How to Look Happy (37 page)

“That might…be…a safe assumption.” My voice is trembling, and I lower my lashes, staring down at the cupcake in my hands.

Before I know what’s happening, he snatches the cupcake out of my grip. He angles away from me slightly, peeling back the paper wrapping, and then he takes a giant bite.

“Hey!” I protest. He chews and swallows in one quick movement as I hop down from the countertop and reach around him, swiping it back.

“Are you sure?” He grins, totally relaxed now. “Because I’m kind of a jerk.”

I can’t help but laugh because there’s a puff of white frosting clinging to the tip of his nose.

“You’ve got a little…” I point up at his face. “Right there.” I reach up tentatively and swipe the frosting off his nose with my finger. In the next movement, he grabs my wrist and licks it off, taking my breath away.

I shake my head. “This might be a problem.”

“What, that I’m so tasty and tantalizing?” He smiles his crooked smile.

“No, that you think you can…” I pause for emphasis. “Ever…” Another pause. “Take a red velvet cupcake out of my hands.”

He’s still grinning at me. “You’re a feisty one.”

I’m staring down at the missing chunk of my cupcake in dismay. “Mmm-hmm,” I say, peeling back more of the paper and then taking a bite big enough to rival his. I close my eyes again, savoring the creamy, tangy deliciousness of the frosting on my tongue, the way it melds perfectly with the crumbly softness of the cake.

When I open my eyes he’s watching me, and he looks hungry. “Trust me, if I get to watch you do that every time, I’ll give you all the red velvet cupcakes you want.”

I giggle up at him before I take another, smaller, bite. Then I gesture with my head to his right, where Chick’s catering team has just placed a brand new tray of cupcakes atop the pastry counter.

“Why don’t you grab us some plates?” I say. “I’ll get a couple more of these, and we can take this conversation outside.”

*  *  *

Two hours later, I’m starting to fear we’re the last ones here, but I can’t seem to make myself move from this spot. We’ve spent the entire party on the terrace, Todd and me. For a while there were others out here, but table by table, they’ve meandered back inside, leaving us here alone. From the open doorway, I hear noises that sound like the caterers clearing dishes and straightening up the space.

I feel a little bad that I haven’t mingled more with Chick’s guests…

Hell, who am I kidding? I haven’t even laid eyes on the art wall that I designed, giving rise to the whole event.

Eh. I’ve seen it before.

I’ve just finished telling Todd the last details I feel I can share about Candace and the closing of the firm, making him swear not to breathe a word to Quinn until I can tell her myself—and offer her a new job. I take a sip of sauvignon blanc from a clear plastic party cup, and Todd leans back in his black metal latticework chair, its feet scraping roughly against the pebbled floor of the covered patio.

Around us, a soft breeze is blowing, and the temperature out here is perfect—still a hint of late-summer warmth, mingled with wisps of air cool enough to warrant Todd to, several times, scoot his chair nearer to mine and finally offer up his jacket. He’s sitting close enough for me to reach out and touch his face, and I sit on my hands to keep from giving in to the urge.

“So, guess what?” he says, and I raise an eyebrow. “I sold my house.”

“What?” The word comes out of me with force, as if someone’s punched it out.

He’s moving? Now?

“Yeah, I finished the renovation and listed it. It sold in a day.” His voice is chipper, confusing me. I set my cup on the table and sink back in my chair, gaping at him.

“Con…gratulations?” I say, my voice laced with disbelief and annoyance.

“Yeah, thanks.” He studies me in the dim light emanating from the pass-through to the restaurant and the strands of white party lights that wrap the posts at each corner of the small terrace. Finally, he seems to register my shock.

“I’ve already put in an offer on another house,” he says with a shrug. “It’s on the next block, a little bit bigger. Now that the real estate market’s booming again, I want to work faster this time. With the profits I netted on the sale of this last one, I have enough for a down payment on two. But I want to be careful, make sure I can do it again, weigh the risk.” He pauses. “And I’m not going to live in it this time. I’ve rented a place on Nelson, a two-bedroom, two-bath. Actually, I don’t think it’s too far from your house. You’re in Cooper-Young, right?”

My taut jaw slackens as I turn over his words.

“So…you’re staying in town?” I’m remembering all too well one of my earliest reservations about Todd—that he’s restless, spontaneous, a flight risk. I’ve started to like that about him. But not if it means he’s leaving.

“Yeah, I’m staying in town,” he says, and my body goes slack as the tension slowly drains.

His brow furrows, and he leans forward, closing the distance between us again. “In fact, I’m thinking about filing for a business permit, creating a company, maybe hiring somebody to help. I like doing this, renovating houses, better than anything else I’ve ever done. There’s no greater feeling of accomplishment than seeing a place transform from the work of your own hands, you know?” He’s intense as he talks about his work, more intense than I’ve ever seen him.

“I do know,” I say softly.

He sits back in his chair again, smiling in that way that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“That’s right. You do.” He gazes at me for several long seconds. “In fact, we could make a pretty good team.”

This time it’s me who leans forward, craving his body heat. “Now, hold on a minute,” I say, laughing. “I just started one new job. I don’t think I can take on another one.”

He sits up straighter too, and suddenly our faces are centimeters apart. I draw in a sharp breath, breathing him in.

“I didn’t actually mean that kind of team,” he says.

My eyes close instinctively.

When his lips touch mine I can taste the faint trace of sugar and cream cheese that still clings to them. He’s delicious, so much better than a red velvet cupcake. He moves closer to me, placing his hand on my left side, inside his jacket, his fingers gently grasping the bodice of my dress. Everywhere his body connects with mine sends electric tingles from my skin straight into my veins.

