Seven-year-old anger boils inside me. I snort and shake my head. “I should have known then that he wasn’t the man for me. I probably did know, but what was I supposed to do with two young kids?” My finger toys with the edge of my mug. “The worst thing is, I felt so, so ashamed. It was like a burning lump of coal in my chest. He kept badgering me, and his mother made so many snide comments about me covering up, and I was actually convinced that I was in the wrong.”
“I’m going to kill him,” my mother says before taking a vicious bite of her cookie. She masticates violently while shaking her head. “He’s coming next weekend to be with the kids, right?” When I nod, she points her half-eaten cookie at me. “Well, he’s going to get a piece of my mind.”
“Mom,” I protest, even though I can’t keep the smile off my face. “It was a long time ago.”
“He deserves to get chewed out.” Fiona shakes her head, gritting her teeth on my behalf. “What an ass.” Getting up, she moves to sit next to me, putting her arm around my shoulders. Then Fiona—a woman I just met a few months ago—squeezes my shoulders until I soften against her. Emotion clogs my throat. Fiona holds me close as she says, “Divorce sucks, and it’s painful and messy and awful, but you’ll get through it. You’ll be happier in a few months’ time than you thought possible. I promise. Simone can attest to that too.”
I don’t know why I burst into tears. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been so alone for so many years, and I didn’t even realize it. I lived in Seattle with Kevin and drifted away from most of my friends as the years wore on. I knew his friends. The only person I could lean on was my mother, but Kevin didn’t get along with her, so I ended up avoiding her too. I was so damn alone, and the man who was supposed to be my partner wasn’t there for me. Ever.
I guess I’m crying because I never realized it. I didn’t see what was right in front of my face until just now. With two sick kids, no job, the divorce finally done, and more external stress than I’ve had in years, I still feel better than I did when I was married to Kevin and withstanding his belittling comments day in, day out.
I’m sad for myself. I’m sad that I actually put up with that. That I thought I was wrong. I’m sad that I felt ashamed for feeding Katie on my own damn sofa. I’m sad that when Kevin cheated, I blamed myself. I’m sad that I wasted so much fucking time on him.
But with Fiona on one side of me and Candice on the other, with my mother calling out threats against Kevin like it’s her job, I let out a little teary laugh. My kids are sick, vomiting, and my life is a mess…but I have support. I have a family.
“There,” Candice says when I let out a sigh. “See? We got you.”
I look at my sister and give her a smile. “Remember a few months ago when you asked if Iliana was the one who had it all figured out?”
Our younger sister is a free spirit. She’s been traveling for years, and always seems to land on her feet. I think she’s had about a thousand boyfriends and none of them have stuck, but she’s been happy. Free.
Candice smiles. “Iliana is different from you and me, Trina.”
“I know,” I reply, resting my head on her shoulder. “But I was just thinking that actually, she might be the one who’s missing out by not being here with us.”
Candice clicks her tongue, squeezing me tight, and my mother comes over to wrap all three of us in a big, motherly hug. When she backs away, she’s got tears in her eyes.
Mr. Fuzzles, who has been out of sight most of the day, appears from under the sofa. With a surprisingly powerful jump, he leaps into my lap and curls up on top of me, promptly falling asleep. My heart nearly gives out at the feel of his little warm body snuggled up against me.
Maybe I am a cat person.
After a few minutes, conversation drifts to more neutral topics. Candice’s house will be ready for me, my mother, and the kids to move into in two weeks, just in time for the start of the school year. Fiona is helping Clancy choose colleges to apply to, and she’s brimming with pride for her stepdaughter. Her wedding preparations are well underway. My mother bought a new outfit from a local shop and can’t wait to wear it when she’s out with Margaret and Dorothy next week.
When I ask where they’re planning to go, she grins. “Well, a certain Scottish bar owner seems to have taken a liking to a certain hotel owner, and she seems to be enjoying the attention.”
