Epilogue
Love is made of sugar and spice…
Fall in love with Sweetbriar Cove in the next book in the USA Today bestselling series!
CHAPTER ONE
Summer Bloom was officially on vacation.
Sure, most people might not consider driving three hundred miles in traffic out to Cape Cod on delivery errand much of a break, but compared to rushing around in the noisy, hectic kitchen back at Chez Andre, she’d take it.
She had the windows down, her sunglasses on, and her favorite throwback Fleetwood Mac playlist blasting from the stereo.
The smog and traffic of New York City had long since faded in her rearview mirror, and now the ocean glittered, blue through the lush green trees; sand dusting the highway as she wound her way up the Cape in the restaurant’s refrigerated delivery van.
It was the weekend, and she had six layers of wedding cake in the back of the van, and forty-eight whole hours of freedom.
Summer took a gulp of the tangy sea breeze and smiled. Better than the exhaust fumes on Thirty-Eighth street, that was for sure. She turned down the volume of the music, and used the hands-free system to call her best friend, Poppy.
“What’s wrong?” Poppy answered immediately.
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” Summer asked.
“Because you never call at this time. You’re always at the restaurant, up to your elbows in pastry and soufflés, and those little layered cream things—”
“Mille feuille,” Summer finished for her. “And I’m not at the restaurant.”
Poppy gasped. “You finally quit!”
“No!” Summer exclaimed. “Why do you always think I’m going to quit?”
“Because your boss is a tyrant, you’re criminally under-appreciated, and you hate all the fancy, pretentious food they make you cook over there.”
Summer paused. “OK, that’s all true,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it’s part of my training. I have to pay my dues before—”
“—Before you can leave and go open your dream bakery, and make delicious treats all day long.” Poppy finished for her. “That’s what you’ve been saying for years. But you’re always working so hard, I never get to see you.”
“Then you’re in luck, because I’m heading your way.
” Summer swiftly changed the subject from her professional woes.
“Some snooty couple hired the restaurant to make their wedding cake, but the delivery guy called in sick today, so I’m driving it out to Sweetbriar Cove myself.
If you let me sleep on your couch, I can stay the whole weekend. ”
Poppy cheered. “Never mind the couch, you can have a whole luxurious guest room,” she said immediately. “We can watch movies… hit the beach… stop by the festival in town—”
“Woah there.” Summer laughed. “I’ve been working until 2 A.M all week. How about we start with movie night, and see how we go from there?”
She spotted an elegant-looking building up ahead by the beach, and slowed the van. The Sandy Lane Hotel. “This is my stop,” she told Poppy. “I’ll get the cake set up, and make sure they sing my praises to Chef Andre, then be on my way. See you soon!”
She hung up, and steered the truck down the driveway, where a friendly porter directed her past the row of gleaming cars and around to the delivery entrance in back. She parked, and leapt down, throwing open the doors at the back of the truck.
Six hefty cool boxes stared back at her.
Now, this was the tricky part. Every layer of her famous wedding cake was laden with butter and bourbon-soaked peaches, not to mention the magnificent peaks of Swiss meringue frosting.
All that delicious-ness added up to a serious weight-lifting work-out.
It had taken two of the dishwashers at work just to help her load the truck. Now, it looked like she was on her own.
Summer hoisted the first box, and gingerly began carrying it towards the back entrance. If she could just get the hand-spun sugar topper inside, she could—
Suddenly, someone knocked her from behind. Summer let out a yelp, stumbling off-balance. The box slipped front her grasp, and she watched in horror as it began tumbling towards the ground.
“Noooooo—”
Her cry was cut short as a pair of strong arms grabbed the box, inches from impact.
“Oh my God!” Summer exclaimed in relief. “Thank you!”
She looked up to see who her cake savior was, and found herself staring into a pair of stormy blue eyes fringed with dark lashes.
Summer blinked. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a crisp white button-down with jeans, and a scruffy winter beard, shot through with the same copper tint as his dark, mussed-up hair.
Hello.
He might possibly be the most handsome man she’d ever seen in real life – and the movie star Blake Callahan had dined at the restaurant last month. But those chiseled multiplex looks had nothing on this guy, all dark and surly and tousled and delicious.
