Page 39 of Cut The Cake

She speared the tomato and popped it into her mouth. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. Though nothing tasted better than a great marinara sauce, she didn’t really like fresh tomatoes and only ate them because they were supposed to be good for her. Which, when she got right down to it, sounded an awful lot like how she felt about working for her cousin. She’d always known that she’d gone to work for Kay out of obligation rather than any sense of personal fulfillment. At the time, she’d viewed the job as a stepping stone. In some ways, it had been exactly that. She’d certainly learned a lot during the past two years.

But what came next? There weren’t any higher rungs to climb on this particular corporate ladder. Nick had been right when he’d suggested that unless she set her own goals, she’d end up planning her cousin’s life instead of her own for the next twenty years. She really did need to figure out what she wanted out of her future and where she wanted to go with it.

Right this minute, though, she wanted to be at I Do Cakes. Nick was waiting for her. Signaling the waiter for her bill, she smiled. She, the girl who never did anything that wasn’t on the agenda, the one who’d never so much as cracked open a box of cake mix, was going to make cupcakes. Without a recipe or a plan.

That, at least, sounded like a step in the right direction.

What am I doing?

The question echoed through Nick’s head while he gathered the necessary supplies for the evening’s baking session with Jenny. He tried telling himself he was merely doing what his friends and neighbors had asked of him, simply helping an uncertain bride-to-be stay the course. Which was true as far as it went. Everyone knew that Jenny’s entire wedding had turned into a house of cards. One stiff breeze—or one more change in direction—and the whole thing would collapse.

No one wanted to see that happen. Not even him.

So, when the other shopkeepers in town had asked him to use whatever influence he had to keep Jenny on track, he’d had no choice but to agree. Though he hadn’t thought much of the idea at first, he had to admit, their strategy was working. Over the past week, he’d stuck close to her side. One afternoon, they’d admired the azaleas and roses at the Captain’s Cottage. On another, they’d counted the carved stone hearts mounted on the facades of businesses throughout Heart’s Landing. Through it all, he’d done his best to reinforce the choices Jenny had made for the ceremony that loomed ever closer. And it had worked. A week had passed since she’d made a single change to her wedding plans.

Now, he just had to maintain the status quo for a few more days, and like a long line of dominoes, everything would fall into place. On Saturday, Jenny would walk down the aisle to marry her fiancé. Meanwhile, Mildred was hard at work on the floral arrangements, Janet was making sure everyone would be well fed, Roy and JoJo had mapped out their game plans for videos and pictures, and the twins anticipated the arrival of the last items for the gift bags any day. As long as nothing else changed, in one week everyone would pat themselves on the back for delivering a picture-perfect wedding for yet another Heart’s Landing bride. All thanks to his involvement.

So why, exactly, had he invited Jenny to an impromptu baking session?

He shook his head. He couldn’t honestly answer that question. Because, if he were being honest, he’d have to point out that Jenny didn’t wear the dreamy-eyed expression of a bride who was deeply in love with her fiancé. If he faced facts, he’d have to say there was something wrong when a man claimed he was too busy to plan his wedding, but countermanded every decision his bride made. If he told the truth, he’d have to admit that his attraction to Jenny went far deeper than the kindness he showed other brides who walked into I Do Cakes.

None of which was something he was prepared to do.

Developing feelings for a bride-to-be wasn’t just asking for heartache, it went against his moral code. It warred against the lessons of respect and honor he’d learned from his father. The town had staked its reputation on giving every bride a perfect wedding. He believed in fulfilling that promise, no matter what.

So he wouldn’t comment on Jenny’s cool and, yes, often confusing attitude toward her fiancé. At least, not again. He definitely wouldn’t drop a single, solitary hint that he thought she was marrying the wrong man. And he wouldn’t admit he liked Jenny far more than he ought to. Or compliment her on her outfit. Or, most especially, wrap his arms around her and brush a kiss through her freshly washed hair.

All of which sounded as easy as whipping up a batch of cookies while he was alone. It was a good bit more challenging when the bride-to-be in question stood at I Do Cakes’ back door, looking adorable in a touristy T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“I hope I’m not too early,” she offered, her tentative smile giving her an air of naive vulnerability.

“Not at all. You’re right on time.” A jolt of unwanted attraction surged through him. He reined in fingers that itched to trace the ponytail that curled over her shoulder. “Grab an apron,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gruff.

He turned abruptly, but not before he caught the puzzled frown that formed on Jenny’s face. His spine softened at the hurt in her eyes, and he stifled a groan. It wasn’t her fault that he was acting like a jerk, but the more time he spent around her, the more his feelings got the best of him.

Determined to do better, he fought his emotions into submission while he grabbed bowls and measuring cups. He ground his back teeth together as he issued a stern reminder that he was simply giving a cooking lesson to a woman who didn’t know her way around a kitchen. Firmly, he clamped a lid over anything that would dilute his focus while Jenny slipped one of I Do Cakes’ chocolate-and-pink aprons over her head and deftly tied the strings into a bow. Her footsteps slow, she moved to his side.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, hesitant. “I don’t want to be a bother if you have something else to do.”

“No, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me for a minute.”

Okay, that last part was a lie, but a necessary one. He couldn’t very well admit how he really felt about having her in his kitchen, couldn’t say how much he looked forward to spending time with her.

When doubt lingered in Jenny’s dark eyes, he summoned the apologetic smile he owed her. Hoping to get things back to normal between them, he offered, “My alarm clock went off a whole lot earlier than I wanted it to.”

Which was true. This last week or so, he’d been getting up at three to fill the orders for the bakery and still have time to see Jenny. It was a tough schedule to stick to, but he’d promised the others he’d keep a close eye on her. Though it meant a few less hours of sleep each night, and clamping a heavy lid down over his growing feelings for her, he was a man of his word. Besides, it was only for another few days.

“Oh!” Jenny’s lips curved upward. “So you get grumpy when you need a nap? Don’t worry. I’ll nudge you if you fall asleep.” Her eyes brightening, she prodded his upper arm with her elbow. Her gaze dropped to the array of supplies on the counter. “I guess we’d better get started before you nod off.”

Nick cleared his throat. Jenny’s light banter had washed away the last of his unwanted tension. Relieved that his momentary lapse hadn’t ruined things between them, he tapped a wooden spoon against the side of the bowl he’d prepared before her arrival. “In here, we have flour to bind everything together, sugar to sweeten, a touch of salt, and some baking soda.” He pointed to a different bowl. “That one holds butter, milk, and eggs. When we mix the two together, the soda will combine with the liquid and cause tiny bubbles of air. Those are essential. They get trapped in the batter and make the cake rise.”

Jenny eyed him solemnly. “You make baking sound like a chemistry experiment. You add the right ingredients in the right proportions, and you get a certain reaction.”

“Right,” he agreed, pleased that she appreciated the science of baking as much as he did. “In this case, we’ll get a soft, tender cupcake instead of something like a scone or a flatbread. Next, you have to decide what flavor you want.”

Jenny’s lips pursed. “What are my choices?”

He gestured toward a line of containers. Each bore a label in the bakery’s signature colors. “Whatever you want.” He shrugged. “Dutch chocolate. Peanut butter. Madagascar vanilla. A wide variety of fruits. What’s your favorite?”

---