Batter of Wits: An Enemies to Lovers Small Town Romance (Donner Bakery Book 5)

by Smartypants Romance

  "You shouldn't," she whispered.

  Before I could say another word—to take it back, or amend what I meant, even if I knew what that was—she turned and fled to the safety of her car. As she drove away, I kept my feet planted and my eyes on the car until it disappeared.

  "What the hell just happened?" I whispered, spearing a hand into my hair and clutching painfully at the strands until my heart started to calm down.

  And like I'd conjured the thought of her, Magnolia's face stomped straight into my head.

  The girl I fell in love with, clashing painfully with the woman that I wasn't sure I really knew anymore.

  Guilt was close on the heels of the thought of her, even though I'd done nothing to feel guilty about.

  That's a lie, a voice whispered in the back of my head.

  It was a lie, and I knew it. Because when Grace looked at me, eyes bright with tears, there wasn't a single thought in my head besides the overpowering need to comfort her, to wrap her in my arms, see if she smelled as good as the mountains towering over us, learn if her lips held the same fire as her eyes.

  And if there was one thing I knew, even if I didn't love Magnolia the way she deserved, I respected her more than what I'd just shown.

  With a deep breath, I pulled out my phone and pulled up her number. As it rang, a strange calm settled over me. If I never saw Grace again, this was the right thing to do.

  "Hey," she answered brightly. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

  I closed my eyes at the sound of her voice. "Have you left for work yet?"

  "Not just yet. Daddy had a meeting with the mayor, so I was going to head in when he was done with that."

  "Can I come over? There's something I need to talk to you about."

  Magnolia was quiet for a second, and the calm I'd felt morphed into a quiet sadness, because even if she knew there something wrong, she wouldn't be expecting this.

  "Sure," she said. "How long until you get here?"

  "I'll be there in about ten minutes. I'm just out by the fairgrounds."

  "See you soon."

  After she hung up, I took a moment before I left.

  I breathed in deeply, the fragrant, clean air filling my lungs, and I knew why I was doing this. Because for as long as I lived, that smell would remind me of the moment that I realized that I should fight for what I wanted in my life. And it would remind me of Grace Buchanan.

  That's why I got in my truck and went to break my girlfriend's heart.

  Chapter 13

  Grace

  “Hi, I made muffins. Can you call the bakery for me?”

  On the other end of the phone, which was wedged in between my face and my shoulder, my cousin’s girlfriend attempted to politely stammer through her confusion.

  “Grace?” Joss said. “It’s good to hear from you.”

  The plate in my hand wobbled ominously as I balanced it on my palm. “Right. You too. Hope Seattle is great and you’re happy and in love and whatever and can you call them, please? Aunt Fran said you could call them to see if they’ll hire me.”

  “And you … you bake now?” She cleared her throat delicately. “I didn’t know that.”

  I gave up trying to balance everything and stopped to set the muffins on the trunk of someone’s car. The entrance to Donner Bakery stood like a green striped awning sentinel, welcoming me to a future where I wouldn’t constantly run into Tucker because I was taking pictures of every corner of Green Valley. If I could stick in one spot, maybe I’d see him just a bit less. I rubbed at my chest with my newly free hand.

  Less was what I needed right now.

  “It’s a new development,” I hedged.

  New, as in, I ran home from the fairgrounds, felt abject panic welling up within the confines of my weak mortal flesh, and felt the unfettered desire to do something. Fran and Robert were gone, and the first thing my eyes landed on in their kitchen was the giant, gleaming KitchenAid mixer in the corner.

  How hard could it be, right? Follow a recipe. Bring in some muffins. Paste a smile on my face. Get a job hiding in a kitchen. Never see Tucker again. Protect myself, and him, from any further destruction I might cause by running my mouth.

  “I’m not sure if Jenn will be there or at the other location, so I’ll send Joy a text. Ask for her when you get to the counter. What did you make?” she asked.

  I glanced warily at the clear plastic covering my attempt at baked goods. “They’re, uh, cinnamon?”

