Anna went easy on Beckett the first day. She let him crack eggs and stir batter and wash dishes. But when Leah continued to need time off and Anna was left without an assistant, she was through playing nice. Instead of confronting her sister and Beckett, however, she decided to teach him a lesson.
Anna was waiting for him at the back door of the bakery when he arrived that afternoon. Her stomach wobbled a little when he flashed his dimpled smile at her, but she stood firm. Beckett was in on this just like the rest of her family. She had to stick to her plan.
He carried two Styrofoam boxes to the door with him. “Hey.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She inserted a little breathiness into her tone for effect.
He set the boxes on the counter. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” she said, unfolding an apron. “But we have a lot of work to do and we need extra cookies for additional guests.”
“But I brought lunch.” He eyed the apron with uncertainty.
“No time for that. Here, put this on and wash your hands.”
He took the apron, holding it gingerly between two fingertips. It was red, a perfectly reasonable color. But it had polka dots. And a ruffle at the bottom.
She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Problem?”
“No…”
Anna reached for the apron. “Forget it. I know you have a lot to do. I’m sure Summer can help me. Or Poppy—”
“No.” He held tight to the apron. “I’m up for it. I can do whatever you need me to do.”
Her lips curved. She gave the apron a little tug. “You sure?”
Laughter lit his eyes. “Bring it on.”
She released the apron, and to her surprise, he put it right on and turned to the sink to wash his hands. She watched the way his shoulders moved, the play of muscles pulling tight against the too-small apron as he hunched over at the sink.
Her throat dried. She swallowed hard to moisten it. No getting off track. And definitely, definitely no thinking about Beckett’s muscles. Ones he’d gotten from working hard at the barn. From growing up being part of the outdoors. From running around with her and her family.
The complete opposite of Tom.
She tried to scrub those thoughts from her mind and squared her shoulders to prove she was perfectly composed. He grabbed a towel and straightened again, standing at his full height.
Beckett was all man. And he was helping her bake. She gave a choked laugh at the flutter in her chest. Damn, this was a problem. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about men at all, let alone an old family friend.
Besides, he could have any woman he wanted. Sure, he spent most of his time at home or with her family, but maybe he was shy. Maybe he just needed a little push.
He’d make any woman happy.
“Now you’re staring,” Beckett said, setting the towel aside.
Anna’s eyes snapped to his. “What? No. Just thinking. Ready to start?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She flipped on some music and pointed to the counter. “Let’s do this.”
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Beckett was pretty sure his plan wasn’t working. As funny as it had been to see Anna’s face when Jillian agreed to let him help prepare for the open house, she’d seemed suspicious. Not only that, she’d spent the last few days teaching him words like fondant and piping, and stuck to business as she instructed him on how to bake cookies and layers and stir the filling. Totally out of his comfort zone. He’d gone home each evening covered in flour and sticky dough and no closer to telling Anna how he felt.
Now he was starting to get the feeling Anna was enjoying bossing him around.
“We’re going to practice decorating these cookies so you can help me finish the rest tomorrow morning. And then we’ll move onto the cakes,” she said.
He nodded easily. “Sure. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
Eventually she’d get sick of him screwing things up, but he’d give it a decent try first just to keep up the ruse.
Anna pulled over a tray of cookies, her delicate fingers moving deftly as she transferred several to the surface they were working on. “I baked these this morning and they’re already cool and ready for us to work with.”
With her hair tucked into her bandana, the long line of her neck was exposed, and he imagined brushing his fingers over the flawless skin. He imagined leaning in, breathing in deep the scent of her. Sugar and spice. And then he’d set his lips on hers and—
“Beckett.”
He jerked his eyes from her neck. “Huh? Yeah?”
“Are you focusing?”
“Yes.”
Her lips twitched. “What did I just say?”
“Uh…” He squirmed in the tiny apron, resisting the urge to take it off. He had to play along for this to work. “Roll out the fondant stuff and something about embossing something.”
She laughed, the throaty sound of it hitting him right in the gut.
“Close enough,” she said. “Here, you try.”
She passed him a rolling pin and pointed to the off-white doughy blob on the surface of the table. It looked like a lump of clay.
“Just roll it?” he asked, distracted by how close she stood to him.
“Yes. But not too thin.”
How did he know how thin too thin was? He pressed the rolling pin to the fondant and rolled it lightly on the surface.
“A little more pressure. It’s going to have to be thinner than that.”
She set her hands on his, pushing them down so the rolling pin pressed into the fondant. Her skin was like silk, soft and smooth, and covered in flour. Had she ever touched him like that before? No way. He would have remembered.
