Chapter 11 #2
“I’ll be right back,” she told the dog, patting his head before slipping outside. Her ankle was protesting the long night, and the last thing she needed was Crumpet’s leash in one hand, the cupcakes in the other, and a fresh patch of slippery sidewalk.
It hadn’t yet snowed, so the sidewalks and street were mostly clear, but the air was crisp with the promise of another flurry.
No one was outside by the work trucks and the door to the neighboring townhome was still closed, so she went up the stairs, holding tightly to the platter and taking each step slowly.
When she reached the front door, she pressed her thumb against the doorbell and waited.
“It’s open!” Wes’s voice called from somewhere inside.
Andrea pushed through the door into the front entry of the townhouse. Plastic sheeting lined the staircase, and drop cloths covered the entryway floor, creating a protected pathway from the door to the upper level. The warm air carried the scent of fresh paint.
She heard movement upstairs—the sound of voices and hum of power tools—but couldn’t see anyone yet.
A moment later, Wes appeared, coming down from the second floor, carefully navigating the plastic-covered steps.
He smiled at the sight of her, and Andrea smiled back.
He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, and his shirt appeared to be smattered with bits of ivory paint.
The fabric was molded to his body, revealing more of his form than she’d seen thus far, as he was usually bundled up in layers.
Even at the pub, he’d worn a button-up flannel over his shirt, which was still a good look for him, but seeing his muscled physique under the thin fabric of the t-shirt sent her mind racing in a whole new direction.
“I thought you were Jim,” Wes said as he jogged down the final two steps and came to stand before her. “He went out to get lunch.”
Her throat went dry as she held up the platter of cupcakes. “Well, I don’t have lunch, but I do have these.”
His eyes went wide and he rubbed his hands together gleefully, sending her into a fit of giggles. “If you’re fast, you can hoard them all in your truck before the other guys get back.”
Wes grinned. “Eh, Tommy’s upstairs. Probably listening in.” He craned around to check over his shoulder. When no one appeared, Wes turned back to face her, though this time his eyes were on her, the treats between them seemingly forgotten. “I’m glad to see you, though. How is your ankle?”
“Hmm. Ninety-five percent.”
Wes chuckled. “Good! Emma hasn’t stopped asking about you, you know.”
Andrea smiled, but a part of her wasn’t sure how to feel about the revelation. Wes was still smiling, though, so she assumed he wasn’t upset. Besides, it wasn’t like the young girl could know what was going on between them. Andrea wasn’t even 100% certain what was going on.
All she knew was she very much wished to rid herself of the cupcakes and throw herself into Wes’s arms before any of his crew members appeared. She’d been waiting to see his face when he tried the cupcake, but now she had other ideas in mind to keep his mouth occupied.
“That’s sweet,” Andrea said, forcing her mind—and eyes—away from Wes’s lips. “You should take her one of these. I brought plenty. You’ll have to tell me if they do your grandmother’s pecan tassies justice.”
Footsteps sounded outside and Andrea stepped aside as the front door opened and the bearded Jim appeared, take-out bags in hand. “Oops! Excuse me,” he said, squeezing his burly frame past her.
“Food finally here?” another male voice said from upstairs.
And just like that, the moment was broken and Andrea and Wes were surrounded. The lunch order was quickly forgotten as Jim and Tommy realized there were fresh sweets available, but they hesitated, letting Wes give them the go-ahead before each of them snagged a cupcake.
Wes held her gaze as he peeled away the paper liner, which sent Andrea’s heart skittering once more. His eyes closed, though, as he took in the flavors of the first bite and moaned with delight. “Oh my god, Andrea! This is incredible!”
Jim and Tommy both heartily agreed, their words mumbled around quickly-taken second and third bites. But Wes savored his, and licked the frosting from his thumb. “What did you put in here?”
“Crack!” Jim teased, nearly done with his.
Andrea snorted a laugh. “I promise, nothing illegal.”
