Chapter 10
10
Emma greets me with a warm, genuine smile when I push through the door of the bakery the morning after the carnival. Like everywhere else, the shop is done up in pastels, lots of lavender and soft yellow, but somehow it works, creating an environment of homey comfort. Helped along, no doubt, by the completely intoxicating smells seeping from every corner of the space. I return her smile, tentatively, low-key waiting for her to bite my head off. Because it would be totally justified given that I’m being set up with the guy she clearly likes.
Instead she waves and offers me a mug of coffee like the goddess she is. “Good morning, I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Mimi about your coffee order and she told me you liked lattes, extra pumpkin spice.” She spins back toward the counter, the skirt of her lavender sundress twirling.
I grit my teeth, not wanting Emma to suffer for Mimi’s transgressions. “Did she now? Well, that was very sweet of her.” I take a sip, bracing myself for the worst, but I don’t know if it’s Emma’s magic or if this town is finally getting to me, but it’s fucking delicious. “Goddamn, that’s good.”
Emma’s light brown cheeks color, either at the compliment or my choice words. “I’m glad you like it.”
I set the mug on the counter so I can tie the polka-dotted apron she hands me around my waist. “Emma, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that, I just don’t really deal with awkward situations all that well.”
She waves me off, turning her attention to a large tray of cupcakes. “It’s not a problem, we were pretty much done anyway.”
I duck into her line of vision so she has to meet my eyes. I want her to see the sincerity with which I’m going to deliver my next words, because it doesn’t happen often, and I need her to believe me. “And I want you to know that whatever dumb hoops I have to jump through to appease Mimi’s little matchmaking mission, I’m not interested in Ethan. He’s definitely not the man for me, and I won’t be going out with him more than the obligatory one time.”
Emma purses her lips and turns away from me once again. “Well, don’t feel like you need to do that on my account.”
Reaching for my coffee, I try to discern just how much I can push this woman I barely know. “…Clearly you’re interested in him.”
She shrugs, artfully tossing some sprinkles on each of the cupcakes. “What makes you say that?”
I take another sip of coffee. “Emma. It was pretty obvious from the moment he walked up to the booth last night.”
She pauses her sprinkling and a look of horror overtakes her face. “Do you think he noticed?”
“He’s a man, so probably not.” Cocking my head, I continue to study my newest boss. “Why haven’t you ever said anything to him? By all accounts, Ethan is a nice guy. Even if he’s not interested—and he’d be a fool not to be, considering you’re a total smoke show who bakes for a living—I’m sure he would be cool about it.”
Emma hefts the tray of cupcakes over to the display case and neatly arranges the baked goods on the lavender shelves. “I could never make the first move! That’s the man’s job.”
I roll my eyes. “In what world? Maybe I’ll use my so-called date to fill him in on all your amazing attributes.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “You can’t do that!”
“Why not?” I lean my butt against the counter. I should probably offer to help or do something productive, but the caffeine hasn’t fully sunk in yet and I’d much rather expend my energy figuring out how to bring Heart Springs out of the 1900s. The early part.
“Because you just can’t. If he’s interested, he’ll make the first move.”
“What if he’s too shy? What if he thinks you aren’t interested? Seriously, Emma, there’s nothing wrong with seeing what you want and going for it. Where I’m from, women make the first move all the time.” I swig the last of my coffee and place the empty mug in a tub stacked with other dishes needing to be washed.
Emma’s eyes tighten in something looking suspiciously glarelike. “You can take those to the back. Sponges and dish soap are under the sink.”
Man, I know no one likes being pushed out of their comfort zone, but dishwashing duty seems kind of a harsh punishment from someone I thought I was getting along with.
But Emma turns her back, and if I don’t want to completely blow my final job opportunity, I probably shouldn’t irritate her any more than I already have. I hoist up the tub and barely manage to make it to the kitchen without dropping the whole damn thing.
Not only do I have this huge stack of dishes to wash, but the sink is already filled with all the pans and bowls and measuring cups Emma must have used to bake this morning’s muffins and croissants and pastries.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
This is my chance to prove I’m not a total waste of space when it comes to demanding careers. Sure, I’m used to the demands coming from angry clients and my overbearing family members, but if I can handle my grandmother belittling me in front of the entire firm, I can manage a few dishes.
An hour and a half later, I’m finally drying the last set of bowls. My back is throbbing. My hands are pruney. And my feet feel like I’ve been walking the streets of Manhattan in six-inch stilettos. For ten hours.
I toss the towel on the counter and bend over to stretch out my back, groaning as my muscles pull and ache in all kinds of unfamiliar ways.
The door to the kitchen swings open.
“Peace offering?” Emma hands me a plate with a perfectly decorated cupcake.
“For what?” I question, even as I accept the plate and rip the wrapper away from the cake.
“I was flustered by your questions, about me and about Ethan, and I shouldn’t have given you dish duty just because I was upset.” Emma moves to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs before crossing to the giant shelves housing all the dry ingredients.
“Emma, you’re my boss, you can make me wash dishes whenever you want. Or whenever you need.” I break off the bottom half of the cupcake and smush it down on top of the frosting.
