Small-Town Cinderella (The Pirelli Brothers) (7 page)

Families...
Even as she said the word, Debbie felt the slight ache in her chest. Oh, sure, she had great friends. Important, meaningful friendships, but family was something missing from her life.

We always wanted more children,
her mother had told her once. Or maybe Bonnie had been talking to Debbie’s father as she gazed with a lingering sadness at the picture of her late husband.

Debbie still had that photo on her coffee table, the last one taken of her dad, an image of a brown-haired man in a Nirvana T-shirt and faded jeans leaning against the hood of his truck and laughing into the camera. Looking so young...as if he had his whole life in front of him.

Debbie didn’t know what affect her father’s presence might have had, but she’d grown up under the weight of his absence. The feeling that life was short and could pass by all too quickly. So even though she might have felt a twinge or two when she thought of Kayla’s adorable daughter, she pushed that longing aside.

Selfish as it may sound, she was going to focus on herself. She was going to have fun and enjoy a life free of commitment and responsibility while she still could. No one was going to tie her down until she was 100 percent ready. If taking over the bakery had taught her anything, it was that important lesson.

Bonnie’s hope had been that her daughter would love running the bakery as much as she had, but as hard as she tried, Debbie didn’t. And all the guilt in the world wasn’t enough to smother the resentment that crept over her every now and then. The thought of settling down too soon and feeling that same resentment toward her husband or child... That fear alone would help her stand firm against any baby cravings.

Drew’s dark eyes and sexy grin flashed through Debbie’s mind, and a slight shiver raced through her body. A different kind of longing than the warm fuzzies she got when picturing little Annabel in her Halloween costume, for sure, but one she was just as determined to ignore.

Cooking breakfast for Drew the other morning had tugged hard at old dreams. She’d made him a massive omelet filled with diced ham, onions and peppers, enjoying every moment in his kitchen and well aware of his eyes following her every movement. She’d felt sexier there than she had ever felt with a man in the bedroom, and his over-the-top praise as he dug into the meal left her glowing with a far greater satisfaction, too.

Despite her acknowledgment that they were wrong for each other, her awareness of him on the ride back to The High Tide for her car had heightened her senses to an almost fevered pitch. She couldn’t draw a breath without inhaling his scent. Couldn’t stop herself from babbling inanely simply to hear the sound of his deep voice in response. Couldn’t help resenting the seat belt that kept her on the opposite side of his SUV instead of pressed against him like she wanted to be.

But when she walked into work later that morning, she’d ruthlessly shoved her dreams of cooking for hungry guests—and other just-as-dangerous fantasies of making breakfast for Drew on a regular basis—aside.

Looking for something more than running the bakery—or for something more than friendship with Drew—would only led to heartbreak.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Debbie concentrated on the decorations. She and Kayla had just finished with the last of them when the timer from the kitchen buzzed. “Oh, those will be the cupcakes! I can’t wait to try them. I bet they’ll be amazing.”

The younger woman led the way through the swinging door to the kitchen while Debbie followed at a slower pace. She had learned years ago how to tell when she’d found the perfect recipe. Long before she placed a cupcake or Danish or pie on display, she knew if the creation was just right or not. And it wasn’t just a matter of taste that determined whether a new recipe was up to her standards.

It had to do with how the ingredients came together in the bowl—the texture, the color, the consistency. Even the scent of eggs, flour, vanilla and whatever other flavorings she might add. It was those “other flavors” that challenged her the most. She’d never been content, as her mother had once been, to simply offer the tried-and-true recipes she knew would sell.

Oh, sure, she always had those on hand, recipes she’d learned from her mother so long ago. Her chocolate-lovers’ double-chocolate cake. Her traditional apple pie. Her always delicious vanilla cupcakes. And even though her mother had never been big on experimenting, it was while writing new recipes that Debbie best recalled standing at her mother’s side enjoying the newness and wonder of learning to bake.

This afternoon, the experiment had been with more savory flavors as she tried to incorporate some of the fall-harvest vegetables into her cupcakes. The flavors of butternut squash and pumpkin combined with cinnamon and nutmeg, and she knew before she pulled the first tray from the oven just how they would taste.

