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He wasn’t a dog person. He wasn’t a cat person. In fact, he wasn’t even a people person. But the dog, with those sad puppy eyes, had grown on him. As had Camille. She was a hard worker, efficient, no-nonsense. And, above all, loyal. Loyalty was something Fernsby prized very highly. And Dane—he never called him Dane to his face, always sir—had also grown on him during their fifteen-year association. Dane was eminently fair, treating everyone equally, even his personal assistant and his butler. Thus, he’d earned Fernsby’s respect. And his loyalty.
He didn’t look back, but he felt Miss Gabrielle Harrington’s stare right between his shoulder blades, no doubt plotting ways to best his culinary skills with gluten-free and vegan offerings.
Since no one could see, Fernsby allowed himself the smallest of smiles. Her efforts were a lost cause.
When he was finally chosen as a contestant on Britain’s Greatest Bakers—and vanquished his nemesis Digbert, Mr. Westerbourne’s butler, who’d also applied, drat the man—she would naturally have to sing a different tune.
He did, however, respect her unconquerable spirit. She excelled at most things. But she couldn’t possibly outdo him.
He admired all the Harringtons. Even if he had his favorites.
After all, that was loyalty.
He turned then, ever so slightly, gazing at Camille and Dane, who stood exceptionally close as the Mavericks gathered their belongings.
Then he smiled, looking down at the dachshund. “Little do they know, Lord Rexford, that the right time for the two of them is almost at hand. You can trust Fernsby on that.”
Chapter Three
The Buena Vista Café was a San Francisco icon. Bottles crammed the glass shelves behind the bar, and Irish coffee mugs lined the countertop, ready for the favored libation. Located at Hyde and Beach Streets near Ghirardelli Square, on the first sunny Sunday in what seemed like forever, the bar was filled to capacity.
The waitstaff put together several tables in the tented curbside seating area to accommodate their group. Cammie was sandwiched between Dane and Ava, with Dane’s thigh resting along hers, his body heat doing funny things to Cammie’s stomach. Something like butterflies. Which meant nothing.
Honking horns and clanking cable cars played a rowdy tune outside the tented parklet, along with raucous voices and boisterous laughter inside. That came mostly from the Mavericks, everyone talking over one another.
Cammie loved the bustle of San Francisco, the happy tourists, the scrumptious food, the salt air, the city skyline, the Golden Gate. Dane had a flat on Nob Hill, but she hadn’t been to the city since her uncle worsened. And she missed the hustle. Though Dane’s Pebble Beach estate would always be her favorite of his homes.
Gabby bounded in, a pink bakery box balanced on her hands. She’d said she was bringing a few sweets, but the box was big enough to hold a full sheet cake.
When she opened the flap, the Mavericks went gaga at the mouthwatering selection of treats. Noah and Jorge wriggled so eagerly on their seats, they might have bobbed away if Ari and Rosie hadn’t been holding them down.
“Those might even look better than Fernsby’s offerings.” Tasha Summerfield rubbed her hands together, while Daniel Spencer leaned close to whisper something into her silky black hair, making her laugh, then bat a hand at him. If those two weren’t engaged yet, they soon would be.
Dane jumped in. “Don’t let Fernsby hear you say that. You’ll never get one of his treats again.”
Gabby’s eyes sparkled. “That’s really why Fernsby left right after the game. I told him I was bringing yummy gluten-free vegan goodies, and he fled in horror.”
Everyone laughed except the Maverick men, who’d suddenly gone wide-eyed and leery.
“But we’re not vegan,” Matt Tremont said, tugging on his hair as if he might pull it out were he forced to eat a vegan pastry.
Dane smiled his lady-killer smile, which of course had no effect on Cammie. At least, not that she’d show. “You’ll turn vegan and gluten-free,” he declared, “after you taste one of these.”
He’d always supported everything Gabby did, just as he had all his siblings.
The Maverick ladies nodded enthusiastically. Ari elbowed her husband. “Come on, Matt. Don’t be a fraidy-cat.” She ruffled her stepson’s mop of hair that was as dark as his father’s. “You’re dying to try one, right, Noah?”
The boy nodded dramatically. “I’m not a fraidy-cat.”
Gabby pulled out a box within the box and set it on the table. Flipping her long blond hair over one shoulder, she leaned close, pointing to a muffin. “This one has an herb that’s good for the heartburn pregnant women can get. And here I’ve got some ginger scones that help the digestion.” She held up the box for all of the pregnant women to see. “And this pastry here will help keep your feet from swelling. It’s savory, with dill and sun-dried tomatoes.”
Ari, her hazel eyes alight, said, “I can’t decide which one to try. How about we share?” She looked at Gabby. “They won’t cause any reaction with each other, will they?”