Emma watches me curiously.
I hold up my creation. “Perfect frosting to cake ratio and it means I don’t get a face full of buttercream when I bite into it.” Which I do, taking down half the cake in one chomp. “Fuck me, this is amazing,” I mumble around my mouthful of red velvet deliciousness.
Emma grins, sifting flour into a large bowl. “Thank you. And thank you for what you said, about Ethan.”
I swallow the remainder of my cupcake. “I meant it, you know. I know I don’t exactly have the best reputation around here, but if there’s one thing I’m never going to do, it’s go after someone else’s man.”
She cracks an egg with one hand, effortlessly adding it to her batter. “He’s not really my man, and you could certainly do a lot worse.”
I watch as she mixes all the ingredients together. “I’m sure I could. But it’s still not happening.” I rinse my hands in the sink. “Now, what would you like me to work on next? Assuming you haven’t already decided to fire me.”
She pushes a muffin tin my way. “You haven’t done anything that would warrant a firing.”
I flash her a sweet smile. “The day is young, Emma dear.”
“You’re not nearly as scary as you want everyone to think you are, you know.” She hands me a stick of butter. “Now grease those pans so we can get these muffins in the oven before the next rush.”
“Yes, boss.” I give her a mock salute, and we share a laugh. And it feels good.
—
I don’t bother opening the gate in front of my house when I’ve finally made it home after my shift at the bakery. I push right through Ben’s gate instead, but I don’t find him waiting on the porch. I think about leaving, but I kind of want to tell him about my day. About how, even though I got off to a rocky start, it didn’t turn out too terribly.
So I knock on the door. I almost leave when he doesn’t immediately answer, but then the door swings open and I find I can’t breathe.
Ben stands in the doorway, dressed in jeans that hug his hips and a tight T-shirt. A pair of thick gloves hide his hands and a pair of plastic work goggles sit on top of his head, pushing his hair out of his face and highlighting his perfect cheekbones and square jaw. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Sorry for stopping by unannounced. Clearly you’re in the middle of something.” I gesture to the goggles. “I can come back later.”
“Come on in, I was just doing some work in the garage.”
“Garage?” I do a mental scan of my own identical home, knowing there’s no garage attached.
Ben leads me through his house, which, though the layout is the same as mine, couldn’t be more different. There’s lots of dark woods and navy blues and bottle greens. It’s like our homes are stereotypical his and hers versions of the same place.
He pushes open a door at the back, gesturing for me to step into a brightly lit space.
“Holy shit.” I don’t know what I expected to find on the other side, but it wasn’t this.
The space is filled with wood furniture in various stages of completion. A large oak dining table takes up one corner, and chairs are scattered throughout, some with missing legs, some looking like they need a coat of paint.
“Did you make all of this?” I run a finger along the smooth edge of a bookcase. “How did you get all of this done in only a couple of days?”
Ben takes off his gloves, opens a small fridge, and pulls out two beers. “It’s really strange. Yesterday when I got home from the doctor’s office, I was just thinking about how much I was missing my woodworking.” He pops the top on one bottle and hands it to me. “This door appeared almost as if out of nowhere and when I came inside, all of my old projects were here waiting for me.”
“Well, I guess we know who Heart Springs’s favorite child is.” It sure as fuck isn’t me, not that that’s any big surprise. He gestures to a chair with four legs, and I sit. “How do you find time to do all of this while working as a surgeon?”
He drags over another chair, sitting across from me. “Hobbies are important. And, some days, I find I really need a way to decompress.”
I can only imagine. The amount of guilt I feel when I mess up a deal—even if it does happen rarely—can be overwhelming. When Ben has a bad day at the office, children’s lives are on the line.
I trace the intricately carved pattern on the arm of the chair. “You do beautiful work.”
Ben’s cheeks flush, and he tries to hide it with a sip of beer. “Thanks. I imagine that’s a high compliment coming from you.”
I let my hands rest on the arms of the chair, feeling an appreciation for the curves of the wood, as if knowing Ben’s hands shaped the chair suddenly make it more comforting. “It is.”
Ben smirks, but it’s teasing, and if I’m being honest, kind of cute. “I take it you don’t have many hobbies.”
I twist my beer bottle in my hands. “I don’t have time for hobbies.”
“Seems like you don’t make time for much.” His words might sting if it weren’t for their underlying truth.
I look for something to throw at him, but since the only thing within range is a glass beer bottle, I figure I should abstain. “Yeah, yeah.”
“How did it go at the bakery today?”
I shrug, swigging the last of my beer. “It was mostly good, I think. Emma is basically the nicest person I’ve ever met so she should be an easy boss to work for. Can’t say baking is going to suddenly be my new life’s passion, but I think of all the options so far, it’s the least painful.”
“Maybe you just need to give it some time. You might surprise yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’re the golden boy who somehow managed to escape all of this with no tasks involved.”
Ben sets down his beer. “I have a task.”
It’s a good thing I’m out of beer, because I would have choked on it. “I’m sorry, what?”
Ben sighs, rubbing his hands down the thighs of his jeans, drawing my attention to the toned muscles of his legs. “I have a task, I just haven’t told you about it.”
