Page 21 of Holly Jolly Cake Fight
She cut herself off as Laurin wrapped his hand around the finger she was jabbing him with.
She didn’t understand the move. Her father would have smacked her hand away. Her ex-husband would have plowed right into it and on ahead to knock her to the ground. She didn’t want Laurin to do either of those things — she didn’t know what she wanted, because her mind kept straying to wholly inappropriate places — but the way he took that finger in his hand and gently curled it back into her fist without making another move wasn’t what she expected.
His face was open and reassuring, his eyes friendly, his lips lax, lacking any scowl or condescending smirk or stupid grin. “There’s nothing going on here, I swear. I’m not here for anything, and I don’t think anything less of you for what you did at Summer Bakes.”
That line almost sold him. He’d nearly convinced her she could let her guard down the slightest bit. His words wouldn’t have gained her trust, but they could have been enough to give him a chance at it. But then he had to bring up Summer Bakes.
“I never should have done that damn show,” she cursed, spinning away from Laurin to find a path to furiously pace. “I’d just lost my store then, did you know that?” she asked, glancing back at Laurin long enough to see him hold his place but give no response to the question before she stomped to a holly bush. “A damn flood, out of nowhere. Two inches of water, not even as deep as a damn toilet. But it had rained too much already, the dam was too high, and woosh! Water halfway to the ceiling. Everything lost in an hour of rainfall.”
She spun at the holly and headed for a scraggly pine a few feet away. “My divorce had just been finalized, too. Three years separated, and he suddenly shows up with a lawyer and paperwork and a summons for mediation because he claimed — he claimed! — rights to a bakery he hadn’t set foot in since the grand opening. I had to pay that horse’s ass for my bakery, and then woosh! The whole thing washes away.”
She didn’t stop to see what Laurin was doing when she started her second lap to the holly, but she caught him in her peripheral vision. He watched her but made no move toward her, and he was definitely scowling now.
“So then I get the call for Summer Bakes, and I’m thinking no, I’m a wreck, I don’t have time for this. I don’t have the energy for America to hate me any more than they already do. I get death threats; did you know that? A bunch of little bitch men getting their panties in a twist because I play to win. People take this stuff way too seriously. I turn the offer down, and next thing I know, Jannie’s on the phone, telling me it’ll be good for me. It will take my mind off my entire freaking life falling apart.”
She reached the holly again and stared up to the top of it, marveling at the untamed, prickly, poisonous beast in front of her. Man, had she messed things up in her life.
“So I take it, and yeah, it was lame what I did to Patty. Just playing the game, though, right? And the whole carpet thing with Debbie? She was going to trip on something anyway, that’s just what she does. I didn’t mean to flip the carpet. I should have fixed it, but it’s not like I left it messed up on purpose. But I was in a bad place, and there’d already been . . . things with Lucas.” She shook her head and headed back to pine. “Why am I even talking about this? I don’t need to defend myself to you.”
“No,” Laurin said softly, respectfully, “but if it makes you feel any better, get it off your chest. I won’t judge you. Especially not for whatever you and Lucas did. It’s bad that he already had something going on with Kate, but that’s more on him than you. And it’s not like I believe Belle that you guys were, uhh, doing anything too crazy on camera. But I don’t really care what two consenting adults do.”
This wasn’t the first time Candace had been told that, but the other times had been over the phone or in an email, behind those closed doors people loved so much. This was the first time she didn’t have that door to slam shut so she could scream her fury behind it. “It wasn’t two consenting adults!” she shrieked, and when she realized it wasn’t even as satisfying with a witness, she balled up her hand.
And slammed her fist into the stupid pine.
Instant blinding pain, broken skin and twisted nerves and crunched knuckles smashing into a mind-erasing tremble that reverberated through her body and nearly shook her knees out from under her. “Holy cow!” she whispered, her eyes wide, shocked numb when they met Laurin’s. “Why do men do that?”
He stepped toward her cautiously, like she was a wild animal about to run off or attack. “I don’t punch trees,” he said evenly.
“You all punch, like, walls and stuff.”
Laurin nodded with the same precision as his footsteps. “Yeah, but none of us thinks it’s a good idea. Also, I think most men grow up doing dumb shit that hurts, so we’re used to it. Hold this.”
He handed her a plate of cookies. Had he been holding it the entire time? Had she missed that? She must have, but shecouldn’t take it. She was holding her wounded hand in her good one, and she was scared to let go.
“I think I broke my hand,” she warbled, unable to smooth the tremble out of her voice. She’d been sabotaging her own life for years, but this was beyond the pale. “How am I going to bake with a broken hand?”
Laurin hushed her with a stream of air between his lips. “It’s not broken, just bruised. And you’re left-handed, right? Look, it’s your right hand you hurt. No worries. Now take these cookies, and let me look at it.”
His voice was positively hypnotizing, deep and rich and resonating, every one of his words blending into that soothing hush. She took the cookies, relinquishing her damaged hand to him, but he didn’t take it immediately.
He stripped off his shirt, leaving him in a white undershirt.
Candace’s mouth went dry. If this had been staged and Laurin was here to seduce her, she would have considered it a compliment that they hired someone as impeccable as him. Every one of his muscles, from his pecs to his abs to his biceps, was clearly defined through the thin fabric.
She gaped at him for too long as he took her hand and used his balled-up flannel to wipe away the tree bark and dab at the blood. “Does this hurt?” he asked.
“Why do you have cookies?”
He chuckled, and damn his dimples for stealing even Candace’s stupidest thoughts away. “I was going to share them with you, but you ran away. I didn’t think to put them down.”
“They stayed on the plate.”
He shrugged. “I lost a couple, but the important ones stayed.”
There were six cookies on the plate. Three of them were her own.
“Does this hurt?” he asked again.
