Chapter Thirteen
“I’m just saying he’s good for you.”
Emma began mentally arming herself as Megan went full tactical and launched into her favorite discussion topic this week: the 1,001 reasons Jake was perfect for Emma. To be perfectly honest, Emma wasn’t a fan of today’s arguments. “No, what you said was that you thought I was a spinster before Jake started doing the repairs here.”
“Living like,” Megan corrected. “I said you were living like a spinster. You were always in bed by ten. You only agreed to dates if I’d guilt or trick you into them. You rarely went out, even on nondates. And when you did, half the time you were in your apron around town—”
“Because I always had to come right back here to work,” replied Emma, a touch offended. Her aprons were cute, dammit.
“My point exactly. You were always working.”
“Meaning I’m a hard worker. That does not a spinster make.”
“Okay, fine, I retract that part. But I have a ton of other evidence to support the underlying concern in my case.” Megan crossed her arms and got a torpedo target lock. “Do you know that the Old Biddy Brigade practically threw a ticker tape parade last week after one of ’em saw you in the checkout at the grocery store buying condoms? Apparently, this was the first confirmed condom sighting in your possession in a few years. Multiple sources confirmed it.”
Oh. My. God. They were not having this discussion. Emma pivoted and headed back up to her apartment. Retreat, retreat! Was nothing private in this town?
“They were downright bummed when Jake informed them that the condoms had in fact been part of a joke and nothing more.”
Nope, evidently nothing was private. And clearly she needed to have a talk with her carpenter about giving ammo to the enemy. “Why was Jake even talking to the old biddies in town about me?” And in relation to condoms.
“I heard they cornered him last Friday, wanting to know if you two were going somewhere special that night. My guess is the conversation transitioned naturally from there.”
This was worse than when she’d dated the two-timing taxidermist they’d essentially chased out of town. Rumor had it that he’d had to go to the ER on his way out owing to a run-in with a motorized scooter that ended up breaking his big toe.
Those Medicare Part B senior mobility scooters were no joke.
“Jake and I have just had a few meals together around town. With the bakery closed down, I’ve obviously had more time on my hands, so I’ve been trying out a bunch of restaurants I haven’t ever had the chance to dine in with my crazy schedule. And sometimes Jake and I find ourselves needing to eat at the same time. So we sit at the same table. Since I get a town discount at all the restaurants, this way he gets to save a few bucks on his meals. That’s all.”
“So this is strictly economics between you two? Not chemistry?”
Yes, but the subject you’d really rather be studying with the man is sex ed, admit it.
Lately it had become very evident to Emma that she didn’t have Jiminy Cricket whispering in her ear, but rather his wild and juuust this side of indecent twin Jezebel Cricket.
“Hate to disappoint all of you, but Jake and I are just friends.”
Bizarrely. Unexpectedly. Unequivocally. Friends.
That is, if the newfangled definition of a friend could also encompass a person she’d barely been able to stop thinking about for the past week.
“Besides,” Emma continued, hoping her thoughts weren’t reflected in her words, “even if there were some lingering chemistry with Jake, there’s no future there.”
Megan looked stunned, to say the least. “Wait, you think Jake’s not the settling-down-with-a-wife-and-kids type? Because if so, I’d say you’re crazy.”
Picturing Jake in that scenario made a surprisingly sharp stab of pain hit her square in the chest. “That’s not what I meant. Of course he’d make an amazing husband and father.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m the one that isn’t happily-ever-after potential where Jake is concerned. He’s a great guy. He deserves an equally great woman to marry and have a whole mess of great kids with.”
Megan’s expression morphed from confusion to astonishment. “Em, what are you talking about? You want the whole white-picket-fence future—I know you do.”
Actually, the fence she wanted wasn’t a white picket one. It was tall and unpainted. A rustic wooden fence that had a pair of burly lumberjack forearms draped over the top every afternoon just before sunset, straight out of the fairy-tale endings she’d dreamed of for more years than she’d ever allowed herself to admit before now.
But that’s all it was—a fairy tale.
Emma remembered how one of her therapists had explained that the death of a child can often break up even the best of relationships, even the most loving ones. Like the one her father and stepmother had found. They’d been second-round soul mates; all anyone had to do was see them together to know that. That they’d found each other later in life made their fairy-tale marriage that much more destined to be.
Yet even they hadn’t been able to survive after Peyton’s death.
So what possible chance did she and Jake stand?
None. Not with a child’s death already between them . . . a child they’d both failed to save.
“Em, talk to me.”