“Hamish?” I ask, not sure how to feel about that. “And…Margaret?”
My mother smiles wide. “Dorothy wants Eli to meet him.” Eli is Dorothy’s partner. They met a couple of years ago, when Simone and Wes started dating. They’re perfect for each other.
Then Candice glances at me. “Mac was asking about you today.” Her eyes twinkle. “He offered to deliver your pottery in person.”
I stare at her, horrified.
My sister cackles. “I figured that would be your reaction, which is why I said it probably wasn’t the right time to come visit you.”
“Thank God.”
“Do you think he’d let me ride his motorcycle?” my mother asks, reaching for another of the admittedly addictive chocolate-caramel cookies.
I freeze. “Mom…”
“Trina, I’m in my seventies, and there’s a sexy younger man with a hot bike. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t ask him to take me for a ride?”
“Um, the normal kind?”
Candice snorts, then throws me a sideways glance. “Pick your battles, Trina. If Mom wants to ride on Mac’s bike, I’d put money on the fact that she’ll end up on it.”
The worst part is, I know it’s true.
“I just need to get through Kevin’s visit this weekend. Can we leave the motorcycle riding until after that?”
“I’m not making any promises,” my mother announces.
Then, the four of us hear movement upstairs, and my mother—nutty, thrill-seeking, but incredibly loving and supportive—puts out a hand. “My turn. I’ll go check on them. You relax, Trina.”
Having moved to stand up, I pause, glance down at the kitten in my lap, and lean back again. After a brief hesitation, I help myself to another cookie. Mr. Fuzzles purrs against me, lifting his head to demand more scratches. I oblige, and finally let a smile curl over my lips.
“What?” Fiona sips her tea, arching a brow.
“I was just imagining the look on Kevin’s face if he saw my mother riding a motorcycle.” I laugh, shaking my head. “He’d be horrified.” When the two of them don’t answer, I give them a grin. “That’s a good thing.”
“I’m sure it can be arranged,” Candice says, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Or better yet, he could see you riding on the back of Mac’s motorcycle. I’d pay good money to see that expression on his face.”
“Asshole,” Fiona mumbles.
And maybe this makes me a bad person, but hearing Fiona calling my ex-husband nasty names puts a great big smile on my face.
10
Jen
There’s something wrong with the leavening agent in my chocolate layer cake recipe. Crossing my arms, I stare down the offending baked goods with narrowed eyes. Dense on the bottom and crumbly on top, this recipe just doesn’t want to play ball.
And, of course, it’s the recipe Fiona and Grant chose for their wedding—and one Amanda thinks we should include in the book.
But the recipe isn’t working. It’s too finicky, it’s not consistent, and definitely not friendly for home bakers. And it’s driving me crazy.
It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night, and I’ve been baking chocolate cake for six days. It’s now Thursday night, and I’m running out of time. Developing recipes is a rabbit hole I never expected to be so all-consuming. My mind is brimming with baking chemistry, procedures, ingredient quality. Last night, I had a stress dream about a talking meringue. It called me a fraud then burst into flame, and I woke up sweaty and breathless.
It’s bad.
But by the end of it, there will be a book with my name on the front
and my recipes inside. That’s worth a few sleepless nights, no?
At least I’m not thinking of him. Fallon Richter. The man who kissed me like I was the only woman he ever wanted.
Too bad his ex-girlfriend, Amanda, wants him too—and that she’s the one person who can make my recipe book a reality. So with Fallon on one side, and Amanda (and my recipe book) on the other, I was forced to choose. Unsurprisingly, I chose not to get in the middle of an old relationship.
I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I know that poking that hornets’ nest will only hurt one person: me.
The back door to the café opens, and I let out a little yelp. “Fallon. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” is his answer, which makes my heart seize and thump at the same time, which then makes me wonder if his presence is dangerous for my health.
“Why?” I’m holding a spatula for some reason. When did I pick that up? It’s brandished between us like it can protect me from the power of his gaze.
