he has no intention of following through with.”
Kimmie gripped the sides of her apron. She knew Josh wouldn’t marry her. She knew his wedding plans were for show. If he did give her a diamond ring, he’d do it to irritate General Mom, as he’d done everything else.
And the worst part was, they both needed her for her cake, but she wasn’t sure either believed in her.
Her mother didn’t.
Kimmie could quit. She could rip off her apron and walk out and go find another bakery. Go find a new home.
Or she could be brave. “Josh would sell me the bakery, Mom. He’s pretty reasonable in private. Lindsey could help me write the contract, and Josh would—”
“Kimberly, you have your father’s heart. And that’s a good thing. He was a wonderful man. But please don’t fall for Mr. Kincaid’s flattery and false promises. It won’t end well for any of us, most especially you.” General Mom squeezed Kimmie’s arm, then turned toward her office. “Good to have you back, Kimberly. The bakery wasn’t the same without you on Saturday.”
Kimmie glanced around the overwhelmingly white kitchen again.
The bakery was the same.
But Kimmie wasn’t.
17
Is Chicago’s Hottest Fiancé Fighting With His Future Mother-In-Law? —Greta’s Gossip, Chicago Daily Sun
Sugared (Misfit Brides #4) Page 20