Page 8 of Cut The Cake

“That,” Jenny whispered, her eyes locked on the carriage. “Yes, that.”

A split-second later, an empty spot opened in the center of her chest. She shook her head and brushed an unexpected dampness from her eyes. Who was she kidding? It didn’t matter that she’d had her heart set on a Heart’s Landing wedding ever since she was a little girl. Or that she’d filled a notebook with samples and drawings of exactly what she wanted on her special day. Her plan to ride in a horse-drawn carriage to wed the man of her dreams might never come true. And even if it did, would it still be in Heart’s Landing, now that her very own cousin had chosen to get married here?

Not that she blamed Kay for stealing her idea. It wasn’t like they routinely compared notes on their ideal weddings over their morning coffee. Kay hadn’t known how much getting married here had meant to her.

But it was one thing for her brain to acknowledge that her dream wedding wasn’t in the cards she’d been dealt. It was quite another for her heart to accept it. A fresh longing for something out of her reach filled her. Unable to take her eyes off the lucky bride, Jenny stared after the carriage until it veered onto Procession Avenue. Only when it had disappeared around the corner did she blink slowly like someone waking after a hundred-year nap. The cheerful jingling of the harnesses faded into the distance.

A gradual awareness of her surroundings sank in. Standing stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, she darted a look around. Their heads bent together, their hands entwined, a couple across the street studied posters of honeymoon destinations on display in the window of a travel agency. The sparse traffic in the center of town ebbed and flowed in time to the traffic lights. Elsewhere, people went about their business while she alone stood frozen in place.

What was that all about? She didn’t have time to stand on the sidewalk and gawk. She had work to do. She’d been tasked with making all the arrangements for her cousin’s wedding. With just four weeks to accomplish the monumental task, she needed to get moving. Shaking off the spell she’d been under, she spun. Her head down, she hurried onward.

“Whoa! Watch out!”

Jenny sucked in a breath as a tall figure barreled out of the bakery straight at her. Trying her best to move out of his path, she stumbled to one side. She almost made it past him, probably would have avoided a collision altogether, but her left foot tangled with her right one and both refused to budge. In a blur of motion, the figure in blue plowed into her. Something stiff crumpled at her waist. A cloud of sugary sweetness surrounded her while she flailed her arms, tried to regain her balance, and failed. She had the vaguest impression of muscular arms reaching for her. She slipped out of their grasp just as her legs gave out beneath her.

Down she went.

An instant later, she landed with a soft, “Ooof,” on the unforgiving sidewalk. As a final insult, something soft plopped into her lap.

“Oh, gosh. Are you hurt?” Deep and masculine, a voice to match the broad shoulders of the man who’d collided with her cut through her confused fog.

“What just happened?” Trying to figure out how she’d ended up sitting on the ground and covered in sticky goo, Jenny whipped her head from side to side. She flexed her arms and legs and felt a wash of relief when nothing sent up a twinge or a sharp, painful protest. The hand she brushed over her jacket left trails of blue and green streaks. With nothing more than a little hurt pride and stains to show for her fall, she followed faded denim upward past a blue shirt to a pair of piercing eyes the color of a stormy afternoon sky.

“You ran into me,” she said, still trying to fit the pieces together. “I was walking into the bakery, and you barged out like you were headed to a fire somewhere. What in heaven’s name was so important?”

“Cupcakes.” A shock of dark hair fell forward on to his forehead as the man leaned down over her.

“Cupcakes,” she echoed. As if that explained anything.

The stranger’s gaze sharpened. “Are you okay? Nothing’s broken? You didn’t bang your head?”

“I didn’t land on my head.” The sharp retort rolled off her tongue before she had a chance to stop it. She clamped a hand over her mouth and immediately regretted it when the sticky goo on her hands stuck to her face. “Don’t mind me. I’m not usually so snippy. It’s just that, well …” She ran out of steam. Figuring the fall must have taken the wind out of her sails, she straightened her shoulders and schooled her attitude. It was about time for her to get up off the ground, wasn’t it? “What is all this?” She held her fingers up while she stared down at a kaleidoscope of color.

“You’re wearing my cupcakes.” The stranger’s lips thinned. “Or what’s left of them.” The gray in his eyes hardened into silver as his gaze shifted to the mess that covered her. A muscle ticked along one side of his jaw.

That explained why she smelled like she’d been drenched in butter and sugar. As though her tongue had a will of its own, she licked her lips. Flavor burst in her mouth, setting her tastebuds alight and leaving her hungry for more. She swallowed, and the sweetness spread into her throat. She eyed the man who stared down at her with a mix of concern and irritation. No wonder he seemed upset. The icing was the best she’d ever tasted.

“Here,” he said, reaching down with an outstretched hand. “Let me help you up.”

“What? No, I can—” Her protest faltered in mid-sentence. Before she could point out that she was perfectly capable of getting herself off the sidewalk, strong hands wrapped around her wrists. In one fluid motion, the stranger pulled her to her feet. Refusing to let her go, he hung on a second or two longer than it took her to regain her balance. Heat crawled up her neck when the backs of her hands warmed beneath his touch.

Her focus dropped from the firm grip that held her in place and landed on the icing and bits of cake that dripped from her clothes. A rather large blue dollop chose that particular moment to separate itself from her jacket. It splattered to the sidewalk with a wince-inducing plop. Jenny heaved a heavy sigh at the waste of something so yummy.

“No scrapes, no broken bones, no twisted ankles?”

She looked up in time to see concern replace the silver in the bluish-gray eyes that swept over her. “I’m fine,” she murmured. To prove it, she slid from his grasp. “My clothes are another matter.” Suddenly aware of how closely she resembled an artist’s palette, she darted a glance over his shoulder at the bakery. “I don’t suppose there’d be any place inside where I could clean up?”

“The ladies’ room,” he suggested. At her curt nod, he held the door for her. “In the back, on the left. I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up something else for you to put on.”

Jenny rejected the offer with an abrupt, “I think you’ve done enough already. I’ll take it from here.” The last thing she needed was an absolute stranger asking the owner of the bakery for a favor. Not when she already needed to beg him to make Karolyn’s cake on such short notice.

Trailing crumbs and sticky blotches, she moved away from the man with the intriguing eyes as fast as her legs would carry her. In the bathroom, she brushed the worst of the mess into the trash can. Then, gripping the sink, she stared into the mirror. A little soap and water erased the icing that stubbornly clung to her cheeks, but only widened the speckles of blue and green on her slacks, blouse, and jacket. Her lips pursed. The mess served her right for not sticking to her original plan. If she’d gone straight from the B&B to dinner, right now she’d be deciding which appetizers to serve Karolyn’s guests. Instead, she was wearing a stained shirt and a jacket that smelled like something from the dessert cart. Now she’d have to change before she went to the restaurant. Which meant she’d be late for her reservation.

At that unhappy thought, her empty stomach gurgled a protest.

“Sorry,” she whispered. Her stomach would just have to deal with it. She couldn’t very well show up at a four-star restaurant looking like a child’s watercolor picture. Even if it wasn’t her fault.

Or was it?

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