  Joss was quiet. “Are you not sure what kind of muffins you baked?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, because it sounded like she was talking to a child. “Cinnamon cream cheese muffins. They’re a little flat. Like, the tops aren’t poufy. But I’m sure they taste fine.”

  Joss let out a laugh of her own. “Okay, well … next time, always taste before you serve. Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker and text her right now.”

  I exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

  “Are you … are you okay? Levi told me about your phone call the other night.”

  My eyes stayed fixed on those stripes over the entrance, like each clean line would single-handedly keep my uproarious thoughts at bay. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just … need something to do.”

  “That is something I understand very well. All right, text went through. Hopefully, she’ll see it soon. When are you planning to go over?”

  “I’m in the parking lot.”

  Silence. “Ohhhkay then. I’ll just send another one letting her know.”

  That silence was so telling, so loaded with questions and curiosity and … everything else that I didn’t feel like dealing with, so I charged ahead. “Thank you. Gotta go! Tell Levi I said hi. Give Nero a kiss for me,” I said, referencing her giant Doberman.

  Joss was mid-protest when I disconnected the call with a wince.

  A text from Grady came in just as I did.

  Grady: Where are you?

  Me: Donner Bakery. Not the downtown location.

  Grady: You say that like I know locations of anything. I’m hungry, so I’ll meet you there. Don’t leave.

  Knowing my brother would be there soon helped, because even if my flat little cinnamon muffins didn’t get me a job, I could wait for him and eat all the sweets. I marched into the bakery, phone tucked safely into my purse and two hands gripping the container.

  Inside the building, it was busy and warm and smelled like heaven on earth.

  The glass case was filled with neatly organized rows of cupcakes and berry tarts. Cakes with pastel layers of frosting and muffins topped with large chunks of sugar. Everything was beautiful, so beautiful that I looked down at my pathetic little muffins and frowned.

  “Are you Grace?” a voice asked. There was a small line at the long counter, but a dark-haired young woman with a giant smile popped her head around and waved me up to the side of the register when I nodded. “Goodness, no need to wait back there, I just got a text from Joss and I’m so delighted to meet someone new to town!”

  I laughed. Not a single person outside my family had been this sweet and welcoming. I shifted the plate so I could shake her hand. “Grace Buchanan.”

  “I’m Joy.” She waved me closer so she could take the container of muffins from me. “Now, I can’t guarantee anything for a job, because it’s up to Jennifer as the owner, and she’s downtown today, but we just love Joss to bits and we miss her terribly.” She paused, exhaling a shaky laugh as her eyes glossed over. “Don’t tell her I said that or that I got a little teary, because she always hated when I cried.”

  I smiled. “That sounds like Joss.”

  Already, I felt better. Maybe it was Joy’s effusive greeting, or the atmosphere of the bakery, but the distraction from my thoughts was instantaneous. Yes, this was precisely what I needed. She chattered happily as she moved to a section of counter next to a fancy looking coffee machine and peeled back the Saran Wrap.

  I took a deep breath, feeling calmer, lighter, happier.

 
I’d learn how to roll out bread dough.

  Spread fondant like a friggin’ pro.

  Make designs in the whipped foam before I served it to the residents of Green Valley who’d soon know me by name and have happy figure eight conversations with me too.

  Joy lifted a muffin and smelled it. “Cinnamon?”

  I nodded. “Cinnamon cream cheese.”

  Her lips pursed to one side as she studied the flat top. “Have you been baking for a long time?”

  “It depends on your definition of long,” I answered carefully.

  Her face was decidedly less enthusiastic now that my baked good was in hand, but that was not going to get me down. But she smiled at me all the same. Joy’s smile had the same kind of calming effect that the bakery itself did. It was warm and soothing. “Everyone has to start somewhere. If you’ve got the knack for it, this is the best place to learn.”

  I held my breath as she carefully pulled the paper off and tossed it into a garbage can under the counter.

  Joy bit into the muffin, and her face froze mid-chew.

