Chapter Fourteen
I knew it was too much to hope, but I’m still irritated when I discover Cecily wasn’t kidding about working around our schedules and finding time to push Georgie and me together. She left me alone that first day after talking to Vanderman, during which I reorganized the surf shop until it was late enough for me to go home and crash without talking to either Georgie or her friend, but I just finished up my last lesson today, and Cecily is standing in the surf shop doorway with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Georgie is right behind her looking green.
“This place is darling!” Cecily says by way of greeting.
I ignore her and keep my focus on my wife. My wife. That’s a phrase that’s been on repeat for two days, and I’m not thrilled about it. I was starting to get used to the idea, but now it’s like my brain needs it front and center at all times. “How was your day?” I ask Georgie.
She shrugs. “Pretty normal.”
Cecily’s gaze snaps back to her. “Excuse me?”
Georgie sighs. “I met with Beck today and talked about possible updates to the layout.”
I try to hide the sharp pains that shoot through my chest at the thought of anything in that bakery changing, but I’m not sure I manage it. I know it needs some renovations, but I’m still worried I’m going to step inside one day and not recognize the place. I don’t think Georgie’s that heartless, but what do I know?
Maybe the sharp pain is a repeat of my worries from the other night at the pool hall. I don’t think Beck would go for Georgie, but…
Clearing my throat, I busy myself with closing out the register. If only I had a valid reason to run away from this conversation, but I don’t. “And?”
“He thinks we can make all the changes pretty quickly, though we’ll have to do it in pieces so I can stay open while he works.”
“That’s great.” At least it won’t be a total overhaul, but now I’m imagining my friend wielding his contractor muscles while Georgie sits on the counter and watches him work, with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies ready for him on her lap. I shudder. “Beck is good at what he does.”
“Ahem.” That’s Cecily, and I already know what she’s going to say next. “Do, Mr. Kingston. Remember, there’s no trying when it comes to relationships.”
I look up and meet Georgie’s gaze again. Her almost-smile is enough to tell me she thinks this is as ridiculous as I do, but we don’t really have a choice. Especially because we could have had to sit down with some snooty guy chosen by Mr. Vanderman, and that would have been a disaster. Cecily, at least, will have Georgie’s best interest at heart, whatever that will mean in the end.
“I still don’t love that you’re making changes,” I admit, knowing Cecily will likely keep pushing me until I speak my truths. And I’m not about to say anything about how I’m worried Georgie will fall for Beck, who is both friendly and generally considered attractive.
I don’t know how Cecily knew I was going to be resistant to saying what I’m really feeling, but she seems to have me pinned down without even knowing me. I also don’t know how Georgie is friends with this woman. Then again, Georgie has only ever been afraid to speak her mind once. I still have no idea why she ran from my proposal, and it’s likely that I never will.
Georgie sighs. “I know you don’t like it, but a lot of things need to be replaced. I’m sure even Bill would agree with me if he were here.”
“Maybe, but he’s not here to disagree either.”
“I promise it will be worth it.”
“Maybe,” I agree again. But that won’t change the fact that every renovation is going to be a step away from what’s left of my family. One of these days I’ll convince myself that a building doesn’t equate to my uncle’s memory, but I don’t think that’s going to be today.
“Here’s what I think you two need,” Cecily says, stepping into my line of sight so I have to look at her instead of Georgie. Ignoring my scowl, she reaches out a hand toward each of us. If she’s expecting me to grab hold, she’s got another thing coming. “I don’t know enough about you, King, and I really want to see how well you work together so I know where we need to focus.”
“What does that entail, exactly?” Georgie asks. Unlike me, she took Cecily’s hand, but I think she’s regretting that now that she’s closer to Cecily’s wild-eyed look. It’s going to be a lot harder for her to escape, and if I have to leave her behind to get away from whatever Cecily is planning, I may not even look back.
Cecily wiggles her fingers at me for a few seconds and then gives up, instead lifting her hand to touch a finger to her lips. “That is an excellent question, Georgie. I have two options in mind for tonight. One King will probably hate, and the other I know you will.”
“The first one,” I say quickly, which surprises me as much as it seems to surprise them. I shrug as I try to figure out why I would choose something I’m not going to like. “I get the feeling we’ll be doing both things at some point, so I might as well get the awful one over first.”