I stand, crossing to the fridge and grabbing two more beers. “Wait a minute, so you mean to tell me while I’ve been sitting here every night letting you see how badly I’ve been failing at everything I try, you’ve been working on your own tasks and not giving me the details?”
Ben takes both beers, popping the lids before handing one back to me. “Seems so.”
“Rude.” I wait an appropriate amount of time to let him give me the info I obviously need. “This is the part where you tell me about whatever it is Mimi’s making you do.”
“No can do, sweetheart.”
I study him as he very purposefully avoids my gaze. “Hmm. Well, I know it has nothing to do with your job. Does it have to do with your love life? You did willingly go on a blind date, so you might actually be looking for a real relationship.”
“It’s not love related.” His answer is a little too quick. I bookmark that response to examine further later.
“Family related, then?” I realize then that I know nothing about Ben’s family, probably because I’ve never taken the time to ask.
He shrugs. “Nope.”
“Of course not. You probably have one of those families where you all like one another and get along and enjoy being together.”
“I don’t think that’s as rare as you think it is, sweetheart.” He taps his fingers on his beer bottle. “But yeah, mine are pretty great. One sister, two parents who are still in love and happily married. I got pretty lucky in that department.”
I wonder what that must be like. “Sometimes I wish for a family like that.”
“You might make it easier to have one like that if you talked to yours, told them how you really feel about things.”
“I’ve never been good at making things easier for myself.” I sip from the bottle of beer and lean back in my chair.
Ben leans back too, though this time his eyes stay firmly trained on me. “Why is that, do you think?”
“Uh oh, did Mimi send you to psychoanalyze me? Is this your task? Get inside my head and figure out why the fuck I can’t just find a way to be happy with this prescribed little life?”
Ben doesn’t say anything. Damn him for being able to sit quietly, a trait I’ve never been able to master.
I chug half the beer before spewing out my story. “My family is a lot. My grandmother was one of the first women to graduate from Harvard Law School.” I shoot him a side-eyed glance, watching for his reaction, though he doesn’t give me much of one. “She started this law firm in New York and basically turned it into one of the biggest and most successful in the country. We specialize in mergers and acquisitions.” Raising my eyebrows, I throw Ben a questioning look.
“I’ve heard of it from Sophie, but don’t really know what it entails.”
“Basically, we help big businesses buy other businesses.”
Ben purses his lips. “I’m assuming by that you mean you help greedy corporations acquire struggling independent companies?”
I ignore the judgment in his nonquestion. “Yup. And we do it well. I do it well. I knew by the time I was five years old that I was going to be a lawyer, just like Grandmother. I knew by the time I was ten I was going to be the best lawyer, just like Grandmother. And I knew by the time I was twenty I was going to run the firm one day, just like Grandmother.”
“Did anyone ever stop to ask you if that’s what you wanted?” Ben asks the question softly, but it still feels like a punch to the solar plexus.
“That’s not a thing we do in our family. You fall in line, you exceed ridiculously high expectations, or you get out.”
“Who got out?”
“My mom.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, as if being abandoned by your mother could ever be anything other than a big deal. “She was supposed to be the successor. My grandmother’s firstborn, her only daughter. She was groomed to take over the firm when she was young, but she basically revolted. She fell in love with my dad and got knocked up. He left before I was born. Grandmother was still willing to give her a chance—pay for childcare while my mom went to law school—but my mom refused. Said the firm was a crime against humanity and she wanted no part of it. When I was twelve, she moved to California and became an art teacher, and we haven’t heard from her since.” I didn’t know much when I was little, other than I wanted to do everything in my power to not fail like she did, to not continually disappoint my grandmother the way she did. The intense desire for success only grew as I got older, as I became even more determined to prove I was not the weak kind of woman my mother was.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s a simple statement, but one I haven’t heard in a very long time. At least not regarding something like this. My associates at the firm apologized to me constantly, but that’s probably because they were messing up constantly. Is it my fault I pushed them all to succeed and most of them couldn’t hack it?
I set my beer bottle on a nearby stool, still half full. If I don’t stop drinking now, the pity party is going to turn ugly, and I refuse to fall apart in front of Ben. “I should get to bed. Gotta be at the bakery early again tomorrow.” I push up from my chair.
Ben reaches out a hand but stops short of making physical contact. “Thank you for telling me all that, I’m sure it’s not easy to talk about.”
“You can pay me back by not using it against me.”
Ben stands, bringing the two of us level, with only a few inches of space separating us. “I wouldn’t do that, Cam.”
It’s stupid, but I think I actually believe him. I nod and turn to leave.
This time he does make contact, his hand wrapping around my wrist. The brush of his skin on mine is heady, the woodsy scent of him filling my nose.
He hesitates long enough that I know he’s not happy about whatever it is that comes next.
“Just say it, Ben. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”
“Mimi wanted me to tell you your date with Ethan is tomorrow. He’ll pick you up at three o’clock.” He drops my hand and takes a step back.
I nod again, words lodged in my throat. This time when I turn to leave, Ben lets me go. But that doesn’t stop me from looking back at him as I stroll from the room.