Emma blinked the memories back and pasted on a bright smile. “Let it go, Meg. Jake and I have an understanding. An arrangement. We’re Jake and Emma 2.0 for the duration of his time here. No sad past. Just fun, uncomplicated times in the present.”
And no future.
“Morning, ladies.” As if she’d conjured him to the bakery, Jake 2.0 walked through the front door in all his steel-toe-boots-and-stone-washed-denim glory.
While he walked around her bakery looking all serious as he scribbled measurements for this and used his hammer on that, Emma saw it—glimpses of the boy next door who’d stolen her teenage heart seemingly a lifetime ago.
The boy she needed to view as an entirely different person from the man before her now just to function and get through each day.
The boy she’d vowed to never give another thought to after waking up in the hospital with one badly burned sibling, and one dead one.
The boy she still found herself thinking about even now whenever the sun would set just so, and the grass fields would turn a golden green for a few fleeting minutes.
“So that’s that?” asked Megan skeptically. “You and Jake are just going to keep pretending the past doesn’t exist so you can enjoy each other’s uncomplicated company in the present until the bakery repairs and the library renovation are over?”
Christ, that sounded twenty different kinds of unhealthy. “Yep, that about sums it up.”
Megan shook her head slowly in a you’re-lucky-I-love-you sort of way. “Okay then. A bunch of us from the library are going to go see Blake’s girlfriend’s art show—you met her at the barbecue. They invited your ‘new friend’ Jake also, so bring him along. Blake’s older brother will be coming, too, so everyone will be paired off. I don’t want you to be the odd one out.”
Emma felt mild panic start to set in. “You mean this is going to be a group date?”
Megan shrugged. “If you want to label it. It’ll be casual. And fun. Right up your alley with this whole 2.0 arrangement, right?”
The woman was evil and was cut off from any morning cupcakes for the next month.
“So you’ll invite Jake then?” pressed the demoness formerly known as her sister.
Emma drew it out, hoping Megan would back down.
She didn’t. “Sure. Sounds like a fun night.”
“Excellent. You have three days to ask him out.” Megan waved and skipped down the staircase toward the front door, waiting until the very bottom step to sing out, “Good luck.”
Make that two months for the cupcake strike.
It was officially day three.
You can do this. It’s no big deal. So she’d never technically verbally asked a guy out before—one good thing about the demented dating app her sister had signed her up for. How hard could it be? This wasn’t even a date, really. It was just a couple of friends hanging out.
And that’s why the very idea of asking Jake to go to said event was giving Emma something close to Midol-worthy cramps.
Even the silent pep talk she was giving herself about doing this was making her cheeks warm and her ears hot to the touch. Which meant her freckles were out in full force. She didn’t have very many, just a light dusting across the bridge of her nose and the ridges of her cheekbones from a few too many summer sunburns out at the lake. In fact, she’d actually never really been all that conscious of them until now.
Until she’d first realized that Jake was utterly fascinated by them.
She’d caught him staring at them a few times over the past week, and damn if she hadn’t blushed like a schoolgirl each time. Which, of course, just seemed to intrigue him even more.
Not that he did anything about it.
Nope. That man was the perfect Jake 2.0. Kept to the restrictions of her plan to a T. The ideal casual stranger turned friend. In fact, he did such a great job, she hardly ever thought about their history anymore—“their history” meaning the fire. Not the massive crush she’d had on him from the second he’d moved into the house next door that summer.
That was why this thing she was about to do was no big deal.
It was not as if she planned to shave her legs above the knees and go out to buy condoms or anything. Oy. Condoms. The disturbing reminder of the old biddies and their multiple sources knowing that it’d been more than three years since she’d last bought a box of the stuff wasn’t helping one bit. Jesus, don’t think about that now, woman.
Because, well, freckles.
Just quit stalling and do it already, Stevens! “Jake,” she blurted out, straight from the far, far end of left field. “Do you want to hang out tonight? Together?”
Okay, maybe she could’ve waited until he was through nailing the baseboard to the wall with his nail gun.
Oh yeah, she was sooo good at this. And what was with the unnecessary clarification of them doing the hanging out together? Sweet baby J, how on earth did other women do this?
After renailing the spot he’d ended up missing by a mile as a result of her little outburst, Jake put down the nail gun and turned around, a slow grin spreading across his face.
If there were an award for sexiest grinner alive, this man definitely deserved it.
He tilted his head next, pinning her with an intense gaze, and she knew she’d just swum out of her league. What had she been thinking? She’d barely even waded around the kiddie pool with floaties when it came to the whole dating scene.
“Did I hear that correctly, or are my ears playing really mean tricks on me? It sounded like you just asked me out on a date.”