“What if I want to use that argument?” Georgie asks.
“King beat you to it,” Cecily says. “Therefore, we’re heading to the bakery!”
Well, now I’m questioning my choice, and I have the sudden horrifying vision of being forced to hear about every single change Georgie wants to make and offer up my honest opinion. That is not going to end well for anyone unless I suddenly become a master of deception. There’s no way I can look Georgie in the face and tell her flat-out that I will hate any change she wants to make, even if it’s the truth.
This time, Cecily forcefully grabs my hand instead of offering hers to me, and she’s pulling me out of the shop before I can protest.
I still try. “Wait! Can I lock up first?”
Cecily reluctantly lets me finish closing up the shack before she grabs hold again and pulls me to the boardwalk. The sun is starting to set, and Coral Berry is more crowded than it has been so far this season. It’s like everyone and their dog—literally, there are a million dogs—decided to come to Willow Cove in the last couple of days and crowd the boardwalk. Before the meeting with Vanderman, I would have been glad for the cover of tourists so we won’t be watched as closely by the locals, but now it means Georgie and I will be busier than ever.
“Why are we going to the bakery?” Georgie asks, a little breathless because Cecily is walking like a woman on a mission and dragging us with her. “I thought we were just going to sit around and talk for twenty minutes or something.”
“Oh, but that’s not going to work for you two. This counseling is going to require a special touch.”
“I really don’t like the sound of that,” I say.
Cecily merely throws a grin at me.
Thankfully, the bakery is closed by this point so the place is blessedly quiet compared to the rest of the boardwalk. Bill always talked about maybe keeping the place open later in the day because inevitably several dozen tourists will try the door throughout the evening, but I’m glad we’ve kept to normal baking hours. They can go to Maggie’s sweet shop down the way and try us again in the morning.
“Seriously, what are we doing here?” Georgie asks. “I already spent all day here, and while I love baking, I don’t love it that much.”
“Do you love it enough to walk King through how to make macarons?”
Georgie snorts. “Do you mean macaroons?”
“Excuse you, but which one of us has actually been to Paris? I mean macarons.”
I have a vague idea what Cecily is talking about, and I’m pretty sure Georgie was making them before we went ring shopping. I also know Bill tried to make them a couple of times and ended up going on a tirade about French pastries when he couldn’t get them to bake right.
“King can’t make macarons,” Georgie says, though she heads into the kitchen as if ready to face the challenge.
I follow her with a frown. “Why can’t King make macarons?” I ask indignantly. She’s probably right, but I don’t like how little faith she has in me.
“Because they take a delicate hand, and you don’t have those.” As if she needs to demonstrate, she lifts my hand within view of my face. But then her eyes catch on the ring on my finger, and a spark of something comes to life in her eyes.
I tug my hand free as a fire sparks in my belly to match.
Turning to Cecily, who followed us into the kitchen, Georgie shakes her head. “I can show him, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be able to do it.”
“I didn’t ask you to show him.”
“You said—”
“I told you that you’re going to walk him through it, which means you’re not allowed to touch any of it.”
I don’t especially love that Georgie laughs out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she says.
“They can’t be that hard,” I throw in. “I’ve been able to make decent versions of everything in Bill’s recipe book.”
That’s not necessarily true. There’s a reason Meg started relegating me to cookie duty. But I like to think I can follow instructions as well as anyone and, knowing Georgie, she’ll be incredibly particular with her directions.
Georgie’s argument comes quickly. “Bill didn’t make macarons.”
“But you do,” Cecily argues for me, raising an eyebrow at Georgie. “And if you want to convince this town and its questionable attorney that you are not a threat to their ecosystem, you need to prove that you trust this man enough to truly be his wife. AKA you have to trust him with something important to you. King is trusting you with his uncle’s bakery, Georgie, and I don’t think you realize how difficult this is for him.”
Georgie’s eyes meet mine, her eyebrows low, and while I would absolutely love to pretend Cecily is wrong, I can’t. Maybe it’s because it’s coming from her friend, or maybe it hasn’t been put in such clear terms before now, but Georgie seems to grasp my take on this for the first time.
