The Last Autograph (A Reluctant Kiss #3)

Chapter 17

17

Back in Clifton Falls the following Monday, Molly called into the patisserie just before closing. Despite Tissue-gate, Jake’s éclairs hadn’t lost their appeal. But even so, the thought of seeing him again made her nervous. Thankfully, there was no sign of him and when Ari greeted her warmly, she relaxed.

It had become Gloria’s and her thing—sharing dessert at least once a week—and Molly now looked forward to it, and as she drove along the seafront, she could hardly stop herself from pulling over for a quick bite.

After a light dinner, a platter of sweet treats in one hand, Molly crossed the lawn to Gloria’s and let herself in. “Hello? It’s only me.”

She walked through the kitchen and into the small sunroom, where she found Gloria lost in a jigsaw puzzle. Apart from her grandmother, Molly had had little to do with the elderly, and at first, she’d wondered what they’d talk about on their dessert nights, but Gloria soon commandeered the conversation, entertaining Molly with tales of bands she saw on tour, sixties fashion, and music festivals she’d attended. Now, Molly considered Gloria one of the most interesting people she’d ever met.

“There you are.” Gloria looked up with a smile. She eyed the platter as Molly set it on the table. “Mmm chocolate éclairs… You’re a sweetheart.”

“I bought you a couple of macarons as well.” Molly smiled back at her before returning to the kitchen for forks, side plates, and paper napkins.

“So, Mr. Sexy Cakes hasn’t put you off éclairs then?” Gloria called out.

“As if. No man could ever put me off éclairs. And it’s Jake.” Back in the sunroom, Molly offered Gloria a plate. She pressed a piece of the jigsaw puzzle into place and took a seat.

“Have you seen him since the bake-off?”

Molly hesitated. Once she admitted the fact, there’d be no going back. “Actually, I gave him a ride home from the after-party. I hope that’s okay.”

“As long as you didn’t make out with the top down, it’s fine with me. The only person getting any action in that car is yours truly . Got it?”

“Stop it.” Molly laughed and bit into her pastry, so delicate on her lips that she doubted she’d ever tasted better. “There was definitely no making out. I hardly know the guy. And you do realize it’s not nice to objectify men, don’t you?”

Gloria flapped a hand in Molly’s direction. “Women have been objectifying men and vice versa since the dawn of time. Always have and always will. That’s what makes the world go around.”

Molly grinned. “Really?”

“Yes, really. What are you going to do about getting to know him better, then? He seems keen as mustard on a ham sandwich to me. Sure, the whole brother thing makes it a bit awkward, but, hey, life’s for the living.” She lifted a forkful of pastry to her mouth. “And don’t bother correcting me if I’m wrong, but there’s no point in missing out on an opportunity just because the past’s still puffing rain clouds over your head.”

As usual, Gloria had words of wisdom in spades, and Molly valued her input, but Jake Sinclair? “There’s no way I’d ever entertain the idea of Jake and me, and even if he was interested, I might only be here until Christmas.”

“Well, that’s totally under your control. Remember that.” Her éclair finished, Gloria picked up a macaron and pointed a finger Molly’s way. “Plus, you’re not getting any younger. Remember that too.”

“What? I’m not even thirty yet!”

“You young ones seem to think time is on your side, but time takes its hostages without a flinch. Believe me, I could write a book on the subject.”

Molly considered her words. Having buried three husbands, Gloria had every right to offer her take on life and expect Molly to listen. “Anyway, even if Jake is kind of interesting, despite what you say about puffing rain clouds, he’s too intense for me.”

“Well, he’ll suit your sunny personality just fine then, won’t he?” She stood. “Right, let’s put on some Fleetwood Mac and have a nip of Mitch’s limoncello before bed. It will help us sleep.”

Her sunny personality? Where had that disappeared to lately? “You think?”

“Oh yes. It’s better than sex now that I’m almost eighty.”

Molly smiled. Gloria was eighty-five last time Aunt Andrea mentioned her age. But who was counting?

Unfortunately, the limoncello didn’t help Molly sleep at all. Now after eleven, she tossed and turned, wondering if Jake was standing in the kitchen that afternoon, watching her through the one-way glass—just as she’d secretly watched him at the after-party.

Gloria had called him a grump, and at first, Molly’s assessment of him matched her landlady’s, but he’d been pleasant enough company on the ride home that night, albeit rather drunk, so perhaps that didn’t count. Then there was his early morning call as she strolled along the shores of Sandwater Bay, where he’d also seemed genial.

So how many times did she have to remind herself that he was Jesse’s twin before her head got the message to stop thinking about him? Jake Sinclair was off-limits, and she knew it.

