Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
FARRAH
“Surprise!” everyone yells to a grinning Bruce.
We’re huddled in his incredible penthouse apartment, and I’m feeling very uncomfortable that I’m here. I was only supposed to stop by to drop off the cake then leave. But Bruce and his family got here sooner than expected, and I couldn’t leave, or I would’ve run into them on the private elevator.
That’s right. Bruce McBride has his own freaking elevator. It even has white marble floors like the rest of the penthouse and brushed gold fixtures. Bruce’s home is sleek, modern, and everything you’d imagine of a rich bachelor. I torture myself by wondering how many women he’s brought back here and charmed the pants off. Literally.
I shudder at the thought.
Bruce is dressed in his game day suit, a rich purple with a black shirt and tie. The way his pants cling to his muscled quads should be illegal. His blond hair is tousled from the shower he likely took after the game, and his face looks excited at the gathered crowd, but oddly unsurprised. If I was a betting woman, I’d bet my brother somehow spoiled the surprise. He can keep a secret fine unless he’s asked a direct question, and then he’s the worst liar.
He claps his hands together. “Wow, thanks guys!”
His parents step forward, standing on either side of him and beaming proudly up at their son. Like…really far up. Bruce looks nothing like his parents. It’s shocking at first. I study them, trying to find similarities and coming up short. His dad is maybe a smidge taller than me with brown hair, and his mother is even shorter than Mel. His sister strides further into the room, a sleeping baby fastened to her front via a baby carrier. She has black hair like her mom and is as short as her mother. Then there’s Bruce. All two-hundred and sixty pounds of him. Not only is he the only blond one, but he’s also more than a head taller than the lot of them.
Mel is beside me, and I lean in to speak into her ear. “Am I crazy, or does Bruce look nothing like his family?”
Mel turns to me and snorts a laugh. “Didn’t you know he’s adopted?”
My eyes widen. I feel stupid now, that’s obviously the only explanation.
“I wish you could see your face,” she says through her laughter. “Can you imagine little tiny Mrs. McBride giving birth to that giant of a man?”
I shake my head, but I’m stunned by this fact about the man I keep trying to ignore. Adopted . Looking at him with this knowledge, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. How he adapted to his hockey teammates being his family, how he felt out of place when they all got married except for him. And how he volunteers with Big Brother Big Sister. Bruce just wants to feel like he’s part of a family, like he belongs. And he wants to help others do the same. My heart swells, bigger and bigger the longer I look at him.
I wonder if he wants to adopt someday.
I shake my head, willing the thought out of my brain. That’s a dangerous and nosey place for my mind to venture. Bruce’s future plans are none of my business, and they never will be. Also, Bruce is only turning twenty-eight today, so he’s only had a few years of a fully developed frontal cortex. He’s probably still learning how to use it.
Yes, yes. Good reminder. Bruce is not for you, Farrah.
“Well, the cake is in the fridge, so I’m heading home,” I whisper to Mel.
“Are you sure? I’m sure Bruce wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”
“I know, but I need to clean my apartment,” I lie.
I hug Mel and then move to make a quick escape before Andie and Noel notice and try to convince me to stay.
“Farrah!” I hear Bruce’s booming, deep voice ricochets across the high ceilings of the penthouse. He moves quickly toward me, stopping right in front of where I stand. “Hey,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Awkwardly, I shuffle on my feet. “I was just dropping off the cake?—”
He waves his family forward. “Hey, come here. I want you guys to meet Farrah.”
They rush over, eyeing me curiously. I feel like I’m under a microscope. Their expressions aren’t judgmental at all, but they’re hopeful. And they should not be looking between me and their son hopefully.
“Farrah is Remy’s little sister,” he explains. “She’s the best baker in the country. Or maybe even in North America.”
I roll my eyes, but a smile sneaks across my lips.
“Better than Petit Gateau?” his father asks.
“Ten times better,” Bruce answers. “And apparently she made my birthday cake.”
Bruce’s mother and sister smile at me. “Oh, I can’t wait to try it! Bruce is a sucker for baked goods. That must be why he’s so big,” his mother teases, reaching up and patting his shoulder.
His sister bounces up and down to keep the baby sleeping. “Or maybe his birth parents were Viking giants,” she teases with a wink.
I glance at Bruce to see how he reacts to the mention of his adoption. He brings a massive hand to his chest and gasps. “Are you telling me I’m adopted?”
His father steps forward, his eyebrows forming a vee. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. I know you thought your hair would eventually be black and shiny like Mom’s.”
Bruce sniffs. “I did. It’s so pretty.”
Bruce’s mother laughs and playfully shoves her husband. “Would you all behave?”