“Two months ago, you kissed me like there was nothing else in the world you’d rather do, Jen.” Fallon takes a step inside and lets the door close behind him.
Despite myself, I take a step back. “Look, Fallon—”
“Why are you avoiding me? We work together, yet you’ve said not two sentences to me in the past month.”
“I’ve been busy. The book…” I shrug. “Developing recipes is a lot of work.”
It’s a weak excuse, and we both know it. I’m avoiding him because his ex-girlfriend looks at him like he hung the moon, and she’s also supposed to be the one to deliver my dream on a silver platter. Even if he does want to be with me, how can I pursue that? I’ve seen jealous women lash out before. I’d be putting my own career at risk.
Plus, there’s a part of me that just refuses to believe that a man as sexy and charming and handsome as Fallon would want to be with a nerdy, nearly celibate forty-five-year-old baker like myself. It just doesn’t fit logically in my mind. I can’t make it make sense.
But seeing him here…it makes my heart skip. I won’t say how many times I’ve thought of our kiss, or how many times I’ve dreamed of doing it again.
Those dreams are much, much better than judgmental, sentient meringue.
Fallon seems to be thinking the same. His eyes drop to my lips. “You know, I contacted Amanda because I knew she’d jump on the opportunity to do a book with you. I didn’t think it would make you run away from me.”
“Fallon”—I roll my eyes and turn back to the sub-par cake—“you emailed her and invited her to town, and didn’t even mention me until she was here. You don’t need to coddle me. It’s fine.”
“What’s fine?” He sounds exasperated, so I glance up at him. Uh-oh.
Those dark, nearly black eyes are trained on me. His big, broad body looks impossibly bigger, and he moved closer to me without me even noticing. His palm lands on the stainless steel counter beside me, and he leans his muscular chest into my space. “What’s fine, Jen?”
“For us to leave things where they are,” I finally say, still holding the rubber spatula between us. Fallon doesn’t even look at it. “We kissed. So what? I’m not going to ask about your past with Amanda, and all I ask is that you leave me alone and let me finish this book.”
His eyes flash as he lets out a dry snort. “You know, some days I regret calling Amanda at all, then I come in here and see how hard you’re working on these new recipes, and I feel like an asshole for ever letting those thoughts cross my mind. You deserve this, Jen. But Amanda being the one to publish your book doesn’t mean you can’t explore what exists between you and me.”
Another spasm grips my chest. My mouth grows dry as I blink up at Fallon, still holding that stupid spatula between us like it can save me from whatever he’s about to say next.
“I don’t know how else to say this, Jen, so I’m just going to say it as slowly as I can.” He leans forward. “I’m not interested in Amanda. I’m interested in you. Can you get that to sink in? Am I being clear enough?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The man sure does have an overbearing, condescending way of professing his affection for me.
“And what about her, hmm?” I ask, tilting my head. “What does she think about that? She’s still staying at your house, no? She’s still flicking her hair over her shoulder and giggling at every stupid comment you make, yeah?”
His eyes slide away from me.
I’m on a roll. I cross my arms—spatula still gripped in hand—and cock a hip. “And what about the book, Fallon? Have you thought about that? How do you think Amanda would react if she came to Heart’s Cove to check on my progress with the recipes, only to find out I’d shacked up with the man she was pining after?”
“She’s a grown woman, Jen. She’d deal with it.”
“Yeah? Or maybe she’d pull out. Maybe I’d end up with no book deal, then you’d wake up next to me one day and realize you’re bored because I’m literally the least exciting person in this town, so I’d end up with no book and no relationship.”
Fallon’s body goes rock hard. His eyes flash, anger written on every line of his face. “Is that what you think? You think you need to choose between me and your career? You think I’d just move on from you without looking back?”
“I don’t think, Fallon. I know.” I turn back to the cake and with a sigh, pick up the cake board and tip the whole thing into the garbage.
