Chapter Eleven
This was a mistake.
Avery insisted on carrying the groceries into Jillian’s apartment. It was the least he could do. This whole evening wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. Something had shifted between them since running into Mrs. Monroe, and Jillian refused to talk about it. Even joking around with her to add some levity to the situation hadn’t fixed things—at least not permanently.
Had Jillian changed her mind about working with him? The thought didn’t sit well with him and it had nothing to do with winning the Bake-Off.
Avery placed the groceries on the counter, not quite sure what to say next. Perhaps it was best to give Jillian some space. “Thanks for shopping with me. You know, if you have other things to do, I could take all of this and get out of your way.”
Her eyes widened as though she was surprised that he was trying to back out. “You’ve already changed your mind about the Bake-Off?”
“No. I’m going to do it. I just—well, you didn’t seem happy about it when I mentioned us working together on it to Mrs. Monroe.”
“I told you not to worry about it.” Jillian busied herself by putting away the groceries.
“What was it? Why did my speaking with Mrs. Monroe bother you?”
“It wasn’t you talking to her that bothered me. I…I just didn’t want her to think I was doing something wrong by helping you with the Bake-Off.”
He breathed his first easy breath. “That’s what you were worried about?”
She nodded.
“Then don’t worry. When I was out and about earlier today, I ran into Carol Bingley. She told me all of the bachelors had solicited help in one manner or another.” If that was all that bothered her about this arrangement, then maybe they could keep going.
“Oh.” She didn’t seem that surprised or relieved. “That’s good to hear.”
“But if you’re still uncomfortable, you can back out. I’d understand.”
She shook her head. “Stay. We have some cookies to bake.”
And so Avery found the recipe in the cookbook and Jillian gathered the ingredients. Her kitchen was a lot smaller than his and thus a lot cozier. They nearly collided a few times.
“A lot of recipes call for two bowls. I usually don’t do it that way, especially for cookies.” Jillian took a seat on the other side of the bar from him. “I usually start with the butter. And since you’ve switched up the recipe, I wondered if you’d like to try something else.”
Since he didn’t have a clue what he was doing, what was one more change to the recipe? “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“I thought we could brown the butter?”
His nose instinctively retracted. “Why would we do that?”
She smiled at him. “It will caramelize it. You do like caramel, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Just show me what to do.”
She walked him through the process. It certainly seemed easy enough. He made notes on a slip of paper so he could repeat the process. Once the butter turned an amber shade, Jillian explained how to cool it in a cold-water bath.
Jillian continued to instruct him on what to do and when. So far so good. After the eggs and vanilla were mixed, it was time for the flour. Avery dumped a full cup in with the mixer on medium speed. Instantly, there was a white cloud of flour.
“Stop the mixer!” Jillian waved her hands and jumped off the stool.
“Oops! I guess I wasn’t supposed to do that,” he said, inspecting the mess he’d made.
Jillian glanced down at her flour-covered clothes and then her gaze moved to him. He looked down to find that he was wearing a layer of flour too. He wasn’t sure how angry Jillian was with him. The flour was not only on them but also the counter, the cookbooks, and the floor. It was everywhere.
The longer she remained quiet, the more worried he became. He was in so far over his head with this whole baking thing. And this proved it.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ll clean it up.”
Suddenly she burst out laughing. It wasn’t a small, polite giggle. This was a full-on belly laugh. Her eyes grew shiny with happy tears. And it was contagious. He couldn’t help but laugh too. He had no idea why they were laughing, but it did feel good.
Jillian had a warm laugh that put him at ease. He couldn’t help but think she needed to laugh more. Her face was full of color and her eyes sparkled with merriment.
It was in that moment he realized how much he missed hearing her laughter around his house. Since she’d quit working for him, the house seemed so much quieter and a lot emptier. This Bake-Off was turning into an eye-opening experience. Maybe this freedom thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Jillian brushed off her sweater and then turned to him. “Here, let me help you.”
She started to brush off his chest. Her hands running over his body made him think of what it would be like to pull her close and taste her berry lips. His gaze dipped to her mouth and her plump lower lip. She definitely had a mouth that was begging to be kissed.
He should glance away, but he couldn’t because in that moment all he could think about was her tempting lips. He’d be willing to guess they would be sweeter than the cookies he was about to bake.
Her hands stilled over his heart as she worked at removing a bit of splattered dough. She was causing his heart rate to skyrocket. He wondered if she could feel it. And if she could, what was she thinking? What would she do if he were to swoop in and press his mouth to hers?
He raised his hand until it covered hers. His thumb stroked the back of her hand. He noticed the softness of her skin. The breath hitched in the back of his throat.
