His Plain Jane (Happy Endings Book 3)

by L. Nicole

  His Plain Jane

  L. Nicole

  Copyright © 2020 by L. Nicole

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Designer by: Mayhem Creations

  WARNING: This book contains sexual situations, violence and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 and above.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Synopsis

  1. Jane

  2. Jane

  3. Casper

  4. Jane

  5. Casper

  6. Jane

  7. Casper

  8. Jane

  9. Jane

  10. Casper

  11. Jane

  12. Casper

  13. Jane

  14. Casper

  15. Casper

  16. Casper

  17. Jane

  18. Casper

  19. Jane

  20. Casper

  21. Jane

  22. Casper

  23. Jane

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by L. Nicole

  Jane Oakley moved to Maine to open a bakery on a whim.

  Moving there from sunny Florida was a big adjustment, but it’s one she hasn’t regretted.

  The only problem is Casper Hartley.

  Casper Hartley, self-made millionaire, ruggedly handsome, well respected and utterly and completely out of reach.

  Every afternoon Casper comes into Jane’s bakery like clockwork.

  She takes his order, hands him his food, and takes his money.

  That’s it, because Casper seems to look through her instead of at her.

  Turns out, Casper Hartley is just a big jerk.

  When the town holds their annual Valentine’s dance, Jane’s best friend insists they go and gives Jane the makeover of her life.

  Casper definitely seems to like the changes.

  But, does Casper want the woman he danced with?

  The one that wore high heels, a fancy dress, and more makeup than the local department store owns.

  Or will he be happy with plain old Jane Oakley, bakery owner? The girl who has only used an eyeliner pencil to jot down a note, wears yoga pants and would rather eat ice cream and read a book, than party.

  1

  Jane

  I look in the mirror and scrunch up my nose. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail that is high upon my head. I don’t have makeup on, but that’s nothing new. I don’t usually wear makeup. My skin is a little pale, the golden tan I kept when I lived in Florida is slowly beginning to fade. I love being here in Maine, but I do miss the warmer weather.

  The irony of course is that when I lived in Florida, I thought it was cold there in the winter.

  Wrong.

  My gaze travels over to the clock on the wall. It’s almost four. The bakery is open for another hour, but that’s not why the time is significant. I quickly run a brush through the part of my hair hanging down and tighten up the band holding it secure. It’s not much, but that’s about as much as I do on the normal. I adjust my glasses—large black rims with pretty little butterflies on the sides—then grab the fresh walnut and pistachio muffins I baked and walk back into the front of the store. I put the muffins down on the counter beside the cash register and then I stare at the clock. I slowly watch as the seconds tick into minutes. As the time continues to pass, my heart rate speeds up. At exactly five minutes after four my gaze turns to the door of my shop, a second later the door opens and surprisingly two people walk in, but I only have eyes for… Him.

  Casper Hartley.

  He’s a god, not a man. He has movie star good looks and his body looks as if it has been chiseled out of stone. Everything about him is delicious, from his jet-black hair, eyes that look like pools of milk chocolate, defined bone structure, broad shoulders, washboard stomach and sexy ass that even manages to draw attention when he wears a jacket or coat.

  He’s perfect. No, he’s better than perfect. He’s like, perfect-est.

  Then, there’s his voice., deep, dark, gravely, and designed to send shivers of hunger all over my body. I know, because that’s exactly what he does when he speaks, which according to schedule should be happening in four, three, two….

  “Coffee, black and a bran muffin.

  “Welcome to Sprinkles and More Bakery,” I greet him cheerfully, my mouth watering at the sight of him. “Can I interest you in—”

  “Coffee, black and a bran muffin,” he repeats his deep voice causing me to shiver. I barely withhold my dreamy sigh.

  “If you want to give me a try, I bet I could make you moan with pleasure,” I tell him, desperate to get him to look up from his phone.

  The guy behind Casper laughs and Casper looks up, his dark eyes boring into me so deeply that I feel like I might spontaneously combust.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She wants to make you moan, Casp,” the guy jokes.

  Then, I die of mortification as what I truly said hits me.

  “I—I just meant that I have a fresh batch of walnut and pistachio muffins to die for. They’ll make your tongue slap your brain out, they’re so good.”

  My face feels as if it’s on fire I’m blushing so big. Casper just stands there staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. I hold up my muffin which is the perfect green hue for upcoming St. Patrick’s Day, and there’s bits of brown sugar sprinkled around little slivers of walnuts. I’m so proud of it. It took me months of experimenting to find the correct ratio and still manage to keep the muffin extra moist.

  I hold up the muffin as if I was a model on a television game show, one palm flat for it to lie on and my other hand fanning out to kind of point to its sugary perfection.