As he continued to watch her watch him with her cheeks neon bright and her lips apparently glued together, that award-winning grin of his morphed into a sexy crooked smile that made his chiseled jawline even more laser cut and brought focus to that hidden cleft chin, which she was pretty sure held supernatural powers over women’s panties.
They didn’t call it a superhero chin for nothing.
“It’s not a date,” she replied immediately—potayto, potahto—as she started dog-paddling her butt back to shallower waters.
Okay, okay, this was a big deal. She couldn’t ask Jake out on a date!
At that mental announcement, teenage Emma promptly took back the high five she’d given adult Emma after the nail-gun thing and was now stabbing her in the eye with a glitter pencil.
“No? ‘Hanging out tonight . . . together’ certainly sounds like a date to me. And judging by that sweet blush on your cheeks, it sure looks like it, too.”
She knew he was just teasing her. This was how their friendship had evolved over the past two weeks. They busted each other’s chops. So she busted right back. “Yes, well, I’m sure lots of things sound and look different when they get lost in that big head of yours.”
He let out a deep, untamed laugh. “Ah. Okay, my mistake.” Turning back to his nail gun, the maddening man started whistling the theme song from Jeopardy, all the while leaving her hanging regarding the whole nondate thing.
“Well?” she prodded, keeping her cool. “You want to go? It’ll be casual. An art show in the city and then a bite to eat after, probably.” Much improved. Smooth sailing from here.
He gave her an exaggerated double-shoulder lift. “I don’t know. See, I have this slave driver of a boss who makes me come in at the butt crack of before seven each morning . . .”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Jake was the one who always insisted on coming in so early. And they both knew that. This was all a power game. Bastard. “Fine, I’ll talk to this slave driver boss of yours, who sounds just delightful if you ask me, and work it out with her so you can come in tomorrow well after seven—” He cleared his throat loudly. “I mean eight,” she amended between smiling clenched teeth.
“Well, then that changes everything. I’d love to go out with you tonight. Only . . .” He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not”—he lowered his tone as if he didn’t want to alert the elders or something—“going to be ‘expecting’ anything from me, are you? Just so you know, I’m not that kind of guy. I don’t put out just because a pretty girl asks me on a date and buys me lobster.”
Emma’s jaw dropped in horror. “Wha—no! This—lobster?” she sputtered. “I told you it’s just an art show. And it’s not even just going to be us; Megan will be there, too.”
He tsked disappointedly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry, babe, that’s a deal breaker for me. Not into threesomes—way too racy for my tastes. I’ve just never been one of those bad-boy types who go for that sort of thing. Whose idea was this anyway? Yours?”
She was two seconds from busting a blood vessel in her head. And strangling the man. “You know that’s not what I meant. Threesomes—are you off your cracker? And, no, none of this was my idea. I don’t even like you right now. Megan’s the one who asked me to ask you.”
“Riiight. Megan, of course. It’s okay. I’m flattered you asked me out. Really. I just have to think about it. You know, with us working together and all, and you and I having just met a few weeks ago. It’s a tough situation.”
She very nearly stomped her foot in frustration.
“I’m leaning toward yes, if that helps,” he offered with an affectionate head tilt that was at least genuine. “Because, obviously, I think you’re great.”
Well, that helped a little in terms of calming the aggravated fires from hell blistering her brain right now.
“I’ll be sure to give you . . . I mean, Megan my final answer later this afternoon. I promise.” He smiled, casual as can be, before he turned and went right back to work.
Un-freaking-believable. He’d actually used exaggerated air quotes and everything.
Emma immediately started looking around for something to throw at him.
Jake was pretty certain she was going to bash him in the head with his own hammer and knock him out cold. But he just couldn’t help himself. The woman was adorable as all hell when she was riled up. Plus, she made it so easy. And so, so addictive.
“If we could interrupt your ménage proposition for a bit.” He smothered a chuckle over her murderous glare. “I wanted to talk about the repairs for this wall section over here, just outside the kitchen. I actually don’t think we should wallpaper it up again.”
That brought her back to business as usual. “What? Why not?”
“Well, when I was repairing the panel of drywall that was damaged in the corner, I saw that there’s shiplap wood under it. You see all these old horizontal wood panels? I’ve actually never seen it myself since it wasn’t as common in midwestern constructions back in the day.”
As Emma ran her hand across the weathered planks, he made his pitch, “The thing is, shiplap walls are getting popular again, and it definitely adds a unique character, which your bakery is all about. So I was thinking we should just expose it all, sand it down, and stain it. Make it a focal point here.”
“But won’t that be distracting? With one strip of wall looking totally different from the other walls in the bakery?”