When his gaze met hers, he found questions swirling within the depths of her big blue eyes. He probably had some of the same questions. Where was this going? And what did he expect?
But he had absolutely no answers—not for her—and not for himself. Until he did have some answers, perhaps he should proceed with caution for both of their sakes. Because the very last thing he wanted to do was hurt Jillian.
He grudgingly pulled his hand away, hoping the lack of contact would return his heart rate to a normal pace. And that his thoughts would focus on anything but kissing her.
She moved away without saying a word. Maybe she hadn’t noticed his slipup. Could he be that lucky?
“Did you add the salt?” she asked.
He thought about it for a moment. “No.”
“It’s in the cabinet next to the stove.” Just then her phone chimed. “It’s a text. I better check it.”
Avery welcomed the distraction. He moved to the cabinet and quickly found a container marked salt. After consulting the recipe, he measured out a teaspoon and mixed it in with the rest of the ingredients.
Jillian set aside her phone. “It was nothing important.” She picked up the salt. “Is this what you used?”
Oh no. That didn’t sound good. “Um…yeah.”
She frowned.
“I take it that isn’t the right thing.”
She shook her head. “This is coarse salt. I use it for things like the top of pretzels.”
“I’ll just toss this out.” He picked up the bowl and started for the trash.
“No. Don’t.”
Avery paused. “I don’t understand. You just said I used the wrong stuff.”
“But the beautiful thing about baking and cooking is the ability to be flexible and make recipes your own.”
“So the coarse salt is fine?”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” Jillian retrieved the measuring cup for the flour. “Perhaps you should hand stir it for a bit.”
He sighed. “This is what I was worried about. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
Jillian smiled. “No, you’re not. I think a lot of people put in too much flour all at once and learn the same lesson you did. In the future, you’ll be sure to remember to add the flour in smaller portions.”
“I hope so. Talk about a mess.”
“I did it when I was a kid and I didn’t forget.”
He glanced around. “I feel really bad that your kitchen is a mess.”
She waved off his worry. “It’s nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”
And so back to work he went. By the time he carefully dropped each spoonful of cookie dough onto the cookie sheet and slipped it in the oven, he was feeling more confident about his baking skills. Jillian had more patience than he was expecting. The fact she hadn’t freaked out over the mess he’d made shocked him. She was going to make someone an awesome mom.
He could envision her with a baby in her arms. A little girl who looked just like her. And then he pictured himself as part of that image—the loving husband and doting father—
Wait. What?
Totally confused by the direction of his thoughts, he gave himself a mental shake. What was up with him? Maybe it was this intimate setting. Yes, that had to be it. Jillian’s place was a lot different than his parents’ house. This apartment was warm and snug like a love nest. While his parents’ home was more formal.
Once the dishes were washed up and the remnants of flour removed from the kitchen, Jillian invited him to sit with her in the living room area of the open floor plan. The last batch of cookies was in the oven. He really just wanted to leave.
Still, he couldn’t be rude and run out on her, especially after the way she’d gone out of her way to help him. And so he took a seat on the couch, leaving a respectable space between them. He sat there for a moment in silence, not sure what to say.
“What’s bothering you?” Jillian’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Why do you think anything’s wrong?”
“Because I’ve known you most of my life and I can tell when something’s eating at you.”
He wasn’t about to tell her the truth—that she made him wonder what his life would be like if his parents hadn’t died. If he’d had a normal life, would they have ended up together? Would they have had a baby together?
Instead he uttered, “I got a letter this week.”
“That must have been some letter to rattle you so much.”
Now why in the world had he gone and mentioned the letter? He’d planned to keep it to himself until he’d made a decision. But he found it surprisingly easy to talk to Jillian—as long as it didn’t involve his mixed emotions about her.
“It was definitely a shock.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “It appears Howard Smith set up his will in such a way that I was given first chance at buying the Crooked S Ranch.”
“Really?” Her face lit up with a big smile. “That’s wonderful. Mr. Smith always did treat you like family. So what does this mean?”
“That’s the problem. His nephews are businessmen in San Francisco and they have no interest in running a ranch. They want to sell it and I have ninety days in which to secure financing.”
“I’m so happy for you.” She studied his face. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Why don’t you seem excited about this?”
“Believe me, I am. I’m just worried.”
Her smile dimmed as concern reflected in her eyes. “Worried about what?”
“Coming up with the money. I already talked to the bank and I’ve been turned down for a loan.”
“Well, if that’s the problem, there has to be another solution.” She leaned back on the couch as though to consider the options.
“Don’t worry about it. This is my problem.”
“But sometimes two minds are better than one.”