“You’re a coward.” He says the words quietly, but they still hurt like hell. “You’re afraid of what we could have together.”
Swiveling my head to meet his gaze, I can’t help the hurt and anger zinging across my chest, carving that nasty word into my bones.
Coward. Coward. Coward.
His teeth grind as he watches me, and I will myself not to cry. I won’t cry. I can’t.
Lifting my chin, I grit my teeth to stop my bottom lip from trembling. It takes all my energy to keep my eyes from filling with tears.
How dare he march in here and say those things to me? After one kiss, I’m supposed to just drop everything and be with him? I’m supposed to put my dream at risk so he can have his fill of me and then probably toss me aside in a few months’ time?
Yeah, right.
I’ve worked for this. Me. Sure, he introduced me to Amanda, but she was impressed with my recipes. My baked goods. My skills.
What happens when he gets bored of me? What happens when he changes his mind?
Not worth it.
“You should leave.” My voice is icy when I say the words, and Fallon clenches his jaw at the sound of it. But you know what he doesn’t do? He doesn’t move. I tilt my head. “Leave, Fallon. I have work to do, and I don’t feel like having insults hurled at me while I do it.”
His arms drop to his sides and he releases a long sigh. “Jen, I didn’t… I’m not… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to troubleshoot this recipe and bake another batch before your ex-girlfriend shows up here tomorrow morning asking for a progress update. Maybe when you go home tonight, you can give her that progress update yourself.”
Then I, very maturely, bang a mixing bowl down on the counter and start pulling ingredients closer. My jaw is tight, eyes are burning, but I will not cry.
“Jen, listen.”
“No, you listen,” I grind out, letting anger sweep over me. “You can’t just pick me up and put me down at will, Fallon. I’m not your toy. And I’m not going to sacrifice the one thing I really want—this recipe book—for some unknown relationship with you that might last no more than a day.” Eyes blazing, I take a step forward and poke his very broad, very solid chest. “I get that you like wanting things you can’t have. I get that you’re probably used to women fawning over you because you know how to cook and you’re hot and you have a body like…like this. But listen to me good, Fallon, because this is important. I am not those women. I ch
oose my book. I choose my career. I’ve worked my ass off and restarted my life over when I was thirty-five to pursue baking, and I’m not going to let some infatuation ruin that. I’m good at this. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’ve found what I’m meant to do. So, yeah, maybe I’m a coward, but I’m not going to make Amanda hate me just for the chance to kiss you again. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”
I’m panting hard now, and I think that may be the longest speech I’ve ever made in my life.
Fallon, somehow, looks angrier than when I started. “An infatuation?” he asks slowly, enunciating the word with careful precision.
“Well, what would you call it?”
He holds my gaze for a few long moments, then lets out a bitter snort. “Fine,” he says, and turns on a heel to walk away. When his hand is on the door handle, he pauses and glances over his shoulder. “For the record, Amanda’s staying at the hotel this time, just like every other time she comes to town from now on. I made sure of that.”
He waits for me to reply, and when I say nothing, he strides out into the night.
I jump when the door bangs, then stick my tongue out at it. Yes, I’m a grown woman. But I’m not thinking straight.
How else am I supposed to react when I have to choose between a man and my career?
I take my aggression out on baking more cakes than I’ll ever need.
11
Fiona
The first thing I notice when I walk into the Four Cups Café on Friday morning is that Jen has been busy. Like, really, really busy. The display cabinet is so full of baked goods there’s barely any space left. There are baskets of muffins, jars of cookies, and new, handwritten little cards proclaiming half a dozen new recipes scattered over the counter.
There’s a three-tiered chocolate cake displayed on top of the glass cabinet under a cake bell. It looks incredible.
Jen shuffles out of the kitchen with a tray of croissants, her mouth set in a grim line. Angry, purple bags have bloomed under her eyes, and she doesn’t even lift her head to greet me.
Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4) Page 8