“I think it’ll actually fit well. Plus, it’ll save you some money. If you’re that worried about it looking too different, we can just do it on the bottom half of the wall. I can put a chair molding across the middle with a brighter color on the top half. That way you can have the historic, rustic touch you have going here but still with all the bright colors you like.”
It was obvious she loved the idea, but the stubborn little thing wouldn’t admit it outright just yet. She had a tell whenever she was holding something back—she literally bit her tongue. He’d caught her doing it a few times over the past week. Just the tiny tip of her tongue would be sandwiched between her perfectly pointed canines. Always on her right. It was the sweetest tell. And sexy to boot.
Every time he saw her do it, he wanted to just yank her in his arms and slide his tongue over those sexy canines. He wasn’t greedy. He could share. She could keep the right canines she favored, and he’d lay claim to the ones on her left.
“All right. If you think it’ll save us some money, and time, let’s go with your idea.”
He grinned. “I feel like I need to take a photo to record this moment. You coming around to my way of thinking without arguing about it for an hour.”
She huffed and shot him an exasperated look. Before doing that thing he loved whenever she dug one of his ideas. All the woman had to do was flash him that nose scrunch and deploy her freckles out in full force up on her cheekbones, and he’d get hit with a big bolt of stupid from head to toe.
He was sure she had no idea that she could probably get him to build an entire bakery from scratch for free just by supplying more of those scrunching, freckled smiles.
While they were on the category of things that turned him on, the daily double for him definitely had to be that bossy tone she used sometimes to try to regain control of a runaway situation (that he was usually the one messing with the brakes on). Her bossy sass was also damn effective at making him want to hang the moon outside her bedroom window for her.
“It’ll look great, sweets—I promise.”
Her expression went still for a second, and he frowned, wondering what had just happened.
Her brows stitched together in consternation, even though a contradicting crooked smile was peeking through.
“Something wrong?”
“No,” she said in a soft tone to match her smile. “It just occurred to me that no one ever really calls me anything but Emma, or Em.”
He blinked through a mental transcript of what he’d just called her.
Sweets. It hadn’t been intentional. The word had slipped out without him even thinking about it. Probably some subconscious thing. The woman was all sweetness and goodness.
“I’m sorry. That was unprofessional. I’ll make a point not to do that.”
“No, no.” She tempered her voice down to casual and breezy. “I like it. You don’t have to stop. Like I said, folks don’t usually call me by any nicknames. Especially guys.”
He gave a silent growl over the idea of any guys calling her anything, period.
“Everyone here is really . . . I don’t know, careful? With me and Megan. Which is good. Great really. Plus, nearly everyone treats me like I’m their sister. Again, especially the guys.”
Best news he’d heard all day.
The clanging of the front door stopped him from accidentally spilling the beans on how he was definitively not in the group of guys in town who intended to treat her like a sister.
Probably for the best he kept that spoiler alert to himself.
Megan poked her head into the kitchen a second later. “Hey, Em! I’m just here to raid your closet for tonight. I know neither of us has anything really fancy to wear, but I was thinking we could try to mix and match some things to get close to a night-in-the-city outfit.”
She flashed a broad grin at Jake. “Oh, hi, Jake. I meant to ask, since the art gallery is near your place, are you going to meet us there or come down with us from here?”
Ah, damn.
Jake looked up to study a crack in one of the drywall tiles on the ceiling, all but whistling innocently when Emma held up a hand to interrupt Megan. “Hang on—Jake hasn’t even decided if he’s going yet. We were just talking about it.”
“That’s weird. Jake was helping Blake and his girlfriend fix some of the display stands for her art exhibits, and when they invited him to the show, he told them he’d be there—”
The rest of Megan’s sentence came to an abrupt halt.
Most likely because Emma was now chasing him around the kitchen.
“You freaking ass! You were already going to come out tonight! You were just messing with me this whole time!”
Emma got close enough to double whack his arm. He juked to the right, and then to the left, and then did an impressive Matrix move to avoid the smack she was aiming for his head.
With the passageway out of the kitchen and to the front of the bakery in sight, he made a dash for it. “I think I’ll finish the floorboards tomorrow. Big date tonight. See you girls at seven,” he called out, ducking to avoid the spare paintbrush Emma sent whizzing past his head. Good thing he didn’t leave his hammer behind.
A peek behind him revealed Megan forcibly holding Emma back.
The woman was spitting-nails pissed at him. But that was undeniably a tiny smile he could see her doing her damnedest to hide.
Clearly Megan saw it, too, because he overheard her say, “I swear—watching you two with these bizarre mating rituals is like watching Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner go at it.”