  Was that … good? Bad?

  From behind her, a skinny kid perked up at the sight of what was left in the container. “Cool, can I try one too?”

  Joy struggled valiantly to speak around what was in her mouth, but he was too fast for her to finish chewing before he had the paper off.

  “I don’t know if she likes it,” I warned him as he tossed the wadded-up paper under the counter. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  Joy swallowed hard, then lunged forward to knock the muffin out of his hand. It fell to the floor with a thud. Like a rock might.

  Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my heavens, that was the rudest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’m so sorry, Grace.”

  “It’s okay,” I said weakly. She rushed over to pour a glass of water. Maybe I should have been offended at how fast she drained half the glass. Or how the kid pushed at the muffin on the floor with the toe of his shoe, grimacing at the fact that not so much as a single crumb came off it when it fell.

  Joy set the water down and shooed the kid back to the register.

  Then she carefully picked up the muffin and set it into the trash, along with the uneaten remainder of the one she’d tried.

  “So … maybe I don’t have a knack for baking?” I guessed.

  She swallowed again. “Did you, umm, go a little heavy on the flour maybe?”

  I scrunched my nose up, remembering when the batter seemed too thin, after I’d mixed and mixed and mixed to make sure everything was really in there, I’d added another scoop of flour. It was so small though, it didn’t seem like it could do that much damage.

  “Maybe?”

  Joy studied my face with a small smile. “I’m sorry I knocked your muffin to the floor.”

  I laughed. “I’m sorry I had to make you eat it.”

  She patted my back consolingly. “I’ll tell Jenn you stopped by. Maybe she’ll need some help at the registers this Christmas. We get really busy around the holidays.”

  A brush-off if I’d ever heard one, even though it was kindly said, it was a brush-off that I wholeheartedly deserved after almost killing her with my hockey puck cinnamon muffin.

  “Thanks for your time, Joy.” I gestured to the tables. “I’m going to wait for my brother and then drown my baking woes in something that tastes a little bit better.”

  She grinned. “I think that sounds perfect. It sure was lovely to meet you. Call me if you ever want baking lessons.”

  I dumped the plate holding every single muffin and brushed off my hands. “I think my baking days are done, Joy. But it was lovely to meet you too.”

  I barely had time to wait, before the thoughts I’d kept at bay all morning started creeping in. My eyes pinched shut when I felt someone come to stand next to me.

  "I'm going to gain fifteen pounds moving here," my brother said, staring up at the black chalkboard menu with awe when I opened my eyes. "I can't wait."

  I rolled my eyes, but resisted the urge to hug him. Apparently being alone was not a good thing for me today. "It's not like they didn't have bakeries in LA."

  Grady shrugged. "Not like this, they didn't."

  He wasn't wrong. There were trendy spots for just about every craving, but all under separate roofs. I had a place I used to go for fresh baked bread. And a place I loved for cupcakes. My favorite doughnut shop was a few blocks down from that. But this had everything for the person desperately trying to smother their insane feelings with copious amounts of sugar. In the top row alone, I could pick out about six things I wanted to shove into my mouth.

  "I'm starting with that Nutella croissant, and I'm not stopping until I hit the carrot cake," I told him.

  He held out his fist, and I bumped it with my own.

  "Not that I'm complaining, but why are we binging on sugar before we've even had lunch?"

  It was Tucker's face I saw when I closed my eyes again.

  Because all I saw when I did think about it was the look in his eyes when I almost started crying. Crying! If it wasn't so ridiculously tragic—me falling prey to the same curse I'd mocked my entire life—I'd almost be able to laugh at myself for how I was acting.

  Mooning over the way his thickly lashed eyes looked like the exact shade of deep brown of my favorite coffee.

  Picking apart the things he'd told me, turning them over and over in my head like a kaleidoscope.

  Worrying over what it meant for him that not a single person in his life could see that he hated his job.

