Page 3 of Moonstruck Kiss

“And still you bring him up all the time,” Emory drawled.

“Because he’s aggravating!”

“All right, all right.” She snickers.

“What?” I demand.

“Nothing. I was just thinking it might be time to forgive him. He did apologise for what he said before he left last year.”

I scoff. “It was so obvious he didn’t mean his apology. I’ll forgive him if he says a heartfelt sorry.Mightforgive him,” I correct myself.

“Well, I suppose he’s too busy bonding with Ollie, anyway. Imagine trying to develop a relationship with a four-year-old son you didn’t know existed until a few months ago. That’s huge.”

I feel myself softening—for Oliver, Brax’s child. “Yeah. His grandparents are smitten, telling anyone who’ll listen what a wonderful, happy boy he is. I’m going to the lodge today to make a delivery. Maybe I’ll bring something for him.”

“And for Brax?”

“No! Just for Ollie! Why are you so intent on me wiping the slate clean with that man?”

Emory leans forward against the counter. “Because he’s the first guy who made you wet just by looking at him. Wasn’t he the reason you decided to follow the advice in that article written by a sexologist? And wasn’t he your first choice for your fling experiment? I’m telling you, Joey, you should consider him again. The best thing? He’ll be gone in a month.”

My cheeks burn. “Shhh!” I glance around furtively. Thank God the bakery is empty.

“It's been two years since you said you wanted to do it. After all this time, you still haven’t found the right guy. You don’t want to have a fling with a Mooner, and let’s not talk about your reticence to seriously date again until you’ve solved your problem.”

My palm flies to my chest. “But not with Brax! Don’t forget that he accused me of meddling. How dare he? Besides, the sexologist said that it has to be with a man I trust and can be completely open with. Brax has proven he isnotthat man.” Despite my words, a flutter of excitement courses through me at the thought of being in bed with the arrogant guy. Traitorous body.

Emory smiles patiently. “He could be if you forgave him. Look, I would have been insulted too if he called me a meddler to my face even though, let’s face it, outsiders would see most of us in this town as that. But he was just worried about his parents’ financial situation. Not being from around here, he has no idea how we Mooners help each other out.”

I open my mouth to tell her the two-word adjective Brax spewed out during his rant—the main reason why I’m so mad at him—but I shut it. For Brax’s parents and sister’s sake—who we all embrace as true Mooners even though they moved here just under nine years ago—I’ll continue to keep it to myself.

So I change the subject. “Hey, if I bump into Chelsea, I’ll encourage her to check out your Mooner’s Cake before she leaves.”

“Thanks. I hope she gets to compare it to Oldington Bakery’s fake penis cake.Brave and creative.” She harrumphs at Chelsea’s description of the cake from the neighbouring town’s bakery, which was supposed to be a replica of Oldington’s town hall—a tall, thin building with two trees on either side of it. By the time Chelsea arrived to view it, the icing had melted and the cake had ended up looking like a flaccid penis with vomit-coloured testicles. Chelsea had raved about its shock value, and in the last month, the bakery’s orders had shot up.

I chuckle dryly. “I still can’t believe Oldington Bakery hasn’t set the record straight especially since they’re finding it impossible to reproduce their Not-A-Penis creation. Anyway, when Chelsea checks out your cake, she’ll be bowled over. It’s way more gutsy, headline-making, delicious, and marketable. You’re still planning to add it to your product list, right?”

Emory nods, grinning wickedly. “Mooner’s Cake: The sweetest way to saykiss my ass.”

“I’d totally buy it!”

“To give to Braxton Quinn?”

I laugh. “Not a bad idea at all.” I place cash on the counter and pick up the brown paper bag with my croissant. “I’d better run. We need to figure out how to meet the unbelievable demand for you-know-what.”

“A nice problem to have.”

I inhale deeply. “I know. But we hand-make our chocolates so it’s not as if we can mass manufacture. Anyway, we’ll figure it out. See you later.” I give her a wave as I make my way to the exit.

I eat my croissant as I take a leisurely walk along Main Street, calling out “good morning” to the shopkeepers preparing to open their stores.

When I reach Struck and Stuck, Moonstruck Cove’s local pub, I head towards the lilly pilly tree in the sideyard. Then I pull out a rag in my backpack and start giving the nine plaques attached to the wooden seating surrounding the tree a quick wipe.

I do this every week as one of the plaques is in honour of my family for running a successful small business.

Now, we’re not the only ones with a plaque such as this. Plenty of other businesses and individuals who have made valuable contributions to our community in many different forms have been presented with one, and they’re dotted all over the place. But even though plaques are plentiful in Moonstruck Cove, we’re proud of each and every single one of them. They’re a testament to the wonderful things about our beloved small town.

After my quick stop, I head over to our shop. I’m almost at Moonstruck Chocolatier when I spot our resident dance champion stepping out of the Gia Flores Dance Studio and walking towards me.

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