My Forever Billionaire

by Katie Evergreen

  The kitchen had been a hub of activity when she and her mom had arrived back from the shop. Fueled by the prospect of not having to give up her dream career, Clementine had patched up the disastrous wedding cake. By the time she’d finished decorating it, it was fit for a queen—or a bride, at least. The white icing was glittering with gold leaf, decorated with subtle, classic icing pearls. Three tiers of simple but beautiful cake, just what the bride had ordered. It had also restored Clementine’s faith in herself, and her ability to go it alone. She’d snapped a photo for the bride-to-be, before whisking it off on its way by a courier who had been told to drive as carefully as if he had Semtex in the trunk. Now she was on the brink of a new chapter in her life and things were, mostly, looking up.

  “I’m taking the truck, Mom,” she yelled up the stairs. “I need it for the old shelving units. Gonna just put those straight into the garbage.”

  Her mom shouted back down the stairs.

  “If you wait ten minutes, I’ll come with you?”

  “No can do, I’m afraid, I’m too excited,” Clementine replied, picking the keys out of the bowl by the door and heading out. “Come by when you’re ready. Love you.”

  And she was gone.

  The truck proved pretty difficult to start, but on the third go it spluttered into life and rattled violently underneath Clementine. She hit the gas as much as she dared and roared down the drive. Being up higher than in the estate, Clementine had a good view of the Brodie farm. The farmhouse looked as bleak as it had done from the inside, and nothing had been done so far to repair the windows.

  Forget it, Clemmie.

  She tried to shift gear and put her foot down. Although it had been a good few years since she’d driven a stick shift, the truck shuddered and did what it was supposed to.

  The sun was out in all its glory this morning, drying off the last of the spring morning mist along the fields, but not quite drying off the mud. Clementine could feel the heat of it through the windshield, touching her face and hands like a warm hug. A bubble of happiness popped in her stomach, radiating her body with joy, and she turned up the radio as loud as it would go.

  The journey to the bakery was a chance for Clementine to go over her list in her head, if the songs didn’t distract her too much. The first stop on Clementine’s list was the General Store. She’d pick up some cleaning supplies before heading to the bakery. There was a sledgehammer in the back of the truck, and if the shelves wouldn’t fit in as they were, then they sure would after a good bashing. Clementine thought it might be quite therapeutic to smash some things and wondered if she should just do that anyway.

  Pondering over the pros and cons of how to load dozens of plastic shelving units into the truck bed, Clementine pulled into a parking bay in front of the store and turned off the ignition. It was early in the day so there were very few cars on the road, and even fewer vying for the parking spaces on Main Street. Climbing down from the truck, Clementine waved over the road at the young cashier from the General Store who was wrangling with a large set of keys at.

  The smell of coffee wafted along the road from the diner. Clementine’s stomach growled at the thought but she hushed it, not wanting to start the huge task ahead of her with jittery hands because of too much caffeine. She rummaged around in her purse for the set of keys Mr. Carter had given her yesterday morning. They were so heavy they must have fallen right to the bottom. And they were now covered by the mountain of incredibly important trash that always seemed to be floating about in her huge purse. She was by the front door before she’d found them.

  Something seemed different, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Perhaps it was because today the shop was hers. The sun was blasting through the white puffy clouds, maybe that’s why it seemed brighter, whiter, cleaner. Clementine looked up from her bag and the keys dropped to the floor with a surprisingly loud clatter.

  “Oh my…”

  She stood back on the sidewalk, taking in what was in front of her but not quite believing it.

  “Oh my…” she said again.

  She looked around, almost expecting a team of builders to appear with Drew and Jonathan Scott at their helm. But no one was there. The entire street was empty. Like a cartoon character, Clementine rubbed her eyes with bunched up fists, expecting the vision to melt away. Blinking, she looked up again at the building in front of her, but nothing had changed.

  It looked back at her. Resplendent in its glory. What yesterday had been an exciting but daunting mixture of dirty windows and dull paintwork, now shone at her with almost luminous candy colors. The door, set back in a little alcove, was a sweet lilac, framed in crisp white woodwork, the glass opaque with the swirling pattern of frosting. On either side of it were the huge windows, running almost all the way to the ends of the building. They sparkled with renewed vigor, decorated from inside with the sweetest triangle bunting Clementine had ever seen, its purples and pinks and whites tying in all the separate colors of the exterior. The paintwork around the windows and the brickwork underneath looked like cotton candy, pink and delicious. Even the tiled roof seemed to gleam spotlessly in the sunlight.

  She took a step back, stumbling on the edge of the sidewalk and ignoring the car horn blaring in disgust. Tears pricked her eyes as she looked at the sign above the door. Written in black, in what looked like perfect calligraphy handwriting, set neatly against the pink, it read:

  The Gingerbread House.

  It was perfect. Almost as if the decorator had delved inside her head and splashed her thoughts onto the building in front of her. Even down to the small details, the door knob, the closed sign which would soon be turned to open, the dainty swirls on the glass in the door, it was all so overwhelming. And, from what she could make out through the very clean windows, the outside was only the beginning.