“They’re, um, different,” Kayla said after she bit into one of the cakes before it had completely cooled. “But, you know...good,” she clarified quickly.

“No, Kayla.” Debbie sighed. “They’re not.”

“Sorry,” Kayla ducked her head sheepishly. “It’s not bad, but something’s a little off. Or maybe I just like the traditional stuff—you know, vanilla and chocolate.”

“Don’t knock traditional stuff. It’s what keeps us in business.” And maybe she was only fooling herself in experimenting with bolder, more unusual recipes. Return customers came to Bonnie’s Bakery with cravings for the familiar flavors they’d been savoring since her mother was alive. They weren’t longing for different or exciting or unique—
she
was.

“Did you want me to stay and help with the prep work for tomorrow?” Kayla asked as Debbie slid the cupcakes onto one of the shelves on the stainless-steel cooling rack. She’d think on the recipe for a day or two and maybe come up with an answer for what was missing. A hint of cloves, maybe? More nutmeg and less cinnamon? Something sweet to balance the savory?

Pushing the thoughts aside for now, Debbie shook her head. “You’ve been covering for me in the mornings. I’ll do the prep.” Much of the dough—for cookies, pies and pastries—could be made the day before, cutting down on the predawn hours needed to keep the “baked fresh daily” promise. “Go spend time with that cute baby of yours.”

Once Kayla left for the day, Debbie moved through the kitchen, performing tasks she could handle with her eyes closed. Creaming the softened butter and sugar, cracking the eggs, measuring out and adding the dry ingredients, transferring the dough to the butcher block counter and cutting into smaller sizes for easier handling.

The constant movement of her hands allowed her mind to wander to her plans for the bakery. If her extra promotion led to more orders for wedding and specialty cakes, would that help take away some of the monotony of her daily routine? Or would she only end up feeling overwhelmed by the more time-consuming, highly detailed work?

The piña colada cake for Nick and Darcy’s wedding had been a specific request by the bride and groom. The tropical flavors were not traditional or for everyone, but Debbie thought the combination of coconut cream, pineapple and a hint of rum in the filling had been spot-on.

She’d spent hours on the painstaking work of piping the basket-weave pattern, decorative flowers, bows and ribbons, wanting to give her friends the perfect cake, and she had received numerous compliments at the reception. Of course, most of the guests were friends and neighbors, people like Kayla who would be too polite or afraid of hurting her feelings to say anything negative. Other clients wouldn’t be so kind.

She tried to stay focused on wedding cakes, but just the mere thought of weddings brought images of Drew to mind. His dark eyes sparkling as he met her gaze during her walk down the aisle. His tall, muscular body looking that much more masculine in the elegant tuxedo. The flash of his smile beneath the twinkling chandelier as he pulled her into his arms during their dance. His kiss on the balcony—

Debbie slammed the door on the memory. Hadn’t she decided they were better off friends? That they were at different places in their lives and wanted different things? Wasn’t that why she’d printed out the flyer advertising the next singles’ event—karaoke night at The High Tide? She’d never dared to sing in public before, but she was ready to step out from her comfort zone. She wanted that hint of daring, of risk, of excitement in her life. She wanted—

A quick knock sounded at the back door, and her heart skipped a beat as Drew stepped inside. He’d clearly come from a job site—he looked rugged and outdoorsy in his work boots, faded jeans and a red-and-black-checkered flannel shirt over a gray T-shirt.

“Drew! What are you doing here?”

“I saw the kitchen lights were on from the front of the store and figured you were back here.”

Sure enough, the late-afternoon sunlight had faded into darkness as she’d worked. But that really didn’t explain why Drew had stopped by when the shop was already closed.

Not that she was afraid to be alone with him, but
knowing
that they were alone fired her awareness until she could feel each beat of her heart. He stepped closer and her breath caught on an inhale that drew in his scent—a mix of pine, fresh-cut wood, a hint of cool ocean air and warm, enticing man.

Reaching up, he brushed his thumb across her cheek. A slight stroke she felt down to her toes and every inch in between. “Drew...”