Yet, the attraction drawing Molly to the man was beginning to override her better judgment—as is so often the case when two souls can’t quite reconcile their connection. It could be awkward until the emotional ice was broken or vice versa if a physical connection came before the emotional.

And as she lay in the dark, the ceiling revealing no secrets, she wondered if Alexia was right. Was Jake Sinclair a sloppy kisser? She suspected not and smiled at the thought.

Despite rushing to the patisserie straight after work the following Tuesday, the closed sign was already swinging in the window by the time Molly pulled up outside. She cursed under her breath. Gloria had ordered a dozen éclairs for her mahjong evening, and Molly promised her she’d pick them up.

However, just as she was about to text him, Jake appeared on the pavement, cap backward and looking as sexy in his chef’s garb as he did in a wetsuit. He opened the passenger door. “You’re late.”

“I know.” His gruff greeting amused her and she smiled. “But you’re still here, so how lucky am I?”

He shook his head. “Are you coming in?”

Yes, Chef. “Is that okay?”

“Of course. Gloria’s order’s ready. I was going to text to say I’d drop it off later.” He tilted his head toward the store. “Come on.”

Molly opened her car door and smiled at him as she climbed out and stepped forward. “You do home deliveries?”

“Not normally.” He didn’t return the smile, and Molly felt herself flush under his scrutiny.

Jake led her through the store and into the kitchen—a compact space clad in wall-to-wall stainless steel.

He entered the chiller and returned with a box tied with transparent foiled ribbon, which he placed in a cool bag. “Gloria’s order. The receipt’s inside.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He hesitated, his expression still serious as he held her gaze just a fraction too long before looking away. “Right. I better get back to work.”

“You’re still baking?”

“Yeah, just a batch of choux for tomorrow.”

“May I watch?”

He raised both brows. She couldn’t quite tell whether it was in annoyance or something else. “What, you want a master class now?”

Molly failed to suppress a grin. “Yes. Is that okay? You can show me all the tricks of the trade.”

They locked eyes once again and she could see him weighing up his options.

“Would you like an apron?”

“Why? Are you going to put me to work?”

“I might let you do a little piping.”

Jake reached under the counter and pulled out a neatly folded apron. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and—as he moved closer—sexy male floated on the breeze from the open window by the back door. It took her back to that first day of the bake-off when Jake lingered a little too long at her station. Now, that unique cologne would forever remain his signature scent.

So much had changed since then, and as Jake stood behind her and slipped the apron over her head, Molly held her breath. How curious her life had become as she’d inadvertently entangled herself with Jesse’s twin.

Still standing behind her, Jake secured the ties around her waist, his breath a whisper against her neck as Molly stood perfectly still. For a moment, she longed for him to brush aside her hair and caress her nape—that zone of zones where the effect would be immediate and overwhelming.

However, the desired contact failed to transpire, and rightly so.

Instead, Jake moved to the counter and began cracking eggs into a bowl. He looked up, his expression relaxed, then cleared his throat as he broke eye contact. “Okay, the secret to making a sexy choux is the mixture must be graceful and silky. So don’t be afraid to eyeball it. Sometimes, an extra egg can make all the difference to the end result.”

“Isn’t baking a science, where you stick exactly to the recipe?”

He turned on the cooktop, added butter, sugar, and water to a copper saucepan, and settled it on the heat. “Depends. Never underestimate the art and feel of it. I rely on my gut instinct a lot. Always have.”

“Have you ever had any flops?”

“Of course, but life’s one big experiment, don’t you agree? That’s how we learn.”

“I guess.”

She watched on in fascination as Jake added flour to the butter mixture and whisked it fast and furious while offering tips and instructions like a master class tutor would do. By the end of the process, she better understood his “art and feel” approach. The pastel-lemon choux slipped gracefully off the beaters in silky strands, and as he piped several shells onto a baking sheet, her interest in Jake stepped up a notch.

“May I have a turn?”

“Can I trust you?”

“Probably not. But don’t you enjoy living life dangerously?”

Without missing a beat, he continued to pipe more shells. “Not where beautiful women are concerned.”

Heat crept up Molly’s neck and face. Had he really just said that?

“Here.” He offered the bag as if his statement were inconsequential—an off-the-cuff remark forgotten in an instant.

Flustered, Molly took the bag from him with unsteady hands and twisted the end for a better grip. Jake remained at her side, and after her first two attempts failed, he stepped closer. With his hands covering hers, he gently guided her through the process, so close she could smell the mint on his breath and feel the heat of him.

Excitement built at her core, and when he eventually let go, she closed her eyes briefly against the disappointment of their separation and drew a shaky breath. By contrast, Jake appeared relaxed at her side.