  Skipping back to the door—which smelt like fresh paint now she was up close—Clementine unlocked it and opened her shop. She stepped over the threshold, gasping at what she saw.

  17

  Jackson ducked back in his chair by the window of the diner. Clementine had just pulled up outside The Gingerbread House, and he wanted to see her reaction. Just watching her jump down from the truck and rummage around in her purse made Jackson’s heart beat a little faster—and he was sure it was nothing to do with the five cups of coffee he’d drunk already that morning.

  He’d been working in the shop with the decorator all through the night, right up until about an hour ago. Then he had trudged over to the diner to recharge with coffee and bacon. As he sat here now, the bacon and coffee were swilling around in his stomach and not exactly the best of friends. Momentarily distracted, he drew his eyes back to Clementine just at the moment she spotted the sign writing.

  The sign is what had inspired him to do what he had done. When Clementine had told him her idea for the business name it had all come together in his head like an explosion. He knew then he wanted to buy her a sign for when the shop was finished. But he also knew he probably wouldn’t still be around to see it in place. And that was when he’d decided to renovate it himself.

  He knew it was probably presumptuous, and arrogant, and assuming a lot, but Jackson wanted to give Clementine something by way of an apology for everything he had done to her, and he thought this was a good start. Judging by her face as she skipped back to the door, he’d made the right decision.

  He picked up his coffee cup and swirled around the dregs. Now he was done here he knew he had to get back to the farm, apologize profusely to the window fitter, and get through the rest of the day as though it wasn’t almost the ten-year anniversary of his brother’s death.

  Inside, the bakery was just as magnificent as outside. With gleaming whitewashed floorboards, candy yellow walls, and a counter made of the shiniest, glossiest white marble. There were display stands ready to be filled with baked goods, and Clementine knew exactly what kinds of cakes she would be baking first—ones with colors to match the building, with edible glitter an
d edible jewels. There was no end to the ideas buzzing around her head.

  Yet an irritating gnawing thought beavered away in her brain. There was something not quite right about all of this. Clementine walked up to the counter and lifted the hatch to her new domain. The cash register looked like it was straight out of an old-fashioned candy shop with large buttons that clicked when she pressed them. It even rang out sweetly when the cash drawer opened. Luckily it was empty, Clementine didn’t think she could take any more surprises. She wracked her brain to try to think what agreement she’d come to with the Carter’s. Had they done all this? She was pretty sure the deal she had made was for free lease, not for a shop refit, especially not one that was done overnight.

  Even the back of the bakery was fitted out with a top of the range cooker, large enough for about ten cakes and even more loaves of bread. Clementine felt like it was her birthday and Christmas all rolled into one, despite it being the time of year for neither. More marble counters and a large marble sink completed the baking area. On the top of the counters was a fortune’s worth of equipment, the likes of which Clementine could only dream about. It was a real grown up bakery, unlike the one she’d had back with Pete. He had always said she could keep the costs down, that she didn’t need top of the range because her baking was so good. He did have a point, but this kind of equipment was still a dream come true.

  What is going on?

  Clementine was almost sure she was dreaming now. She was going to wake up any second back in her parents’ farm, drool sticking her hair to her cheek. But while she was still here, in her perfect dream bakery, she thought she may as well carry on looking around to get ideas for when she eventually did wake up.

  Slowly pushing through the door to the kitchenette, Clementine wondered if this was the point the nightmare would start to take over. Maybe she’d walk into a swamp, or realize she had no clothes on. Maybe she’d not be able to move her feet, they’d be stuck in treacle or glued to the floor. Or an old favorite, maybe she’d realize she had somewhere important to be but couldn’t get there in time. And her teeth would start falling out. Clementine shuddered at the memory of all of her nightmares. She felt sure that they’d all occur at once now she’d dredged them up.

  Is it possible to worry about nightmares when you’re already in a dream? she thought to herself as she stepped into the kitchenette. It hadn’t been left out of the renovations. The old Formica kitchen and green scaly sink had been removed and replaced with shiny new ones. A pink kettle sat on the countertop, and a matching coffee pot. It was almost as though every last detail had been thought of. Clementine was impressed with her sleeping brain, even the half bath next-door to the kitchenette was sparkling new and smelt of strawberries.

  A loud ring called out from Clementine’s pocket and for a moment she thought it must be her alarm clock. When it didn’t stop, and the perfect bakery didn’t melt away around her, Clementine realized it was her phone. She punched the screen to answer.

  “Mom,” she shouted into the phone. “Something weird is happening. You need to get down here now.”

  Jackson took a swig from his almost empty cup, grimacing as the cold coffee trickled down his throat. It was time to go, he’d known that over an hour ago, yet sitting here watching the joy on Clementine’s face as she walked around the inside of her new bakery was so much more enjoyable than a cold, damp farmhouse.

  He had no way of getting back to the farmhouse anyway. The trip to town in the Harper’s estate yesterday seemed like a million years ago, so much had happened in between. But with his motorbike safely stashed in one of the only watertight barns back at the farm, he was either going to have to walk home, or risk ringing a taxi that would probably be driven by someone he once knew. Neither option was enticing.