“Good. Right. A little more pressure,” she said.
It didn’t help that she smelled so good. Or that her arm kept brushing his. How was he supposed to focus?
She let go and he stopped rolling.
“How’s that?” he asked.
She angled her head at him.
“What?”
Those eyes said a lot. Held questions and answers and so much more he wanted to hear. Conversations he had with her every once in a while and wanted more of. He opened his mouth to ask her to dinner, but she moved away.
“You did good,” she said. “Now we need to emboss the fondant.”
She handed him another tool that looked like a clear rolling pin—or a thick magic wand. It was smaller than the rolling pin he’d used to flatten the fondant, and this one was decorated with a design all around it.
Then she brandished a cookie cutter and made small a circle in the large piece of fondant. She set the smaller piece in front of him. “Roll it gently over the top, enough to transfer the design.”
It was such a delicate process; he was afraid he was going to smash the whole piece. Too much pressure, not enough pressure. But Anna was a natural.
It had to be hard on her, preparing for weddings day in and day out after missing her own.
“Good,” Anna said, leaning in to see his progress. She glanced up, and in that moment, all he could see were her expressive eyes and happiness.
And he wondered how Tom could have treated her the way he had.
“Perfect.” She held up the piece of fondant gently. “See? Just right.”
Right there it clicked. He needed to make this work with Anna. And he needed her, plain and simple.
“You place it on the cookie, right in the center.” She demonstrated, making the whole process look simple when he probably would have fumbled it. “And now we decorate.”
“No, that’s not—” He stepped back and held up his hands. “I think you should do that part.”
“Come on, Beckett, I need your help. We’re going to have to do a few dozen of these tomorrow.”
“A few dozen?”
Her lips curved. “I take that back. Probably several dozen. Including the cakes. And we have to set up beforehand, too.”
His brain immediately scrambled with excuses. Okay, so it had been a good idea to offer to help Anna, but he hadn’t known it would involve so much work.
“You look scared, Beckett.”
He laughed, though it didn’t come out as smooth as he intended. “Not at all. I like work. The more the better.”
“Mmm hmm.” She smiled. “And how about the apron? Do you like that?”
“Uh…” Damn. What was he supposed to say? No, he didn’t like it. It wasn’t manly. It was for a girl. But he wasn’t going to tell her that. “It’s…a nice color.”
“How about icing cakes? And flowers?”
Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and he crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”
She poked him in the shoulder. “I know something is going on.”
He kept his expression even. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t really want to be here decorating cookies with me and wearing a girly apron. Whose idea was it?”
Another trick question. “Nobody’s idea. I mean, my idea because Leah wasn’t going to be here. I’m happy to help. Really.”
“I appreciate it, Beckett. I do.” She sighed. “But I have a feeling all this has been orchestrated.”
She knew. How did she know? Had Poppy told her? Did that mean she knew how he felt, too?
“I…” He didn’t know what to say. It was even harder to find words when he wore a polka-dot apron and had a rolling pin in hand.
“You guys think I can’t handle it, right?” Anna’s eyes looked wounded. “I know you guys care, but I’m okay. I don’t need the extra help. I don’t need you all checking in on me to make sure I’m okay. It’s been more than six months. I’m moving on, and I’m okay.”
He released a breath. She thought they felt sorry for her or that they were keeping an eye on her. That’s all. It should have relieved him, but it didn’t because of how she was looking at him.
“It’s not that,” he said.
“Sure it isn’t.”
“Really, Anna. Shit, I—” He broke off. Was he just supposed to come out with it? Tell her how he felt? Tell her the plan? It would probably make this better. But what if she didn’t feel the same way?
Her cell phone buzzed from inside her pocket. She pulled it out and pressed the screen. He watched as her eyes zoomed over a message, then flashed up to his.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Anna tucked her cell phone back in her pocket. “No, nothing. It’s fine. Just an email from a friend.”
It didn’t feel true, but he accepted her answer. None of his business. But damn, now the moment had passed and he was stuck again. She didn’t bring up him helping anymore and seemed lost in her own thoughts, instructing him about the decorating with an almost robotic voice.
{}{}{}
Anna had already opened a bottle of wine by the time Poppy got home. Their two-bedroom apartment was only a few blocks from Main Street, on the top floor of a modern complex built within the last five years. Despite the apartment being small, it had a balcony with a view that made the whole place worthwhile.
Mountains. Trees for miles.
Probably the only other spot in town that had a view better than hers was Beckett’s place.