“You have some flour right here.”

“I— Oh!” Flour, right. Of course. Why else would Drew be touching her? Ducking her head, Debbie scrubbed at her face, her skin suddenly hot with embarrassment and so much more. She’d hung a mirror behind the swinging door that lead to the bakery so she wouldn’t end up greeting clients with flour on her face or chocolate around her mouth. But the mirror did little good when people surprised her by showing up at the back door.

Distracted, she didn’t notice Drew reaching for the pumpkin cupcakes until it was too late. She started to protest, but he’d broken off a piece and popped it into his mouth before she could say a word. Served him right, she thought, hiding a smug smile, for sneaking treats from her kitchen.

He swallowed the bite, but not without pulling a face. “Sweetheart, you know I think you bake like a goddess, and your double-chocolate cake can bring a mortal man to his knees. But that—it needs some work.”

“The recipe isn’t ready yet,” she admitted as she brushed by him. She pulled out the tray and focused on transferring the desserts into an airtight container so he wouldn’t see how his words had affected her. She’d half expected him to try to spare her feelings by telling a white lie. She should have known better. His response had been simple and straightforward and honest. Funny, wasn’t it, that his criticism made it easier for her to take his compliment to heart?

Drew thought she baked like a goddess.

And wouldn’t she just love to believe she could bring him to his knees—only with something other than her skills in the kitchen? “I would have told you that had you actually asked to try them.”

“Next time I’ll remember. I’ll even say please,” he promised with a teasing grin just sexy enough to make a woman agree to anything—whether he said please or not.

A crumb clung to the corner of his mouth, and Debbie reached out before she could stop herself, brushing it aside with her thumb. He caught her hand with his, and for a moment, time hung suspended. Tension held her motionless even as she sucked in a quick breath. She caught a hint of coffee and chocolate—her cupcakes clearly weren’t the only sweets he’d been sampling—and had the inane thought that she knew just how to fix the recipe.

A Drew-flavored cupcake...
The product would fly off the shelves—if she didn’t devour them all herself. Pulling her hand away, she took a step back and cleared her throat. “You do that, but for now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here. Assuming you didn’t just stop by to steal cupcakes.”

“I, um... No. I stopped by to bring you a present. Or maybe it’s more of an IOU.”

“Why would you owe me a present?” she asked as he ducked out the back door and came back in carrying a rectangular box.

“You’ll see when you open it. Go on,” he added as she hesitantly reached for the package.

The wrapping didn’t give any clue as to what was inside, but when she saw the box with the logo of her favorite shoe store hidden beneath the brown paper, she couldn’t hide her smile. He hadn’t! Debbie lifted the lid and brushed aside the crinkling white tissue paper. Oh, but he had! Reaching inside, she pulled out a pair of heels. They weren’t the same as the ones Rain had turned into a chew toy the other night—with crisscrossing straps over the toe instead of the small bow—but it didn’t matter.

The beige leather was butter soft to the touch, and it was all she could do not to kick off her practical white tie-ups. She already knew they would fit. Drew, being Drew, had of course bought the right size, and she couldn’t wait to try them on.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“They’re not a perfect match for the other pair, but I hope they’re a perfect fit.”

“I love them. Thank you,” she said, holding the shoes to her chest.

Of all the men in the world who she never thought could surprise her, Drew kept knocking her for a loop every time she turned around. Her resistance was melting, but Debbie couldn’t let herself weaken. Drew Pirelli might be Clearville’s perfect catch, but he was not the man for her.

“And Rain promises not to eat this pair.”

“I’m sure she won’t.” Because, of course, the puppy wouldn’t get the chance. After all, it wasn’t like Debbie would be spending the night at Drew’s again. And even if she did... She couldn’t stop herself from remembering how she’d practically begged him to kiss her and how he’d teasingly turned her away.

Time for bed, princess.

She couldn’t pretend the rejection hadn’t hurt. He’d treated her like a kid when she longed to be treated like a woman. After playing the role of honorary big brother for so long, he couldn’t see her any other way—their few exceptional kisses merely proving the rule.