  This wasn't me, or not any version of me that I was aware of. The men I'd dated in LA were shallow, dates almost comically boring, and nothing that might entice me to try a serious relationship. Underneath all that apathy was a dormant minefield, waiting silently for someone to step in the exact right spot.

  Enter Tucker Haywood and boom! Everything around me detonated into plumes of dust and destruction.

  Explosion after explosion, from one conversation that I'd probably replay a hundred times before I saw him again, until I couldn't tell what was left in the aftermath.

  "Grace," my brother said, and I blinked. From the way he said it, it wasn't the first time he'd called my name.

  "Sorry."

  The scrawny beanpole of a kid waited patiently behind the counter. "What can I get for you today?" He gave me a tiny grin. “No muffins, I’m guessing?”

  I gave him a look. “Probably not.”

  Grady glanced between us. “Why not?”

  I blew out a hard breath and stared past the glass again. "The Nutella croissant, a slice of lemon pound cake, a wildberry tart …" My eyes darted down the rows with greedy anticipation. "And a piece of carrot cake."

  From the look in his eyes, I couldn't decipher if he was terrified or impressed. "Okay."

  "The big piece in the corner," I told him, tapping the glass in front of the one I wanted. "That one right there."

  He glanced warily at my brother. "Anything else?"

  Grady cleared his throat. "Uh, just a pecan roll for me, thanks."

  The kid went about boxing up my order, and I felt Grady's gaze on the side of my face.

  "Not one word," I told him.

  "Wasn't going to."

  In my head, I started counting backward from ten until he said what he was going to say.

  Four, three, two, one.

  "So, the last time this happened, the ‘mass bakery purchasing to cover up some unknown emotional distress,’" he mused, handing over his card to pay, "was never. And I'm trying to decipher exactly what's happening here to cause such a phenomenon."

  I kept my face even as I looked up at him. "Good luck with that."

  He could decipher away. He could decipher until the cows came home, but my twin brother would never, ever guess what was in my head, no matter what kind of mental bond we shared.

  Grady smiled at the skinny kid, lifting the bag that held all my goodies. We stepped out of line and as I tried to pull out the top cont
ainer, he yanked the bag out of my reach.

  "You motherfu—"

  Someone cleared their throat behind me, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a little old lady from the fair planning committee giving me a sternly disapproving look.

  "Language," Grady admonished.

  I scratched the bridge of my nose with my middle finger.

  His eyes were more amused than I would've liked as he looked over my shoulder toward the entrance of the bakery. "Can I take a wild guess at what your problem is?"

  While his attention was elsewhere, I snatched the container holding my croissant and clutched it to my chest. "Go ahead. You'll be wrong, which is always fun for me."

  Grady waited while I flipped open the plastic lid and shoved half the croissant in my mouth in one massive bite.

  "Ohmygah dis is goob," I said around the flaky sweetness. This is what baking was supposed to taste like. Happiness. Pure, sugary happiness.

  "It's Tucker Haywood, isn't it?"

  The croissant lodged in my throat, and I bent over as I tried to cough it loose. I could practically feel all the eyes in the bakery on me as I hacked like a cat losing a hairball the size of its head. Grady's big hand smacked me on the back, once, twice, and then three times until I could swallow.

  A water bottle was shoved into my hand, and I greedily lifted it to my lips. The block of pastry moved painfully down my throat, making my eyes water and my chest squeeze tight.

  "Good," Grady said when I sucked in a gasping breath, "looks like she won't need mouth-to-mouth."

  "I think she would've needed the Heimlich, not mouth-to-mouth," a deep voice said from behind me.

  I stilled at the sound of it. I'd been replaying the sound of that voice alllllll morning.

  That's when I noticed Grady had his hands propped on his hips.

  Which meant the big hand currently resting in between my shoulder blades, the one that smacked my back until I could breathe was not my brother's—it was Tucker's.

  I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth and glanced carefully to the side.

  His face was bent in concern, and given how close we were standing, I could see details that I'd not noticed before. Probably because when we were at the park, I'd been so careful to not stare openly in the way I wanted to.