  Casper’s face doesn’t change. The guy behind him is trying to stifle his laughter and I want to melt into the cement floor beneath me.

  “Bran muffin and black coffee,” he repeats, and this time he does it slowly—probably because he believes I’m brain damaged.

  “Okie-doke,” I mutter, my fingers grasping my glasses and adjusting them. I force my gaze away from Casper and get his items, ring him up and tell him the price. He hands me the money and I give him his thirteen cents change back. My hand quivers slightly when our fingers touch, but I do manage to keep from groaning out at the heat that swamps my body. “Thank you for stopping by,” I tell him. I’m so lame.

  He takes his order and leaves without a goodbye. The guy behind him is still kind of laughing, but he at least is friendly.

  “What can I get you?”

  “I’m going to take you up on your offer to make me moan,” he jokes. “Give me your new muffin and a cappuccino,” he says, and I give him a smile that I don’t really feel, but when you own your own business, smiles are a must. I ring up his total, collect his money, and then hand him his stuff.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” I call out cheerfully. He gives me a wink and then walks to join Casper who is standing outside drinking his coffee.

  I watch them walk away, deflated, my hands slapping down on the counter. I stare down at my muffins and accept defeat again.

  Casper Hartley is never going to be mine.

  2

  Jane
>
  “You didn’t seriously say that?”

  “I did,” I moan, stuffing another bite of pizza in my mouth.

  “You seriously told Casper Hartley, the richest man in York, Maine to give you a try?” Keila laughs, while licking the marinara sauce from her fingers.

  “Yes,” I mumble, refusing to look at her.

  “And you told him you’d make him moan?” she laughs, having entirely too much enjoyment at my expense.

  “Thank you for making me relive my humiliation,” I grumble.

  “Come on. You have to admit it’s hilarious.”

  “Hilarious to you, traumatizing for me,” I mumble, adjusting my glasses again.

  “You like him.”

  “Keila, stop.”

  “You do! I can tell. You’re doing that nervous twitch thing you have when you feel out of your depth.”

  “I don’t have a nervous twitch.”

  “Oh my God! You totally do.”

  “Keila.”

  “Don’t you Keila me, you totally play with your glasses every time you get nervous.”

  “If you say so.” I sigh and give up arguing because she’s totally right. I do.

  Keila is my best friend, and probably my only friend. When I moved here, it wasn’t because I knew anyone. I just wanted a change of scenery. I figured Maine was about as different as I could get from Florida and still have the beach that I adore. I found the perfect store front and set about fixing my shop up, Keila came in one day and we just clicked. We’ve been close ever since. There are times it feels like we’ve known each other our whole lives, which is great until she figures out the one secret that I’ve done my best to keep hidden.

  I don’t like Casper Hartley.

  I think I love him.

  I know that sounds crazy—trust me, I do. We’ve not spoken, unless you count the numerous times that I’ve made a fool of myself at the bakery, but I know him.

  I’ve read every article on Casper that I can find. I know that he’s worked his business from the ground up. That his company is not only the largest supplier of fishing boats in the United States, but that Casper personally designs most of the boats himself. I know that he chooses to keep his business located in York, because it’s his hometown and it’s important to him to give back to the area. I know that he does extensive charity work, specifically for underprivileged children and for children that are battling diseases such as cancer.

  I know he is an only child. That his parents died when he was just thirteen from a horrific car accident. I know that he was sent to live with his Aunt and that she raised him, until her death four years later. That’s when he joined the Navy and discovered his love of boats.

  In fact, there’s probably not a thing you could ask about Casper Hartley that I couldn’t answer.

  Maybe some people would think it silly to fall in love with a man that they’ve technically never had a personal conversation with, but it’s true. I knew from the first moment I saw him. I looked up from my counter to see his dark eyes gazing over my menu, his dark hair slightly ruffled from the wind, and I knew he was it…

  My Prince Charming.

  The only problem is I’m more like the Ugly Duckling than Cinderella.

  I grab another piece of pizza, planning to bury my sadness in the gooey goodness of extra cheese, double pepperoni and sausage.

  “If you like him, Jane, you have to tell him,” she says, and I look up at her like she’s crazy—because obviously she is.

  “I can’t tell Casper Hartley that I like him. Are you nuts?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because!”

  “Because is not a reason, Jane.”

  “Casper Hartley doesn’t even know I’m alive!”

  “You just literally told the man you could make him moan. I guarantee you he knows who you are, Jane.”

  “If he does, it’s only to laugh. There’s no way I can tell him I like him.”

  “Okay fine.”

  “Fine?” I ask surprised, because usually Keila is like a dog with a bone and won’t give up until she browbeats someone into doing what she wants.