  He dragged himself up from his chair and paid for his coffee. He’d decide which option to go with when he got out into the fresh air. The street was waking up with the first of the morning shoppers, the spaces filling up with cars. Jackson kept his head down and decided to walk at least a little of the way back to the farm. A bicycle would have been the perfect way to get home, just how he and Clementine had travelled when they were younger. They’d both had a BMX—his green, hers purple—and they’d raced each other until sweat had poured from their pink faces. The feeling of the wind in his hair, the freedom to cycle as fast as he’d liked, he missed that.

  He ran his hands through his hair, a heavy feeling in his heart at the realization he would be cycling alone now. He would always be alone. Better that than risking telling the truth. He would always run away, just like he had before. He felt as small as the boy who had been dragged away from here ten years ago.

  Jackson looked up to check he wasn’t being watched. As he did, he saw Clementine disappear through the rear of the bakery. This was his chance to fly past the window and get back to the farm. But something was stopping him: that sweet, kind girl with the chocolate brown hair and a heart as big as Wyoming itself. He stood for a moment, looking through the window at his team’s handiwork. The bakery was everything Clementine deserved, and he wanted to share her excitement, the same way they would have shared everything when they were children. Well, perhaps not just the same way—he didn’t fancy rolling around in a muddy puddle until his feet went numb with cold. The memory sent a flicker of a smile over his lips. He rubbed his face with both hands, chasing the smile away, tiredness washing over him as he focused on the window once again.

  Clementine stood on the other side of the glass, staring at him. Her hand dropped from her ear and Jackson saw a phone clatter to the floor. His heart stopped beating. She was beautiful, she was everything he’d ever wanted. All thoughts of getting back to the farm, of getting out of Willingham, vanished as he rushed to the door of the bakery.

  “I’m sorry I ran away yesterday,” he gushed, his words coming out as a stream of noise. “But I wanted to do something for you. Something to say sorry for everything I put you through. Do you like it?”

  Clementine’s face creased into a question.

  “This was you?” she asked with a laugh.

  Jackson nodded, realizing what he’d just done. With the drop of one truth comes the flood of others.

  “Really?” She still didn’t believe him, he could tell by the tone of her voice.

  “Look, I have a few things to tell you, but yes, this was me. Well, my team anyway.”

  He looked at the floor, now acutely aware of how presumptuous this whole idea had been.

  “Oh my goodness, I love you,” she cried, throwing her arms around him.

  Jackson stood stock still with shock, unable to breathe. But the way her body fit against his, the way he could drop his chin and bury his head in her soft, sweet smelling hair, it was all too much to resist. He threw his arms around her too, and they stood inside The Gingerbread House as one.

  18

  I love it. It!

  What had she done? Why had she said she loved him? She hadn’t meant to, she really had meant to say she loved it, the shop. She loved The Gingerbread House.

  It must have been the shock of finding out that all of the work had been done by Jackson. What had he meant by his team? Surely not the Sweet Sensations sales agents? Something wasn’t adding up, but that was blotted from her mind by the fact she had just told Jackson she loved him.

  From where she stood, still warm inside Jackson’s embrace, at least he couldn’t see her face—which by now was the same color a heart-shaped cake she had baked for a Valentine’s Day gift last year. The heat radiating from her cheeks was enough to bake it, too.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “I wanted to do something for you…”

  They both started talking at the same time. Their laughter broke the uncomfortable silence that had been threatening to cloud the store.

  “You go,” Jackson said, drawing his arms from around her shoulders and looking into her eyes.

  Clementine wanted to look away, but she was inexplicably
magnetized to his gaze. She looked at him. Really looked at him, and a bubble of emotion burst inside her, tears pricking her eyes. His face, although it now had a scattering of laughter lines and a dusting of stubble that was threatening to become a fully-grown beard, looked just as it had the day he’d said goodbye. His eyes held a sadness that made tears roll down her cheeks.

  “I love it,” she said, wiping the tears with her sweater sleeve. “It’s all I could dream of and more.”

  She walked over to the counter near the cash register, stroking the smooth surfaces with her fingertips.

  “I feel like you’ve snuck into my head and pulled out my ideas. How did you do it?”

  She turned back to look at him but he was already right behind her. His closeness took her breath away.

  “You must really know me?” she said. She had posed it as a question, but she didn’t want an answer. She felt Jackson’s hands on her arms, drawing her closer to him. She could smell his familiar spicy scent, mixed with a musky perfume. Her heart rate shot through the roof, she could feel her pulse in her throat and wondered if Jackson could see it through her skin. He leant down and his breath tickled her lips. Clementine closed her eyes and held her breath, lifting her head to him.

  The door clattered open, the clanging bell startling everyone.

  “This is incredible!” Clementine’s mom burst in and the couple broke apart quicker than frosting being eaten from a cake.

  “Mom!” Clementine said, running over to her, trying to ignore the heat pulsing in her cheeks.