As she listened to the jingle of Poppy’s keys from her place on the couch, Anna rubbed a hand over her eyes. Why was she thinking about Beckett again? She sighed. It was just because she’d been spending so much time with him. Jillian probably put him up to it. Or her mother. Maybe even Poppy.
But she couldn’t get that image of him wearing an apron out of her mind. Or the idea of all the muscles beneath it. And more, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled or the way he always seemed to be there when she needed someone.
She always went for guys like Tom. Confident. Bordering on cocky. Sometimes even flashy. Why hadn’t she ever thought about someone like Beckett before now?
“Please tell me you saved some for me,” Poppy said, leaning over the back of the couch to give Anna a smile.
Anna pointed to their tiny kitchen, one not nearly big enough for the baking she enjoyed doing there. “On the counter.”
Poppy’s short heels clicked on the floor as she walked to the kitchen. “All set for the open house?”
“Good enough.” Anna stood and carried her wine to the sliding door, exiting to the balcony. The sun sank close to the mountains, warm on her cheeks and arms as she stared at the trees and listened to the wind whisper through them.
It didn’t take Poppy long to join her. She’d taken off her shoes and her sweater, and she leaned on the rail like Anna.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Anna shrugged. “Nothing really.” And everything. The email she’d gotten from Celeste this afternoon still weighed heavy on her mind.
“I’m calling B.S.”
Anna sat in one of the colorful wooden chairs, propping her feet on the balcony rail. A few pansies Poppy had planted waved in the soft breeze. “I got an email from Celeste today.”
Poppy sat in the chair next to hers. “Oh yeah? How’s she doing?”
Anna sipped her wine. Poppy was her best friend. If she was going to talk to anyone, it had to be her. “Good. She’s loving Paris and her training. There’s a bakery nearby that wants to hire her.”
“That’s great, right? Why do you look so serious?”
Anna smiled at her, stalling. “No, it is great.”
“You miss her?”
Anna nodded. She did. She’d grown close with her college friend and they’d been there for each other through a lot of ups and downs. But more than that, Anna missed the space. The time to think. The chance to get away from her life here like she had in college. And it was all because of Tom.
“She said there might be another opening at the bakery,” Anna said.
Poppy’s hand froze with her wine glass halfway to her mouth. “What are you saying?”
Anna took another sip for encouragement. “She also said she needed a roommate once her old one moved out.”
“You’re moving to France?”
“No. Not—no. I mean, I don’t know. It was an idea. She said I should come visit.”
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know.”
Poppy slowly sipped her wine, keeping quiet for so long Anna turned to her and asked, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking…Tom was an ass and we all knew it. I should have said something sooner, but I never thought he’d cheat on you.”
Anna felt her defenses go up. She didn’t like talking about Tom—especially with her family. “What does this have to do with Celeste and France?”
“I think you might want to go because of him. To…I don’t know, have a chance to start over or something.”
Anna couldn’t answer. That was exactly it. She wanted to leave all this behind. Not because she wasn’t over Tom, but because she’d been humiliated in front of her family. And still, day in and day out, she had to plan weddings and watch other people get married, wondering if she was ever going to find the right one for her.
“Is that why you’ve been sending Beckett to help me so much?” Anna asked quietly.
Poppy opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. She looked surprised. No—caught. Like she was guilty of something.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Anna continued. “I wondered why you and Jillian—even Beckett—were acting so weird. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’m fine.”
“No. No, that’s not it at all.” Poppy started laughing, hard enough she had to set her wine down. “Oh, Anna. I’m sorry if that’s what you thought.”
“Then what is it?”
Poppy stopped laughing, but her smile still stayed in place. “You’d have to ask Jillian. You know how she always has plans for something or another.”
“Are you hiding something from me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You sounded guilty.”
Poppy pressed her lips together and shook her head, mirth still dancing in her eyes. “We know each other too well, don’t we?”
Anna lifted her wine again and sighed, her gaze drawn to the emerald treetops. “We do.”
“I understand why you’re thinking about going to France, but I don’t want you to leave without giving it another chance here. Tom’s an asshole for screwing around behind your back, but he’s the one who’s going to end up regretting it in the long run. Move on. Prove to everyone that you have. Maybe even try dating. Someone you know, even. Someone you trust.”
Again, Beckett came to mind, and Anna bit her lip to keep from saying anything. How ridiculous was that? He was a friend. He’d laugh at her if he knew she’d been thinking about him as anything else.
“Maybe you’re right,” Anna said.
Poppy nodded. “I am. Give it some time, at least a few weeks. And if you still feel like you need to go, I’ll support your decision.”
“And you’ll tell me what you’re so guilty about?”
Poppy’s lips curved. “Deal.”