“Thank you,” she blurted again, carefully taking the box back. “I’m not really one for superstitions, but I’m guessing that destroying the wedding cake might not bode well for the marriage.”
“The fact the bride is running around with her tennis coach might bode even worse,” the man replied, his mouth twisting faintly in amusement. He had a crisp English accent, and Summer tried not to picture him wading out of a lake à la Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice.
“Well… if they’re doomed, at least everyone will enjoy the cake first.” Summer gave a grin. “Are you a guest?”
“For my sins,” he replied, but before Summer could find out any more information – like his name, marital status, how he liked his eggs cooked in the morning – they were interrupted by an efficient-looking blond woman.
“Summer Bloom?” she asked. “Oh, what a relief. We’ve been waiting for you. They’re just itching to get some photos with the cake.”
“Sorry, traffic,” she apologized, but by the time she was done giving the woman instructions on getting everything moved safely inside, the handsome, cake-saving stranger was gone.
“We’ve got you set up in the kitchens, right this way.” The woman beckoned, so Summer dragged her attention back and followed her inside, and soon she was too busy with assembling the layers and applying the final touches of sugared petals to even think about those blue eyes.
Much.
“Thank you so much for fitting us in your schedule,” the wedding planner told Summer, when the cake was finally assembled, and a slew of busboys were carefully wheeling it out.
It towered almost four feet high now, a show-stopper in blush and peach frosting.
“The bride wouldn’t stop raving about you.
She tasted the cake at your restaurant months ago, and swore she couldn’t have anything else for her big day.
They were happy to pay triple, just to get it here on time. ”
Triple, huh? Summer narrowed her eyes. Chef Andre had barked the order like he was doing her a favor. He definitely hadn’t said anything about a special request, just for her.
“I’m happy to do it,” she said diplomatically. And it was true. Away from the cut-throat kitchen politics, and sky-high blood pressure, there was nothing Summer loved more than whipping up an extravagant creation and putting a smile on someone’s face.
Except maybe getting credit for all her hard work.
“We’re right out here,” the planner said, and Summer could already hear the sound of the party even before they stepped outside: music and laughter drifting on the afternoon breeze.
The hotel was bright and airy, and the reception spilled out of the main hall onto the patio that overlooked the bay.
It was a picture-perfect scene, with the afternoon sun shining over the ocean, guests mingling between tables topped with white linen, and gorgeous displays of fresh-cut roses spilling from every column.
“Please, stay and enjoy yourself,” the wedding planner told her.
“I have to get going,” Summer said – before she noticed a tray of hors d’oeuvres passing by. Her stomach rumbled. “But maybe for a minute or two.”
She grabbed a plate and some crab puffs, and kept to the edge of the patio, skirting the crowd as she tried to blend into the background.
She wasn’t exactly dressed for the party, in cut-off jeans and an old T-shirt, but she loved watching the looks on people’s faces when they bit into something she’d made, and cutting a wedding cake was an extra-special moment.
As the cake moved to the top table, she heard the hum of approval; guests stopped and turned to watch, and by the time they carefully placed it down, there was a smattering of applause. Summer glowed, but the look on the bride’s face was the real prize: she lit up like the Fourth of July.
“Oh my god!” The bride squealed. She clapped her hands together and did a little bounce. “It’s too perfect. I can’t bear to cut it.”
“If you don’t cut it, you won’t get to taste,” her groom pointed out good-naturedly, and she laughed.
“Good point. But we need photos!” She beckoned over the photographer, and then they posed beside it, the bride fussing to make sure the cake was the center of the shot.
Summer grinned. Now there was a woman who had taste in desserts.
And also her tennis coach, if the handsome cake savior was to be believed.
Speaking of . . . She couldn’t help glancing around the crowd, looking for that tousled hair.
There.
She saw him over behind the bar, still looking surly as he ignored the party.
He must be the bartender, then. Summer felt a little jolt of exhilaration, just taking in the broad span of his shoulders.
Easy there, she cautioned herself. Her flirting skills were rusty at best, working nights at the restaurant didn’t exactly leave her much time for dating, and knowing her luck, he had a girlfriend, some gorgeous model-slash-actress who also volunteered with under-privileged kids.
But if he happened to be single…
Well, there was no harm in going to say ‘hi’, was there?