In truth, she hadn’t even used magic in the recipe.
“It’s exactly like the pecan—what did you call them, again? Tassies?” Wes said.
Andrea nodded, unable to suppress a wide grin.
“My grandmother would love the recipe,” he added.
“I’ll happily give it to her,” Andrea agreed, a flush of pride filling her. She hadn’t felt this rush of satisfaction in so long. The thrill of it was making her giddy.
Jim and Tommy both swiped seconds off the platter, and Jim nodded in agreement. “My wife would kill for this recipe, too. She’s always trying to recreate fancy bakery stuff. Does all the cakes and stuff for the kids and their friends’ birthday parties.”
Warmth spread through Andrea’s chest and she felt almost on the verge of tears. When was the last time someone had praised her work with such genuine enthusiasm? Not the calculated compliments of food critics or the polite appreciation of industry colleagues, but real, honest enjoyment.
“The secret is using bourbon barrel aged maple syrup,” she explained. “Do you know Sonny Hewitt? He has a maple farm around here somewhere.”
Wes chuckled. “Oh, yes. Everyone in town knows Sonny.”
Andrea smiled. The man had been something of a character. It was easy to picture him drowning a random stranger with maple syrup facts while waiting in line to order a coffee or pay for groceries.
“I think I’ll take this one home to Michelle,” Jim added, taking a third cupcake. “She’ll love it.”
“Of course,” Andrea said, pleased by the request. “Take as many as you’d like. I can always make more.”
As the two men passed through to go eat lunch, Wes moved closer to Andrea and took his final bite. “Thanks for this. These are seriously incredible.”
“It was fun figuring it out,” she replied. “And I have you to thank for the inspiration.”
“Well, you nailed it.” His eyes held hers for a moment longer. “It’s amazing watching you do what you love. You’ve got this spark when you talk about baking.”
Something warm unfurled in Andrea’s chest at the simple sincerity in his voice, like a rose opening its petals in spring.
“So,” Wes said, seeming to gather his courage, “now that your ankle’s healing up, I was wondering if you might want to have dinner with me tomorrow night? Um, I mean, as a date. Officially.”
Andrea’s pulse quickened as she nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Great.” His smile widened, revealing the dimple etched on the right side of his mouth. “I’ve got just the place in mind.”
“What’s it called?” Andrea asked.
“Nope.” Wes’s eyes turned slightly mischievous. “It’s a surprise.”
“Come on,” Andrea wheedled. “I hate not knowing what to expect. What if I’m overdressed? Underdressed?”
“You’ll look perfect,” Wes said, clearly enjoying her frustration. “I have no doubt. You don’t need anything fancy.”
“That’s not as helpful as you might think,” Andrea countered with an arch of her brow.
“It’s not supposed to be helpful. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
Andrea tried a different tactic, stepping closer. “Not even a tiny hint?”
“Are you trying to charm information out of me?”
“Is it working?”
“Absolutely not,” Wes said, but his voice had gotten lower. “Though you’re welcome to keep trying.”
“Hey, boss!” Jim’s voice cut through the moment. “Need your eyes on this measurement.”
Wes stepped back reluctantly. “Duty calls. But I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” Andrea said, trying to look disappointed instead of charmed by his stubbornness. “But I’m not giving up. I have the next twenty-eight hours to crack you.”
“Good luck with that,” Wes said, already heading back toward his crew. “You’re going to need it.”
As Andrea walked away holding the tray, she found herself smiling.
She’d always been the one in control in her previous relationships—choosing restaurants, planning activities, setting the pace.
Having someone else take charge, especially someone who clearly had put thought into surprising her, was unexpectedly appealing.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Wes:
Stop planning how to interrogate me. It won’t work.
She typed back:
We’ll see about that.
Looking forward to it.
Andrea tucked her phone away, still grinning like a fool as she left the remaining cupcakes in the home’s kitchen and slipped away.