“Okay,” she says with a sigh. “King, I’m sorry. I know you’re not getting a lot out of this deal.”
“No, I’m not,” I agree.
Cecily clears her throat. I don’t know how she knows I’m holding back, but I’m getting the sense that she is very good at her job.
I roll my eyes. “But Kingston’s was dying, and if you can save her, I have to let you do it. Even if I don’t want you to change it.”
“Georgie knows what she’s doing,” Cecily says and puts a hand on my arm.
I stare at it for a moment, but it’s kind of nice being touched by someone who isn’t flirting with me. That doesn’t happen often. Okay, wow, I should really get out more. I sound pathetic.
“She’s been dreaming up her own bakery for years,” Cecily continues, “and you should have seen her talking to that Beck guy earlier. She loves this place, and she’s going to make it shine.”
With a warm smile toward her friend that I wish she reserved only for me, Georgie grabs a couple of aprons and hands one to me. “Okay, well, if we want to get these done before midnight, we’d better get started.”
Cecily snatches the apron out of her hand before she can tie it. “You’re not touching anything, Georgiana, so you’re not going to need this. How about you take a seat?”
Georgie is clearly not happy about being forced into the office chair, but she doesn’t argue. Cecily grabs another chair from the lobby for herself, and then she motions for us to begin.
“Okay,” Georgie says with a bit of strain in her voice. “First, you’re going to need to whip up some egg whites…”
Forty-five minutes later, I’m covered in powdered sugar and ready to storm out of the bakery in frustration, Georgie is going hoarse from shouting at me, and Cecily is having way too much fun for someone who, as far as I’m aware, is on our side. I’m starting to doubt that part.
“You’re supposed to be tucking the kids in for bed, Kingston!” Georgie says. “Not drowning your enemies in a bathtub!”
“That analogy doesn’t even make sense,” I growl. I’m attempting to fold the almond flour mixture into the green-colored egg whites, but apparently I’m being too aggressive. If I was holding the spatula any lighter, I wouldn’t be touching it at all.
Georgie lasted in her chair for about five minutes, and she’s been hovering over me ever since. The only reason she hasn’t taken the bowl out of my hands is because Cecily tied her hands behind her back, but that hasn’t stopped her from leaning on my arm as if she might telepathically control my hands for me. “You’re doing it all wrong,” she complains.
“I know what ‘fold’ means,” I argue. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, I’m not completely useless.” Though, Georgie’s doing a great job of making me feel that way. “I lived with Uncle Bill for almost a decade, so I did pick up a thing or two.”
“Yeah, well, Bill wasn’t exactly a trained pastry chef, was he?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Georgie winces. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. I loved Bill. You know I did.”
My own words come out rough but quiet. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
She sighs. “I know. You just need to…” She nods toward the half-mixed bowl of batter in front of us. “If you don’t mix it gently, you’ll knock all the air out of the egg whites.”
“Oh.” I frown at the mixture. “I didn’t realize that was the reason for all of this ‘tucking into bed’ nonsense.”
Chuckling, Georgie nudges my arm, which I take as an invitation to keep mixing. “It was the best I could come up with. If I knew anything about surfing, I would have found a surf analogy.”
“Did you ever go surfing with King over the summers?” Cecily asks.
“No,” we both say together.
I tried so many times to convince her to at least try it, but Georgie’s fear of the ocean is strong. I don’t blame her, but it would have made those summers when we were young all that much better. I enjoyed doing the things she wanted to do, but surfing is in my soul. I would have loved to share that part of me with her.
“Hmm,” Cecily says and jots something down on the iPad she pulled out soon after we started this macaron business. Apparently she really meant it when she said she would do her job right, and I’m terrified of what Vanderman might end up reading at the end of these two weeks. If tonight is any proof, Georgie and I are both a little too hard-headed to play nicely with each other.
Georgie clears her throat, pulling my attention back to the macaron batter. “A couple more times, and I think you’ll be good. Through the middle and around the sides…”
I do as she tells me, though I honestly can’t say with certainty that it’s mixed all the way through. “This is ridiculously complicated for a little cookie.”
“Macaronage is something every pastry chef hates at first, but once you get the hang of it, it’s not that bad.”
