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“Are you?”
Her question threw him off guard. Whenever anyone had accused him of being coldhearted, he blew it off. He had a heart. It was just business. And sometimes, many times, business required he stand his ground.
“I don’t think so. No.”
“I don’t either.” She smiled up at him.
How could she see that already? She hardly knew him. She knew nothing of his business deals or what he was like on a daily basis. What his world was like in New York.
“Oh really?”
“Really. A heartless man would never treat his niece or his family the way you do. And a heartless man would certainly never agree to a Bake-Off to appease his father’s wishes.”
Wes groaned. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s because I care or because my dad is not a man to say ‘no’ to often, if ever.”
“It’s probably some of both, but I think it’s more so because you care.”
Her face was turned up toward his, their bodies close. A sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar sat on her nose and cheek, begging to be kissed away. Their eyes held for a moment, then she turned her face away, her cheeks flushed. Wes couldn’t decide if he was grateful she’d had the courage to turn away or whether to regret he hadn’t taken the opportunity to kiss her.
No. She made the right decision. Although he ached to know what her kisses tasted like, keeping things friendly was the best way to go.
The last thing he’d ever want to do was hurt Noelle. He may not have a future with her, but they had the present. And that was full of warmth and dough and cookies. Something he’d never thought he’d like, but was enjoying more and more by the minute.
Chapter Nine
Wes stood inthe cafeteria kitchen at Marietta High School, his palms sweaty and his heart pounding in his chest. He’d faced billionaires in boardrooms, given keynote addresses at global business conferences, met with government officials, and yet none of that compared to the anxiety that was the Bachelor Bake-Off.
Not unfamiliar with nights that lacked sleep, he’d often paced his penthouse in the middle of the night going over details of the next day’s meetings, planning every contingency. But this morning he woke in a panic over a nightmare where he’d showed up to bake but had forgotten to get dressed so he faced the crowd wearing only an apron.
For reasons he still couldn’t identify, he’d told Noelle about it when he’d arrived. She’d tried to hide her laughter behind a hand placed over her mouth, but the blush in her cheeks made him think she wouldn’t mind him in just an apron. Maybe owning an apron wasn’t such a bad idea. And maybe she was as attracted to him as he was to her?
Yet another thing he had to push to the back of his mind for now. Whether or not Noelle had feelings for him, and how he was feeling about her, was something he couldn’t unpack right then. He had cookies to bake. And in front of what looked like the entire town of Marietta.
Each judge had a scorecard where they looked at area and personal appearance, presentation, appearance of entry, texture of entry, flavor of entry, and overall impression. Hell, he didn’t know what half of that meant, let alone doing it while baking. Noelle being beside him would have helped, but he had to do the damn thing alone.
She appeared by his side as if his thoughts had wished her there. “Hey. You okay? It’s about to start and I wanted to check in on you.”
He nodded. Having her near calmed him. If only they’d let her help him, have it be like it was in the kitchen at his family’s home.
“You sure? You look a little…pale.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You’re gonna do great. It’s just cookies. And for charity. No lives are at stake here or anything.”
“Right.” He looked down at her, wanting to say more. Wanting her hand to remain on his arm, but it fell to her side again.
“Go ahead. It’s time. You got this.” She encouraged him forward with a hand on his back. As he made his way to the area where the other bachelors were standing, she added, “Don’t forget your apron.”
Visions of his dream came to mind, but floated away with the sound of her laughter. He couldn’t resist laughing himself. She was right. This was for fun. For charity. Hell, he’d done plenty of charity events. He could do this. He peptalked himself through the introductions and when it was time to start, he focused on the recipe, taking things one step at a time like Noelle had taught him.
Thinking of her, of their time together, made his anxiety fade. It had been fun baking with her. Talking. He found himself a bit sad to admit he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fun. Sure, he had friends in New York. People to go to dinner with, go to the theater with. But he missed the times with friends. True friends. Sitting around with people who really knew you and wanted nothing from you, throwing back a beer and talking sports or whatever the hell came to mind. He’d done some of that in college, but not much since.
Noelle stood in the crowd talking with her friend Franchesca, the one he’d met at the dance studio when Annalise basically suckered them into the whole mess. A mess he still hadn’t forgiven his father for getting him involved in, but one that allowed him time with Noelle, something he was more and more grateful for each day.
Noelle wore a long tan sweater that hit mid-thigh, her legs encased in tight black pants. Tall black boots completed the ensemble. The loose ponytail her hair was pulled into bobbed as she nodded at whatever Franchesca was saying. They were deep in conversation, but Noelle kept one eye on him the whole time, giving him a thumbs-up and a big smile to encourage him. It was distracting him more than anything, but he wasn’t about to admit that or have her stop. Having her attention, having her near, was becoming his new favorite pastime.
Mike and Annalise were talking to Jeff and Holly in another part of the cafeteria. His father leaned against a side wall in deep conversation with a friend Wes recognized from the Crawford County Group. Mike had held in his teasing for the most part, aware of how nervous Wes was that morning, but he was sure to pick things up again as the day wore on. That was fine. Wes had a good deal of mocking to throw Mike’s way if his father kept up the “getting more involved in the community” kick he was on. Wes had a feeling he wouldn’t be the only St. Claire thrown to the wolves.
The smell of smoke drew him from his thoughts. One bachelor had turned an oven on too high. His cookies were burning. Wes shook his head and focused on his. The last thing he wanted was to set the sprinklers off in the cafeteria. The entire situation was nerve-racking enough. He didn’t want to burn down the high school as well.
As he rolled dough into balls then through cinnamon and sugar, he laughed to himself. What a difference a few weeks in his life had made. He for damn sure didn’t see himself baking cookies in a high school kitchen. Ever. And wearing an apron to boot. Although, the apron was growing on him; he’d admit that to himself but no one else.
