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Chapter Seven
Wes paced thekitchen. He’d checked things a dozen times, maybe more. After their coffee date, he and Noelle agreed to meet at his family’s house to practice the recipe he would make first. His father was happy, although didn’t come across as surprised, when Wes agreed to the Bake-Off. His father handed over the list of things Wes would be making.
The goal of the event was to raise $25,000 for Harry’s House. Eight bachelors, including Wes, and four judges were involved.
The first event was cookies. The next one pie, and the final round, cake. He shook his head. What in the world had he gotten himself into? He was more than willing to help raise money for a good cause, but couldn’t his father have just had him write a check? A man who prided himself on being cool and collected under pressure, his heart rate accelerated in his chest over the thought of this whole ordeal. Or maybe it was the woman due to arrive any moment that made his heart flutter in ways it never had before.
“Get your act together, St. Claire.” He attempted a pep talk to himself as he checked one more time to make sure Glenna had bought all the ingredients necessary for the recipe Noelle had chosen. They’d talked a few times since coffee and when she offered to pick recipes for him to make, he agreed without argument. He didn’t know the first thing about baking. Looking around the kitchen even now gave him a sense of unease. Being in a room he didn’t find himself in often, if ever, caused his confidence to wane, which was by no means an easy feat. The whole situation was messing with his head and he didn’t like it.
“Stop your pacing and unfurrow your brow, Wesley. Women don’t like a frumpy man.”
In his mild state of panic, he hadn’t heard Glenna enter the kitchen. Besides his parents, she was the only one who called him Wesley.
He stopped and leaned his hands on the giant granite center island.
“Honestly. You look like you’ve been asked to dance the hula in front of thousands of people.”
“That would be easier than this. I think I’d prefer it. No. I know I would.”
Glenna laughed. “Maybe. For you, anyway. I’d take baking any day.” She shrugged. “Although I’ve danced the hula quite a bit in my day and that is just as fun.”
It was his turn to laugh. “You sure you’re okay with this? I mean, I know you could be helping me do this…teaching me to bake for this thing Dad volunteered me for.”
“Oh, sweet boy.” She came around the counter and patted his cheek. “As much as I love you, I am fine with you having a lovely young woman stepping in to help.”
As she walked by him toward the pantry he could’ve sworn he heard her whisper, “God help the sweet girl.”
“I’m going to fail at this, Glenna. Flat out on my face, make a fool of myself fail.”
Glenna turned from inside the doorway of the pantry, a room that could fit a baby grand piano inside. “Yes. You may fail.”
Wes had always been appreciative of Glenna’s brutal honesty with him. He questioned that now. “I’ve never failed at anything.”
“Ah, so maybe now it’s time.”
He shook his head and let it fall forward against his chest. Doomed. He was doomed. The recipe sat on the counter in front of him, printed out by Glenna. Maybe reading over it would calm his nerves. The list of ingredients looked simple enough. Flour, baking soda, cinnamon. What the heck was cream of tartar? It didn’t sound like something that would taste good in a cookie. It sounded more like what you’d put on fish. Butter, brown sugar, vanilla. Okay. Yes. He could do this.
His confidence plummeted once again, however, as he read through the instructions. Whisking, not letting butter burn on the stove, electric mixers… There was a whole lot more to baking a tiny cookie than he ever realized.
Glenna patted his back as she walked by him again. “Don’t worry. Miss Noelle will guide you on how to do it. You will have no problem repeating things at the Bake-Off.”
His gut churned once more. He’d almost forgotten he had to do this in front of a crowd.
“And you look so handsome! It’s nice to see you relaxing a bit.” She patted his cheek once more and left the room.
After Noelle had asked him at Grey’s why he was so dressed up, he thought a more casual look was in order for the day. Besides, they’d be baking, not going to dinner or to a Broadway play. However, it had taken him almost an hour to get dressed that morning. Not usually one to fuss with clothes, he’d found himself going through his closet, scrutinizing everything he had and trying to deem the best outfit to wear. Mike had even poked his head into Wes’s room and ribbed him for acting like a girl. He couldn’t argue seeing as half his closet was laid out on his bed in his attempt to choose what looked best.
Never before had he been this turned around over a woman. Never. Of course, no woman had caught his attention quite like Noelle Olsen. He admired her sense of control, something he prided himself in having, but he didn’t see much of it in the women who crossed his path. Noelle’s gentle demeanor was also a pleasant change. Most of the females in his world either worked with him and saw the need to be rough around the edges—something he understood and didn’t judge—or they were socialites: women looking for a husband, preferably a wealthy one.
Women looked at him and saw money. A lifestyle. Just once it would be nice to know he was wanted for him. He was drawn to Noelle, but she wouldn’t fit in his world. Or would she? No, she was better than that. His world was all facades and games where she was genuine. Authentic.
He took a deep breath in and let it out. That was all the more reason he should shut things down before they even got started. Noelle was the cute house and white picket fence in Montana. He wasn’t.
But what was he shutting down? They’d had coffee. She was helping him with a project, of sorts. No one was saying this was something more than friendship. Well, Glenna had hinted at it, but she did so with any female within a ten-mile radius of Wes.
The chime of the doorbell cut through his thoughts. Along with his father’s voice saying, “I’ll get it!”
His father never answered the door. Never. They had a butler, for heaven’s sake.