Just then the timer for the cookies went off. Avery jumped to his feet. When he pulled the cookies from the oven, he said, “I think I’ve got these cookies down pat.”
“Good.” Jillian joined him in the kitchen. She grabbed one of the cookies and took a bite. “Mm… Did you taste them?”
“I had some of the batter.”
“You need to try the baked version.” She grabbed another cookie and held it out to him.
He took it and bit into the still-warm cookie. It was a mix of different textures. The soft chocolate, the crunchy pretzel, and the rich, chewy cookie dough. He liked it. Really liked it.
He couldn’t help but smile. He’d actually accomplished this—with a little bit of help. Okay a lot of help. None of it would have been possible without Jillian.
His gaze met hers. “Thank you.”
*
Jillian wished she could help Avery buy the Crooked S Ranch.
She’d thought about it last evening and again this morning, but she still had no suggestions for him. A man who loved cowboying, animals, and the great outdoors definitely deserved his own ranch.
Jillian could understand that sort of passion. She’d loved making jewelry since she was a kid. She had all of those jewelry-making kits. There were the braided bracelets. The million bead sets. And her favorite, the shape-it and bake-it jewelry. For years and years, her dream was to have her own jewelry shop. And now her dream had come true. But for Avery, he had the agony of being so close and yet so far from his dream.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The rapid knocking drew Jillian from her thoughts. Only one person knocked like that—her mother when she was in a rush. Jillian hoped her mother didn’t want her to babysit Romeo that evening. She loved the little guy, but he was a handful. He was definitely not the mellow lap cat she’d imagined she was getting when she’d spotted him at the shelter.
“Come in.” Jillian called out from where she was pouring her second cup of coffee.
“Was that Avery I saw at your place last night?” her mother asked, dispensing with any friendly morning greeting.
Jillian wasn’t sure how to take her mother’s directness. “Yes, it was.”
Her mother’s frown deepened. “What was he doing here?”
Jillian suddenly felt like she was twelve again and was about to be grounded. “Since when do you dislike Avery?”
“Since you sat around for six years waiting for him and then nothing. He used you as long as he needed you and then he discarded you.”
Her mother had never been this vocal about her feelings for Avery. And Jillian didn’t know whether to be touched that her mother cared so much for her well-being or angry that her mother was making it seem like Avery had done something wrong when in fact, he hadn’t done a thing to warrant this hostility. He’d never once led her on. She’d gotten her hopes up all on her own.
“Mother, we talked about this before. He never did anything to lead me on. I liked him. He just didn’t see me that way.”
“But he let it go on—”
“He did no such thing. I worked as the nanny when he was working on the ranch or out of town. End of story. So give the guy some slack.”
“I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”
“I promise, I won’t get hurt. I’m long over Mr. Avery Wainwright.”
Her mother’s eyes said she didn’t believe her, but her mother nodded just the same. “So have you found a date for the wedding?”
“Would you like some coffee?” There was just enough left in the pot for another mugful.
“No, thank you. I already had some and too much makes me jittery. Now, stop stalling. Did you find a date? Or should I call one of my friends?”
Oh boy, this is where things were going to get sticky. Jillian considered putting it off, but she knew it was best just to put it out there. Maybe her mother would be able to vent and get it out of her system before the wedding this weekend.
Jillian took a sip of coffee. “Actually, I do have a date.”
Her mother’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful. Who is it?”
Jillian took another sip of coffee. “It’s Avery.”
Her mother’s smile fell. “Jillian, why would you ask him?”
“Because it made sense. I don’t want a boyfriend and he doesn’t want a relationship. We’re going as friends. He’s nothing more than my plus one.”
Her mother shook her head as though none of this made any sense to her. “If that’s what you believe, then you’re more foolish than I ever imagined. You two will never just be friends.”
And with that ominous statement, her mother turned and headed for the door. Her mother didn’t even say goodbye. Instead, there was the resounding thud of the door as it swung shut.
What in the world had gotten into her mother? She always made a point of trying to get along with everyone. She acted as though Avery had walked out on Jillian on their wedding day. And that was so far from the truth.
Her mother was wrong; she and Avery could be just friends.
And then Jillian’s thoughts rolled back to that moment in her kitchen when she’d been brushing the flour from his chest. Something had happened there. It was in the way he’d looked at her. The way he touched her hand. It was as though the ground had moved beneath them.
Or it could just be her overactive imagination. It was the simplest and safest explanation. To fall for that cowboy all over again would only end one way—with her broken heart. Because his boots were made for walking…right out of Marietta. He made that known to everyone—including her. Not even the chance to own the Crooked S Ranch was going to sway him to settle down in a relationship.