“When did you learn all this? You didn’t go to school or anything.”
Georgie smiles, and it seems like she’s lost in memory. “I learned most things from Bill, and then I practiced other techniques during the rest of the year by watching videos online and reading recipe blogs. I got a job at a really good bakery not long after I met Cecily.”
We both glance at Cecily, who grins back at us before jotting down some more notes. A cheery chime fills the space a second later, and she looks down at her phone. “It’s Jet,” she says, lifting the phone to her ear and slipping out into the lobby with her iPad tucked under her arm.
“Her husband,” Georgie explains.
“Ah.”
For a moment, she and I stand here and look at each other, like neither of us is sure what we should do now that we’re no longer under the watchful gaze of our therapist. There’s no question Cecily will be back at some point and expecting us to continue, but what do we do in the meantime?
“You’ll need a piping bag next,” Georgie says after clearing her throat. When I open a drawer to grab one, only to find it full of towels instead, she bites her lip. “Sorry. I moved them to that one over there. It helps my flow by having that stuff closer to where I usually do the piping work.”
I ignore the flash of irritation that rushes through me. “Smart.” I mean that, even if the word came out a little rough. I can’t expect Georgie to operate exactly the same way Uncle Bill did, and swapping drawers isn’t the same as erasing someone’s memory.
With a piping bag in hand, I start loading up the batter and search for another topic of conversation. If I can keep her talking, she’s less likely to judge the mess I’m making as I try to get all the batter into the bag. “What about that fancy boyfriend of yours?” I ask. I regret it instantly but keep going. “Did you learn anything from him?”
I’m not sure I want to know what prompts the blush on her cheeks.
“Baking-wise, he learned more things from me than the other way around. We met on the set of that competition I was in, and the only reason he got first place was because the final challenge was his specialty. He got lucky. Most of the stuff we sell in the Home Baked bakery are my recipes.”
“So why is he the one who gets to keep the show and stuff now that you’ve split up?”
She huffs in frustration. “That is a good question, Kingston. His name is the one behind the company, so he made the argument that I have no claim, and I was too tired of his crap to fight it.”
Now he really sounds like an idiot, and I think I might understand why she wants to own Kingston’s instead of keeping it under my name. All things considered, she’s been very calm about everything even though it hasn’t been going exactly how she hoped. If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to hide my frustration.
She looks down at the half-full bag in my hands and nods. “Ready to start piping? You’re going to pipe in a circle, starting at the side and working your way to the center, and you’ll want to make them about an inch and a half in diameter without ending with a point in the middle. I would demonstrate for you if I could.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Do one, and I’ll tell you if you’re doing it right.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
“That’s a fun word. Not exactly a surf term, so where’d you pick that one up? A little smaller.”
I furrow my brow, as much in confusion as concentration as I do my best to pipe out the round cookies to her specifications. “You do know I went to college, don’t you?”
“What?” She bumps into my arm so hard that she completely messes up the macaron I was piping. “Why didn’t I know that?”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“I don’t know. I guess since you’re still working at the surf shack. You said you bought it when you were nineteen!”
I shrug, though it stings to think she wouldn’t expect me to continue my education. I know I’m small-town, but I like to think I have a big life ahead of me. Or, I did before Uncle Bill passed away and made me the last Kingston. Now dreaming of more for my life seems pointless. “The shack is only open part of the year, and Pete still managed it for those first few years while I was going to Charleston Southern. I worked the shop in the afternoons.”
“You still lived in Willow Cove?”
“It wasn’t that long of a drive, and I did half my classes online. I thought about moving to Charleston for the last couple of years, but I liked being around Uncle Bill too much.”
“What did you study?”
“Business.” And I would really like to talk about something that isn’t me. “You know people can have good vocabularies without getting a degree, right? You don’t have a degree, so you should be offended by your own surprise that I would use a word like magnanimous.”
Color floods her face, but she smiles a little, so she’s not entirely embarrassed. She nods to the half-full tray in front of me. “Those aren’t completely terrible.”
“You’re not completely terrible,” I shoot back and then pipe a little circle of macaron batter onto her forehead.
She gasps, mouth gaping open. “I can’t believe you just did that. Especially when I can’t fight back!”
