Chapter 13
“You baked the emergency roll of cinnamon buns?” Emma called as she stumbled to the coffeemaker. Her yellow, silk robe flowed behind her, filling the room with a sunshine pop of color.
Nicole stopped in the kitchen’s entry to sniff the air, and her eyes widened. “What happened last night?”
“Nothing.” Lucy opened the oven and withdrew the baking sheet. She set it on the stovetop to cool before applying the frosting. “Last night was a grand success. I rescued Jared without kissing him in the library.”
“That’s your definition of success now?” Nicole poured herself a mug full of coffee and headed for the creamer.
“I also met a handful of potential clients and had this open, honest but playful back-and-forth with Philip.” Lucy plucked her phone off the counter. “But then this morning, I wake up to this message from Mr. Ab Selfie.”
“Is that what we’re calling the potential axe murderer now?” Nicole murmured over the edge of her steaming mug.
“His words, not mine,” Lucy said.
“What did this morning’s message say?” Emma asked. She’d cut open the frosting packet and started covering the still-steaming buns.
“Those are still too hot,” Lucy protested.
“Buns are never too hot for frosting.” Emma moved to the next bun. “Read the message. The one from this morning.”
Lucy cleared her throat. “Dear Lucy.” She glanced up at her friends. “He used my name, not something clever or cute.”
“That’s why you baked the emergency buns?” Emma said.
“No.”
“Then keep reading,” Emma demanded. “Save the commentary until the end.”
“I need to reschedule our beach date. I’m free the day after tomorrow,” Lucy began again. “Believe me when I tell you, this has nothing to do with handcuffs. I’m not hiding from you. You have my word. Something came up at work.” She walked around the kitchen island and sank onto a stool. “Then he signed it ‘Your workaholic suitor.’ ”
“You did the right thing.” Emma set a plate filled with a pair of cinnamon buns in front of her. “Making the buns.”
Nicole picked up her breakfast treat and waved it through the air. “I think we should start with the handcuffs.”
“He’s referencing a previous message,” Lucy mumbled. Then she bit into the relationship woes cure-all. The gooey frosting ran over her fingers, and she licked them clean.
“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” Emma said. “He was upfront about being a workaholic. Maybe something came up.”
“Or maybe I told him too much,” Lucy said.
“About your secret handcuff fantasies?” Nicole asked.
“About my ex, my trust issues, my hopes and dreams.” Lucy took another bite of the bun. “I probably should have kept the conversation light and playful until we had a chance to meet.”
“No.” Emma dropped her bun on her plate. “Why should you continue to waste your time? It’s hard enough weeding out the guys who pretend they’re serious, but only want a one-night stand. You shouldn’t have to tiptoe around what you’re looking for in a relationship. But, I don’t think that’s why he canceled. I think Mr. Ab Selfie has to work today. I don’t think it’s fair to write him off as a faceless, lying dude just yet.”
“I should wait and do that after I meet him for a first date,” Lucy said dryly.
“Yes.” Emma reached for the phone Lucy had abandoned in favor of the sugar rush. “I’ll send him a response for you—”
“No.” Lucy grabbed for her phone. “I’ll do it.”
Nicole stood and carried her empty plate to the sink. “I’ll swing by the store after I drop you at this morning’s consult and pick up another roll of emergency buns.”
“Please tell me that I can throw a three princess, deluxe party for thirty seven-year-old boys and girls and not break the bank.”
Lucy’s morning consult held the front door to her landmarked house. Delaney had bypassed a traditional greeting. But seeing as Lucy had known Delaney Mayor since grade school soccer at the community center, she wasn’t thrown off.
“You can,” Lucy confirmed, knowing the single mother and sole heir of her family’s real estate business had a pretty large bank account.
“Thank you!” Delaney threw her arms around Lucy encompassing them both in a Chanel perfume cloud. When Delaney released her, the scent lingered in the air. “Now come in and we can talk details. I picked up muffins from the new bakery by Publix after my run.”
“Sounds great.” Lucy followed her host through the old house that had been designed to look like an art deco boat. Delaney had renovated the property but kept the unique floor-to–ceiling, curved glass wall that gave the house its nautical feel. The pool stood directly beyond the glass providing the surreal illusion that the sitting area was floating on the water.
