Page 4 of The Sweetest Season
Beatrice laughed out loud at that.
But Mr Marley remained earnest, and then said, “I am glad you came to the front of the shop today, ma’am.Mr Forrest hoped I could forward an invitation.He would like to meet you.”
Beatrice stiffened at the mere idea.“No!”
He looked surprised at her vehemence.“Won’t you at least consider it?He is most impressed.He’s instructed me to invite you to Northwind—that’s Mr Forrest’s home.Name the day and time most convenient for you.”
She frowned.“There is no convenient time.”
From where she stood behind Mr Marley, Ivy was frantically gesturing that Beatrice was saying the wrong thing.But Beatrice couldn’t stop herself.“You may tell Mr Forrest that I am pleased he is feeling better, and I hope the confections are indeed aiding his recovery.But this is a very busy season and I simply cannot take time off to meet anyone.”
Following that exchange, Beatrice practically fled into the kitchen, leaving Ivy to deal with the aftermath.She wasn’t sure why the idea of meeting this Mr Forrest alarmed her so.She had met many of her customers before, particularly in the early days of her business.But none of them ever credited her food with healing powers!She wondered if Mr Forrest was expecting an accomplished French pastry chef he wanted to hire.Or worse, did he think her some fairy tale enchantress who would be as beautiful as her creations?In either case, Beatrice was quite sure the reality would be a disappointment.She had plenty of experience being a disappointment to others, and did not wish to go through the humiliating emotions of it again.Ever.
Shortly afterward, an irritated Ivy informed her that she likely insulted one of the city’s best-known war heroes.She said, “Didn’t you recognize his name?Mr Forrest served valiantly before he was captured in 1813.And even as a prisoner of war, he was known for his gallantry and character.It’s said the British officer who was responsible for him even wanted to marry his daughter to Mr Forrest.And that was when the war was still going on!”
Beatrice made a face.“No doubt people will say I snubbed him because I’m English, taking petty shots at the humble American.The fact is that I don’t want to meet him…because I just don’t!”Hearing that Mr Forrest was a war hero only reinforced her decision.He was probably dashing and noble and charming…not the sort of man who looked at Beatrice for more than an instant.
She paused at the doorway to the kitchen, turning back to Ivy.“You may keep the shop open until your Mr Marley comes.I suppose it’s poor business to ignore a customer.”
“Yes, indeed!”Ivy looked so happy that Bea bit back a smile.She dealt in sweetness, after all.It could do no harm to share a little.
Chapter 3
One afternoon, Bea heard voicesin the front of the shop, and then the bell ringing as the door closed.She heard Ivy cross to the doorway to the kitchen.Glancing at the clock, Bea guessed it was the last customer of the day, the reliable Mr Marley.
“Ivy,” she called out.“If Mr Marley is gone, close up the…” Bea trailed off.
It wasn’t Ivy in the doorway.
Sheknewit was him, though she knew nothing of Mr Forrest.He was rather tall, perhaps six feet.But his thin frame made him look less substantial than he ought to.His coat hung a bit loosely.His left hand rested on a brass-topped cane, which was not an affectation.(Among other tidbits of information gleaned from Mr Marley, Ivy had informed her that Mr Forrest had been injured and almost died during the war, and that was before he’d been captured and imprisoned by the British forces.)
But none of that could take away from one central fact.Mr Forrest was gorgeous.His dark hair was worn a bit longer than was fashionable.He was clean shaven, perhaps because there was no reason to hide such an irritatingly perfect jawline.And then his eyes…
He had unfairly beautiful eyes, a shade of brown so light it almost looked like gold.And worse, there was something soulful about them, as if he saw much more than most people.Beatrice didn’t want tothinkabout what he might see in her.
Beatrice swallowed painfully.“Mr Forrest, I presume.”
“Miss Holliday,” the man said.
“I don’t allow customers in my kitchen,” she said finally, alarmed at how fragile her voice sounded.
Ignoring that, he stepped in, looking around with considerable interest.“You work in here alone?”
“Ivy helps, and I hire a girl to clean and wash up.Where is Ivy, by the way?”
“She’s on a short walk, escorted by Mr Marley.Don’t worry, she locked the front door before she left.”
“How reassuring,” Beatrice said dryly.
He was still looking around.“Large kitchen for one person.”
“It’s a business, not a home.”She spoke stiffly, already anticipating…well, she wasn’t sure.But she did not like Mr Forrest being here.
He shifted his attention to her.“You don’t want to speak to me.Why?”
She felt her skin warming uncomfortably as she recalled she had flour on her nose, raspberry preserves on her apron, and that a curl of hair had escaped her cap.“It’s nothing personal.”
“It feels quite personal.Do you think me presumptuous?”