When he pulls back, I lick my lips. “Mmm,” I say, closing my eyes again.

And then, before I reopen them, he’s back, his mouth once again covering mine. “Damn,” he whispers against my open lips. I’m weak all over, my hand grappling for the back of his neck, pressing us deeper into the kiss.

This time, when we pull away we’re both breathless. As if on cue, someone inside snaps a light off in the prep area behind the counter, washing the space around us in semidarkness.

“I think we’d better leave,” he says.

“Mmm-hmm,” I say again. Otherwise I don’t think I can be held accountable for my own actions. When Chick planned this event to christen her new business, I doubt this was what she had in mind.

“Does this count as our first date?” Todd asks, his arms still wrapped around me inside his coat.

“I think it’s our second,” I whisper. “You know, we did have lunch that day.”

“We did.” His voice is a near-whisper too. “So, second date. If we leave here together and go someplace else, does that count as the third?”

My body is so wired it feels like it’s humming. I can feel where he’s going with this, and suddenly I’m not sure we
will
make it off of this patio. His fingers are rubbing slow circles against the satiny bodice of my dress, his thumbs making contact for the first time with the underside of my breasts. My breathing ragged, I scrape back in my chair suddenly, standing so fast that Todd’s jacket falls from my shoulders and onto the patio floor.

“Let’s go.”

He bends down to retrieve his jacket, and without another word, we leave the terrace, circling around the exterior side of the restaurant to avoid having to make small talk with stragglers on our way out the door. I have a strong feeling Chick will forgive me.

His fingers are laced through mine as we move wordlessly through the darkened parking lot toward his truck. I have a brief thought that I’m leaving my car, but the bakery is so close to my house—his house too, apparently—that I could actually walk back to get it.

But…maybe it can wait until morning?

Todd opens the passenger door for me and squeezes my hand as I step onto the side rail and slip inside. Instead of closing the door, he leans against the seat, reaches for my chin, and pulls my face down to his. Before he kisses me, he caresses both sides of my face with his thumbs, resting his forehead against mine for the briefest moment.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes. And then his lips touch mine, and the world disappears. I’m one-hundred-percent certain I’ve never felt like this before. Nothing ever like this.

When he finally pulls away and walks around the truck, I sink back into the unfamiliar leather in a daze. I shake my head. For the first time in my life, I have no idea what the future holds, and for the first time in my life, I don’t care.

I know it’s going to be fun.

I know it’s going to feel better than any Facebook-ready, Kodak-moment, fabricated story of perfection I could have dreamed up on my own.

As Todd starts the engine, I’m not sure where we’re going, and I don’t ask. He reaches over and grabs my left hand, rubbing the inside of my wrist with his thumb, never letting his skin leave mine as he pulls out of the space and turns onto the street.

I stare up at the sliver of crescent moon, my heart still beating triple time. This thing that I’m feeling? This indescribable, immutable thing?

I think I’m happy.

What can I say about
How to Look Happy
? This book has been swimming around in my head for several years now, and pouring it onto the page was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done. As soon as I met Jen (as a secondary character in a short story I wrote for Gemma Halliday Publishing called
Santa’s Little Mistake
), I knew this story had a heroine and a home. By telling Jen’s story I was able to pull a little (not a lot, just a little) from my own experience working at a small-shop interior design studio, and I loved writing a story about a designer so much that I’m positive I want to do it again. Will the next one be about Jen? Maybe Quinn? Time will tell.

Another thing that made the writing of this book so fun was its setting. Memphis is a character in its own right, a small town walking around in the shoes of a fairly big city. Writing the real city of Memphis into this fictional story made it come alive in my head and helped me see my town in a whole new way. Memphis is a supportive place for an author, and so my first round of thanks is to the writer friends I’ve made here. Thank you to Caroline Sposto, Kevin (Austin) McClellan, Ann Saccomano, Emily Besh, Lillie Simmons-Dear, and Lee Williams for your ongoing support, wonderful feedback, and constant willingness to read the new work I’m always throwing your way. Your encouragement means the world to me. Thanks, too, to the team at The Booksellers at Laurelwood and to Jean Andrus at The Book Juggler for supporting local authors and selling local books!

A very special thanks to my team of first readers for your feedback and support. Heather Hardison, Maria Porter, Cindy Trail, Jamie Hopkins, Angela Rogers, Kacey Darety, Emily Russell, Jen Jacobson, Jessica Babb, Robyn Byrum, and Megan Cathey—I’m looking at you. Not only do you make great suggestions and offer the kind of encouragement that keeps me going, but you’ve also taught me a wide array of fun facts that make their way into novels. Yeah, be careful what you mention in front of me. That’s all I’m saying.

A huge, giant, enormous thank you to my wonderful publisher, Gemma Halliday, and her team at Gemma Halliday Publishing. I think it’s rare, especially these days, to find a publishing house that makes the process not only seamless but fun. Thank you, too, to my fellow GHP authors for your unceasing willingness to answer questions, market books, and make the rest of us laugh with your witty commentary.

Sandra Barkevich, my editor, gets her own paragraph. Thank you so much for your sharp, sharp insight and for the color you add to the margins of my pages. You’ve helped me on this path a great deal, and I’m thrilled to have had the chance to work with you again. I hope to keep conversing with you in the margins for a long time to come!

And of course, thank you to the two men in my life, Lance and Colby Wiedower, who put up with an awful lot to have an author as a wife and a mom. I could not do any of this without you, and by “any of this” I mean a lot more than writing books. I love you more than words, and I have no shortage of words.

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