“We can’t have that.” I move in close, which both works to shut her mouth and gets me near enough to reach behind her. Working slowly, I tug loose the apron strings that have held her hands captive behind her back. I’m taking my time both so I can prepare for her counterstrike and because I’ve got a noseful of her intoxicating scent. I could stand here all night. “Never let it be said that I don’t fight fair,” I whisper.
When my fingers brush against Georgie’s hand, she curls her fingers around mine for a brief moment. A gesture of gratitude for freeing her, maybe? Regardless, her touch is as electric as it has been since her return, and I can’t help but close my eyes as I take another deep breath of the smell of her shampoo.
When I open my eyes again, I’m overcome by how beautiful she is. I’ve always thought so, but I must have forgotten how it felt to gaze into those green eyes of hers and see everything. All of her fears and hopes. There were times when I thought I could hear her thoughts just by looking at her, and I’ve either lost the skill or she’s saying there’s a chance she might stay. Please stay.
Georgie grabs the piping bag from my other hand and squeezes it in my direction. The green goop oozes out too slowly and plops onto the floor between our feet. We stare at it for a moment, neither of us saying a word, and then I crack, snorting a chuckle that quickly turns into a full-blown laugh when Georgie starts giggling.
We both have the idea at the same time, our hands flying to the remainder of the batter in the bowl. I’m faster by only a second and manage to get a good slather across Georgie’s face before she’s stuffing a handful of slimy paste down my shirt. Gasping from the cold of it, I instinctively wrap my arms around her to hold her captive, but her messy hand is still free and ends up in my hair.
“That’s it.” Ignoring the shiver of pleasure that runs through me from her touch, I duck down and throw her over my shoulder. “You’re getting blasted.”
Georgie screams as I head for the industrial sink and the spray nozzle that has always felt akin to a fire hydrant with the way it gushes at high speed. “No! Royal! I give up! You win.”
I’m tempted to keep going, but I stop and set her back on her feet because she has never conceded before. But I keep hold of her in case I need to follow through with my threat when she inevitably tries to pull a fast one on me. Still, now that I have a good view of her face again, I can’t hold back my laugh. “You’re a mess.”
She smacks my chest half-heartedly, leaving her hand resting there. “I can’t believe you did that! And you can’t claim that I started it this time.”
No, I can’t, but I’m not finding the will to apologize. Not with the way she’s grinning at me right now. “You mean a faceful of macaron mess wasn’t part of your directions?” Using the heel of my hand, I brush some of the batter from her cheek, but it’s going to take a lot more than that to get her clean.
Despite the pale green mixture all over her skin, her eyes seem to glow beneath the kitchen lights, the most vivid green I’ve ever seen. I don’t know if anything will ever compare to her eyes. Windows to her incredible soul. “You know me better than that, Royal,” she says, leaning closer.
My heart starts pounding beneath her fingers, pushing me forward until my nose brushes hers. “Yeah, I do.” Please stay.
I can almost taste her, but a small voice in the back of my head reminds me there is no one we need to convince right now. If I kiss her now, it’s simply because I want to. And that will make this all so much messier. Maybe she’s thinking the same thing, or maybe my hesitation has communicated something else to her, but it’s Georgie who pulls away first.
“Um,” she says, taking a step back, “we need to let those sit for at least half an hour before we bake them. Maybe longer. But I should probably…”
Her eyes focus on something behind me, and I turn to see Cecily sitting on the counter nearest the door to the lobby. I have no idea how long she’s been there or how much of our interaction she saw, but she’s writing furiously on her iPad and grinning in a way that sends a chill down my spine. I don’t want to know what she thinks she’s learned tonight.
“You should go to bed,” I reluctantly tell Georgie. “I can clean up here.”
Maybe I imagine it, but she seems disappointed. “Are you sure? I can—”
“I’ve got this. You take care of you.” Stay.
“Okay.” She takes a step back and smiles. “Goodnight, Royal.”
That’s not the first time she called me that tonight, and for some reason the name doesn’t bother me. Maybe it’s because right now she feels more like the old Georgie, and in turn I feel more like myself for the first time in a long time.
I watch her leave arm in arm with Cecily, and when I run a hand through my hair and find it full of macaron batter, I can’t help but smile.