  “Yep, fine. If you don’t want to tell Casper Hartley that you like him, then we just need to get him to tell you that he likes you.”

  “That’s never going to happen.” I’m the one laughing now. The thought of Casper ever telling me that he likes me is so absurd, I can’t even fathom it.

  “It will. We just need to put in a little work.”

  “Work?” I ask, suddenly worried.

  “You’ll see,” she says with a grin and that worry blooms into full panic.

  Oh boy…

  3

  Casper

  “You’re such a cold bastard,” Brad mumbles, but I ignore him. He’s always spouting off about something. I’ve learned to tune him out over the years. I love him like a brother and technically he’s the only family I have. He’s been a trusted business partner and friend for more years than I like to count. I’ll be thirty-seven next year and I don’t have anything to show for it.

  Okay, that’s not exactly true. I have a great career doing what I love.

  But that’s it.

  Somehow, I pictured myself with a wife and a couple of kids by this age. That hasn’t happened and it shows no signs of happening. There’s not one woman on the horizon and my general mistrust of the fairer sex makes the thought of finding one seem dismal at best.

  “What have I done now?” I ask him, not really caring. I push around the steak on my plate, not really having an appetite.

  “That cute little thing at the bakery was practically frothing at the mouth to get your attention and you completely ignored her.”

  “Didn’t we already discuss this? The last thing I need is some girl who is barely legal warming my bed. I’m too old for that shit and honestly have no desire for it.”

  “So what? Brother, you’re only thirty-six. Do you plan on living out the rest of your days like a monk?”

  “If I can’t find a woman my own age with similar interests? Yes.”

  “You’re crazy,” he mutters, shaking his head.

  “What could I possibly have in common with a young child who works at a bakery?”

  “Young child? Will you listen to yourself? That woman back there didn’t look anything like a child to me.”

  “That’s because you’re younger.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. The five years that separate us make you practically ancient.”

  “If you’re so taken with the girl, ask her out,” I suggest, my mind already traveling to the government contract I’m trying to secure and wondering if I have everything that I will need for my meeting tomorrow evening.

  “I could do that, but Jasmine would have my balls in a grinder if I did.”

  “You and Jasmine are dating again?” I ask, surprised. The last I heard they had broken up and it wasn’t exactly amicable.

  “We’re trying. It hasn’t been smooth sailing.”

  “You’re the idiot. This is the same Jasmine that went off half-cocked because she saw you talking to your cousin at the flower shop last month?”

  “Yeah,” he says avoiding my eyes. I don’t let it drop, however. I rarely do when I’m right—and I’m rarely wrong.

  “The same flower shop you were at to buy Jasmine flowers for Valentine’s Day?”

  Brad drops his utensils on his plate, lets out a deep breath and finally raises his gaze up to look at me, giving an irritated sigh. “Yes.”

  “The same Jasmine that threw all of your clothes out onto your driveway and set them on fire because you were talking to this other woman?”

  “Casper—”

  “And just to be clear here,” I add, going in for the kill, “The same woman who also happened to be your cousin, the happily married, fifteen-years-older, and mother of four, cousin?”

  “Well, yeah, but they hadn’t met. It’s not like she knew that Marie was my cousin.” He’s trying to defend someth
ing undefendable, but then, that’s who Brad is. He’s always looking on the bright side and trying to find the good in people. Too bad he hasn’t discovered that most people have more bad in them than good. Hell, some don’t have anything but bad, period.

  “You’re right. That’s more than enough reason to burn all of your belongings. Never mind you didn’t kiss your cousin, hold her hand or fuck her against the building. You were talking. It’s completely reasonable for Jasmine to go off the rails like she did.”

  “You really should have been a lawyer,” Brad complains.

  “Probably, but being held up in a courtroom day after day would kill me.”

  “I’ll let it drop,” Brad says, holding his hands up in surrender.

  “Thank fuck,” I snap.

  “But if you lose out on a good thing, you’ll have no one else to blame but yourself.”

  “I’ll try to control my sadness.”

  “Cold bastard.” He shakes his head after repeating his description of me. I continue eating, letting it go. He’s not the first to call me that.

  He won’t be the last.

  4

  Jane

  I watch the clock. I know the time is coming for Casper to walk in the door, and I’m dreading it. Somehow, after our dinner together last night, Keila got to me to promise to flirt with Casper today. There’s just one very huge problem.

  I don’t know how to flirt. I’ve never done it—ever. That probably explains why I’m still a virgin at twenty-five. I don’t know, and I have no way of checking to see if it’s true, but I’m pretty sure I’m the world’s oldest living virgin on record. I’m practically a fossil.