“Fine,” Bruce says. “Farrah, this is my mother, father, and older sister, Avery.” He peeks into the baby carrier. “And of course, my niece, Piper.” He looks meaningfully at his sister. “If you feed her lots of protein, maybe she’ll be as tall as me.”
His sister ignores him, reaching forward and shaking my hand, still studying me like there’s something to see here, when there’s clearly not. “Nice to meet you, Farrah. My husband wishes he was here too, but he had a big meeting.”
I nod and shake her hand and try not to think the worst of her husband. Big meetings were always Connor’s excuse for not making it to things. But I don’t want to be cynical. Some guys actually do like spending time with their wives and extended family and legitimately do have big meetings.
“Great meeting you all,” I say. “I’m heading home now that I dropped the cake off.” I turn to Bruce who’s looking at me a little too appreciatively. “Happy birthday. What are you now, twenty-five?” I ask, even though I know his age. But it’s a good reminder to him that he’s too young for me.
He puffs out his chest. “Twenty-eight. I’ll be thirty soon.” He winks.
Winking at me right in front of his family? Has he no shame? I feel my face heat.
“Right, well, I’ll see you later.”
“Oh, please stay!” Bruce’s mother says. “We ordered so much food. It should be here any minute.”
I hold in a groan. How does this always happen? I’ve got to come up with better escape plans. Especially since deep down I don’t even want to leave and go back to my quiet apartment. I want to stay and watch Bruce enjoy his birthday and see what he thinks of the cake I made. But that’s how someone with a crush would act. And I can’t have a crush on Bruce McBride.
It’s one thing to be attracted to him—who wouldn’t be—but to become emotionally attached? That’s where I’d get myself into trouble.
I don’t want trouble. I’ve had enough trouble to last a lifetime.
Avery rests a hand on my shoulder. “Please stay, Mom won’t take no for an answer.”
Not knowing how to get out of this, I nod my head. “Okay.”
“Now let’s see this cake!” Bruce’s dad says, raising a hand in the air.
I walk toward Bruce’s kitchen, a gorgeous space with a large, La Cornue stove in a dark blue color with polished brass features. I have drooled over this exact stove on the William-Sonoma website too many times to count.
I don’t realize I whimper out loud until I hear Bruce’s voice. “Does my stove turn you on that much? This whole time…all I had to do was show you my oven?”
His mouth is so close to my ear that I can feel his warm, minty breath. I hold back another whimper, this one having nothing to do with his kitchen appliances. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, stepping away from him. “My dream stove.”
He shrugs. “The only time I’ve used it is to heat up frozen pizza. You’re welcome to come over any time and use it.”
The fact that that’s the only thing he uses his La Cornue oven for makes me want to sob.
My brother walks over. “Hey, quit trying to steal my baker. My oven works just fine.” Remy looks at me in way I’ve never seen before…sort of like a bear protecting his bear cub. Which is ridiculous.
“Your oven is fine, but it’s no La Cornue.” I push my way past him to get to the commercial sized fridge that’s empty except for the large, raspberry chocolate birthday cake and some pre-prepared meals Bruce must’ve ordered for the week.
I reach inside the fridge to grab the cake, but strong arms gently push me aside. “I’ll get that,” Bruce rumbles from behind me. Way too close behind me. I can feel the heat of his body through my clothing.
I quickly scoot out of the way, trying not to touch him, but my back brushes against his front. Bruce seems unaffected, even though I can barely breathe, and carefully brings the cake out and sets it on the massive countertop that looks like black onyx or some equally expensive mineral. He tries to lift the lid of the box, but his hands are so big he has to try a few times. When he finally opens it his face lights up, which makes my insides light up, too. Which is exactly why I wanted to go home.
I know exactly what he’s looking at from his point of view hovering over the large, rectangular cake. I spent all morning frosting his birthday cake. The background is frosted in a light blue, with white for the ice. Then I piped on a hockey goal and a goalie wearing D.C. Eagles colors and with Bruce’s jersey number…thirty-nine. It’s really cute, and my hands are still sore from holding those piping bags for so long.
“Farrah, you outdid yourself,” he says, smiling at me. It’s not his big, beaming smile he uses when he wants attention…it’s a soft smile, a smile just for me. “This is the best cake I’ve ever had.”
Everyone gathers around to see the cake, oohing and ahhing. Bruce wiggles his way out of the crowd and strides toward me. He stops in front of me briefly before pulling me into a hug.
What is it about hugging a man in a crisp, tailored suit that just beats all other hugs? Plus, he smells incredible, like expensive cologne.
“Thank you,” his whispers against the top of my head. “All I wanted for my birthday was a shutout…and a Farrah cake.”