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“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.
CHAPTER 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.”