“We’re having the party at my parents’ house again this year. More room there,” Delaney explained as she set out plates, a coffee tray, and the bakery box. “I’m afraid this will be the last time Kia wants a princess party. I’m terrified that this will be the last year she believes. Don’t sleepover parties start around eight? I can’t remember what age the magic princess and fairy tales starts to fade.”
“I’m twenty-five and I still believe.” Lucy claimed a chair at the antique table and accepted a half-filled teacup of coffee.
“True.” Delaney sat opposite her and fixed her own cup, starting with the sugar. “But are you planning to invite all of your girlfriends to meet a trio of princesses for your twenty-sixth?”
“My brother takes me to the parks in Orlando every year.” Lucy reached into the bakery box and silently promised to run an extra mile tomorrow for the rolls she’d eaten this morning, and one for the sugar-topped blueberry scone in her hand. “It’s a tradition we started after our parents passed away. I think Finn wants to visit Harry Potter World again this year. He claims he goes for the Butter Beer.”
“Bless his heart,” Delaney said, resting her right hand on her chest. “How is your brother?”
“He’s good. Still single.”
“Finn’s not for me. We’d drive each other crazy.”
Lucy nodded. Her brother would agree. And it wasn’t soon-to-be eight-year-old Kia that would send him running away from Delaney. Finn was married to his work.
Delaney leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “But I wouldn’t turn down a date with his partner.”
“Oh?” Lucy shoved a piece of scone into her mouth before she muttered something stupid like he’s mine.
She wanted Mr. Ab Selfie.
Wow, that sounded awful. She hadn’t said the words out loud, but she could understand why Nicole thought she was crazy.
Still, she did want Philip Ryder—and she had a date with him. Just because he’d postponed didn’t mean she would allow herself to fall for Jared. Her brother’s friend was the unicorn. She couldn’t keep him. He would vanish as soon as the sugar deal closed. Poof! Just like that. Back to Manhattan.
“Jared Mitchell is back in town. I ran into him on the beach the other day, and we ran together,” Delaney confided. “And this time, he seemed at home there. In fact, he asked me to take his picture by the ocean.”
“Jared stopped running for a photo shoot?” Lucy let the jealousy simmer for a second before silently presenting herself with the facts.
First, she’d rejected Jared’s juice box offerings. He had every right to move on and find someone else to entertain him while he waited for his big deal to close.
Second, she’d known from the beginning that Jared was a hit-and-run serial dater. Sure, he could deliver the “wow” factor in the moment—or in the storage closet—but afterward?
He would slip away. Maybe all at once. Maybe slowly like her ex. Skipping dates, avoiding conversation until he had been in bed with someone else . . . which was exactly why she’d rejected the juice.
After turning him down, she couldn’t realistically expect Jared to sit at home pining for her.
“We had a fling once.” Delaney picked her cell off the table. “More like a one-night stand. I thought it was a dead end at the time.”
The jealousy rushed back without invitation, and Lucy reached for another scone. “And now? You don’t think Jared’s a dead end?”
Delaney shrugged as she swept her finger across the screen. “Wait until you see the picture. We talked about how he belongs here, and then he stopped suddenly, asking me to take this shot. I started wondering if maybe he’d grown up and was looking to settle down. I was thinking about texting him and asking him to dinner. A picnic on the beach. Right here where I snapped this shot.” Delaney held out the phone. “Only at sunset instead of sunrise.”
Lucy set aside the comfort scone and accepted Delaney’s phone. She’d say something nice about the picture and then steer the conversation back to Kia’s party. Ten minutes of planning and princesses would wash away the remaining fragments of jealousy.
She looked down at the screen.
No. It can’t be. It’s not possible.
Her eyes widened as she brought the tiny image closer to her face. Shock engulfed her like a cloud. How had he pulled this off? And more importantly—why?
“Jared Mitchell looks pretty good from behind doesn’t he?” Delaney said with a laugh.
“He does,” Lucy admitted.
And so did Philip Ryder.
“I still wish he’d let me take one of him looking at the camera,” Delaney said. “But he refused. I don’t know why. He has such a sexy smile.”
Lucy knew. If he’d sent a picture of his face, she would have seen the truth—Jared Mitchell and Philip Ryder possessed the same perfect backside, the same drool-worthy abs, the same eye-catching arm muscles, and the same sexy smile.
Because Jared Mitchell was Philip Ryder.