“Try again.” He turned the sheet. “Make sure your speed and pressure work together so each shell’s an even width.”

“Right. Speed and pressure.” Determined to master the task, Molly did as he instructed. When the bag was finally empty, apart from her first few disasters, twenty neat éclair shells sat on the sheet, and she was a nervous wreck. “There. How do they look?”

“Pretty good. Let’s get them into the oven.”

Molly stood and watched Jake set the timer. The more time they spent together, the more attractive he became—not only in looks but also in self-confidence. He’d be the type of man who’d take care of a woman, even if she could take care of herself perfectly fine. And now, whenever they met, he reminded her less and less of his twin.

He stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair away from her face, like the trace of a feather, as he murmured, “Good job.”

If Molly wanted to break the tension, this would have been the right time to do so, but she couldn’t seem to tear herself away from his scrutiny. “Thank you, Chef,” she whispered.

Jake cleared his throat but didn’t release her gaze. “You really should leave now if you know what’s good for you.” He smiled softly, and as he did so, his whole demeanor changed. “And I have to get back to work.”

Hands shaking, Molly fumbled with her apron strings but failed to undo the knot. “Of course. Sorry to hold you up.”

Jake reached forward and loosened it for her. “You’re not holding me up, but this…” He waved a hand between them. “I get the impression it confuses you. And neither of us has the luxury of indulging in that confusion at the moment.”

For a split second, she thought they would kiss, but he pulled back, his expression serious again.

A loud knock on the back door made them both start.

“Jake, are you still here?”

“Shit! It’s Mum.”

“What?” Molly didn’t have time to make herself scarce before Jake’s mother strode through the door.

A petite woman with ash-blonde curls framing a youthful-looking face and wearing a navy blazer and skirt, his mother smiled wide as she offered her hand. “Hello, I’m Hazel. Jake’s mother. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?”

With cheeks on fire and heart racing like she’d been caught in an act she had no business acting in, Molly stepped forward and accepted her handshake. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Sinclair. I’m Molly.”

As her gaze darted between Molly and her son, Hazel’s smile disappeared. “Molly? Not Molly Parker? From Jesse’s will?”

“Yes. I knew Jesse. Years ago now. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Hands clutched in front of her, Jake’s mother looked Molly up and down. “What are you doing here… with Jake?”

“Oh. He’s been teaching me how to make choux pastry. But I really should go.”

“By the look of you both, he’s been teaching you a lot more than that,” Hazel scoffed.

“Mum. Don’t.”

She turned to her son. “What’s going on? Are you seeing this girl?”

“Mum! I said that’s enough.”

“No, I’m sorry, Jake. It’s not enough. I can’t believe you’d stoop so low. Your brother’s barely cold in his grave, and now this? How could you let this girl drive a wedge between us—between you and Ava—after everything we’ve been through?”

“Go wait in the courtyard while I see Molly out. I’ll be right back.”

She turned to Molly. “And you. You think this is okay, do you? Turning up when you feel like it and making a play for Jake when everyone’s emotions are still so raw?—”

“Mum! For shit’s sake. Don’t talk to her like that.”

Molly straightened her spine. “That’s not how it is. Jesse and I were friends a long time ago, and I’ve no intention of coming between Jake and his family. I’m sorry if it seems that way. I’ll see myself out.” She grabbed her bag from the floor and bolted for the back door. With emotion choking her throat, she couldn’t have defended herself further, even if she’d wanted to.

As she dashed along the alleyway and past Jake’s Vespa, heading for the street, Jake called out behind her, “Molly, wait. Molly!”

The next thing she heard was the kitchen timer beeping and Jake venting the F-word on repeat as thunderclouds rolled in across the bay.

All the way home, his mother’s words screamed in her head, and the one word that screamed the loudest was Ava. Molly had obviously misread the situation and had no one to blame but herself.

It wasn’t until she pulled into the driveway that Molly realized she still had the damn apron on, and she’d left Gloria’s éclairs on Petrie Patisserie’s kitchen counter.

Shit!

She was about to turn around and drive back into town when her text alert sounded.

Jake: Apologies for the intrusion before. I’ll be out of here in under an hour, so I can drop off Gloria’s order on the way home.

Molly relaxed as she realized she wouldn’t have to see him—or his mother—again that afternoon. She’d had enough of Jake Sinclair and his ambiguous reflections for one day.

Molly: Are you sure? I could come back and get them.

Jake: I’m sure.

Molly: Okay. Do you have the address?

Jake: Yes. It’s on the order.

Molly: Thanks. I’ll let Gloria know.

As she walked toward Gloria’s door, another text came through.

Jake: Are you OK?

She closed her eyes against a wave of emotion.

Molly: Fine. No harm done.