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“Yes?” she asked, surprised by the uncharacteristic breathy quality of her voice.
“Would it be too forward if I kissed you?”
Vera knew that if she overthought it, she would ruin this. Francine’s warnings or her own self-doubts would creep in and she’d never get a second chance at this perfect moment. Instead of answering his question, she acted. Placing her hands on his slightly stubbled cheeks, she pulled his face down until her lips could meet his.
The thrill that ran down her spine was immediate and powerful. Bert’s lips were soft and inviting, tasting sweet like banana pudding. His strong arms wrapped around her, tugging her body close to his. She melted into him, all of her resistance disappearing the longer they touched.
It had been so long since she’d been kissed like this. After forty years of marriage, Herman’s kisses had become polite greetings, not passionate embraces. She knew exactly what Francine meant when she talked about her marriage being a far cry from their wilder days, but it seemed for Vera, at least, those days were back. Bert’s kiss brought to mind steamy evenings in the backseat of a boy’s car at the drive-in... The exciting thrill of her honeymoon in Gatlinburg... She suddenly felt like a girl again and she never wanted to let that go.
A loud pop startled her out of the romantic fog she’d been lost in. Vera’s heart was racing in her chest as they leaped apart and both turned to look in the direction of the noise. A second loud pop sounded, followed by a burst of red and blue flames across the dark sky. The fireworks show had officially begun.
“Come on,” Bert said, taking Vera’s hand.
They continued on the path until they reached the clearing in the trees where they could see the fireworks show unobstructed. Bert stood behind Vera, wrapping his arms around her waist so she could lean back against him. She sighed contently in his arms, watching the fireworks and breathing in the scents of freshly mowed grass and Bert’s Old Spice.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she watched white twinkling lights fall to the ground like wilting daisies.
“Not as beautiful as you are,” Bert countered.
Vera thought about saying something inane, perhaps deflecting the compliment the way she always seemed to do, but something stopped her. “Thank you,” she said instead. She felt beautiful in his arms. She no longer cared what Francine or anyone else, thought. This was her life and she was going to make the most of it.
When the last of the fireworks subsided, the crowd in the park cheered and Bert finally let her go to applaud along with them. Taking her hand, they walked back to the Jaycee’s Building. People were flooding from the building with their lawn chairs and empty casserole dishes. It made Vera sad to see the night was winding down. She wasn’t ready to let tonight end. She wasn’t ready to say goodnight to Bert just yet.
Vera spied her bowl and spoon on the dessert table. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Bert, but the banana pudding is no more. I was hoping there would be enough for you to take some home.”
“That’s a damn shame,” he said, eyeing it with disappointment. “It was one of your finest, Vera. I’m not surprised every bit of it is gone.”
Perhaps she didn’t have to say goodbye quite yet. “Actually,” Vera said with a sly smile, “it’s not all gone. I had enough left over to make a second, small dish of it. It’s at the house, though.”
One of Bert’s bushy white eyebrows rose curiously at her as she spoke. “At the house, you say?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she confirmed with a nod. “Would you like to come by my place tonight for some coffee and banana pudding?” As she said the words, she stroked the skin on the back of his hand in a suggestive motion.
“I most certainly would.” Now it was Bert’s turn for his face to turn a little red. “But, uh,” he hesitated. “I thought we were taking things slow, Vera?”
“We are. I’m just inviting you over for coffee and dessert. But,” she added with a naughty smile, “if there’s enough banana pudding left over later when we’re done, you can lick it off of me as slowly as you’d like.”
Ready for More? The Fun in Rosewood Continues…
Chapter One
“Now those are some nice looking buns.”
Madelyn Chamberlain looked up in time to see Emmett Sawyer walk past her bakery. He was up early for a night owl—or perhaps he was up late for him—but as always, the shaggy, laid-back owner of Woody’s, the local bar, was looking casually delicious. He managed to make a simple t-shirt and jeans look sexy. Of course, it helped that his well-worn jeans fit him like they were custom made. Just the sight of him wearing them caused an uncharacteristic tingle to run through her body. “They sure are,” she muttered to herself.
“Maddie, do they have nuts in them?”
Emmett disappeared from sight and Maddie turned to look at Miss Dotty as she perused the bakery case. Apparently Miss Dotty had been referring to the honey buns, not Emmett’s well-fitting jeans. “No, if you want nuts, get the sticky buns instead. They have toasted, candied pecans.”
“Oooh... sticky buns.” Miss Dotty moved to the next case and got engrossed in the daily selections.
Maddie was always dumbfounded when customers came in and stared at the choices as though they weren’t the same every day. When she bought The Rosewood Bakery from the late owner’s daughter, Maddie worked with her father to put together a solid business plan. Part of that was being smart about supplies and offerings. When she reopened as Madelyn’s Bakery & Tea House, she decided to serve a standard set of baked goods available on a regular basis. Each day, in addition to any custom orders, she featured one special item, like lemon tarts or chocolate éclairs.
It’d worked well for her so far. Some people came in and got the same treat every day. Others came in the same day each week for their favorite special. She normally sold out of the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake bars by noon every Tuesday. They did well enough that she was considering adding them as an everyday offering.
Miss Dotty, a daily visitor, had a sweet tooth and no desire to actually bake anymore.. Each day, the older woman would wander into the shop and stare intently at the display case, spending upwards of fifteen minutes in the shop. And no matter how many questions she asked or how many other items she eyed, she always left with a cinnamon roll.
“You know, I think today I’ll just have my usual,” Dotty decided.
