Jack

“I’m not going back to the firm.” Watching my father, I brace for the explosion.

It doesn’t come.

He leans back in his chair and exhales deeply. “I had a feeling you might say this. I had a feeling it was coming when you bumped into that little girl again.”

“Ember isn’t a little girl.”

“You realize you’re making a mistake.”

“The only mistake I ever made was not coming back here to verify your story.” My words are angry, but my demeanor is calm.

I walk to the wall of windows in his penthouse office and look out over the vast stretch of ocean. Tiny sailboats are dotted throughout the expanse of blue. It’s all so serene and beautiful, such a contrast to how I feel.

“So you’re not going back to your firm.” My father ignores my jab. “What will you do instead? Paint houses?”

The chuckle in his voice fuels my defiance. “Maybe.” I continue looking out at the water, thinking about life with Ember, the life I’ve always wanted.

“Be serious, Jack.”

I study him sitting behind the large mahogany desk. The gleaming wood and sturdy brass all project an image of importance. My father in his sleek charcoal business suit, his gray hair neatly trimmed along with his close-cut white beard. He’s the picture of superiority.

I think about Brice Wagner and his façade of importance, his lies.

“I am being serious.” My voice is quiet, contemplative. “I’m not interested in competing in the same way as Wagner and Bancroft.”

“Bullshit,” my father growls. “You can compete in any arena. You’re a shark. You’re built for speed, a natural born killer.”

His assumptions actually make me laugh. “I’m not a killer, Dad. I never have been.”

“Well, you’ve done a fine fucking imitation of it up to now.”

With an exhale, I sit in the lower, quilt-stitched leather chair across from his desk. “I buried myself in the work, but I uncovered something. They’re dishonest. They—”

“Ahh!” My dad holds up his hand in a stopping motion. “Don’t tell me anything. You’re not thinking clearly right now, and you might regret sharing it later.”

Leaning forward, I prop my forearms on my thighs. I study my palms and think about how the only person who has ever seen me for who I am is Ember. She’s the only person who has ever cared to know the real me, not the guy they want me to be.

“I’m thinking clearer than I have in a long time,” I say, still studying the lines in my palm as if reading the future. “I’m moving back to Oceanside Village permanently. I’ll paint. I’ll consider taking on small cases, but only because I’m going to marry Ember Warren. I’m going to help her achieve her dreams, and we’ll live our life. The life we dreamed of having together ten years ago.”

He laughs and the derision is like sandpaper against my skin. “Ten years ago, you dreamed something you never would have had if you’d stayed there.” He pushes out of his chair, and walks around the desk, leaning against it. “So you’ll do what? Wills and estates? You’ll paint and marry the town baker? What about her kid?”

My jaw clenches, and I cut angry eyes at him. “I’m warning you. You interfered in our lives once. Don’t do it again.”

Both hands go up this time. “I have no interest in interfering. I’m only asking the obvious questions.”

“Her daughter is a beautiful little girl. I want her to like me and think of me as a father.” Rising from the chair, I start toward the door. “I’d like to give her brothers and sisters as well.”

“Jack,” his voice changes, becomes placating. “Stop… don’t leave angry. You haven’t been home in years. Let’s get lunch.”

My throat is tight, and I’m frustrated with his attitude toward my plans and Emberly, but at the same time, it’s been just Dad and me ever since the accident.

“I came to you for advice. You’re in the business world. I’m facing a serious decision, and I need to do the right thing. I’m not sure how.”

“You always do the right thing, Jack. It’s who you are.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Come, let’s have lunch.”

---

The task ahead of me weighs on my mind the entire drive back to Oceanside. Perhaps Dad was right about not telling anyone yet. Perhaps I should wait on telling Ember what I’ve planned to do.

In his mind, waiting means not burning bridges for when I “wake up” and return to my life in the city, return to the firm. In my mind, I simply don’t want Ember to worry. I shouldn’t be implicated in what happened, but it’s possible I might have some liability if I can’t prove I didn’t know about the hidden files.

Also, there are the circumstances of the case. I don’t want to dredge up painful memories for her. We’ve never talked about her sister and how she died. Ember was so young, I’m not even sure if she remembers. She was about the same age as her daughter when it happened…

Her bike is parked outside the bakery, so I stop there first. It makes me laugh she doesn’t own a car.

“Did you even learn how to drive?” I ask, pushing through the old door.

She’s across the room at that massive wooden table in front of her shelves of ingredients, and I swear, every time I see her, I forget everything clouding my mind.

A spot of flour is on her cheek—at least I think it’s flour. Her long dark hair is swept up on top of her head, and she’s dressed in those cut-offs again, which reveal her sexy legs. Ember isn’t tall, but she has great legs and of course, those curves.

I want to lift her onto that table and taste everything she’s hiding in those shorts then sink my cock…

“What?” She’s pouring something white into a bowl of more white, and when she looks up, I see she’s troubled.

Shaking away my dirty thoughts, I go straight to where she’s standing and lean beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She’d planned to confront her mother today, and her mother is one powerful force. My girl is pretty powerful, but locking horns with someone like that still takes the wind out of your sails.

She shakes her head and continues pouring. “I’m just… thinking about this recipe.”

I’m not convinced it’s the whole truth, but I’ll let it go for now. “What is it?”

“Tabby called about an hour ago. A couple in Oceanside Beach need a gluten-free birthday cake. I saw this on a TV show—it’s called a Hazelnut Dacquoise.”

My eyebrows rise, and I look down at the bubbly white foam rising in the bowl as the silver beater turns. “What’s in it?”

“Hazelnuts, of course.” She quickly switches off the mixer, and I stand back as she removes the bowl and steps down to where a clear blue plastic bag with a large, cone-shaped tip waits beside three white mats. “I’ll alternate three meringue layers with a coffee-flavored mousse between them…”

“Sounds delicious.”

She scrapes the white mixture into the bag. “I hope so.” Her brow lines as she begins squeezing the white stuff into a spiral the size of a dinner plate.

“You’re really good at this. Is that like divinity?”

“Sort of, but crisper.” Her eyes never leave her work. She keeps going until the large spiral is finished. “Once it’s all together, I’ll pipe chocolate ganache peaks around the edges then top them with hazelnut pralines.”

“Damn…” It’s the best I got. “I want one.”

Her lips press into a smile, but whatever is bothering her doesn’t allow her to laugh. I don’t like it, but I’m still pretty fascinated by her new talent. I imagine piping chocolate ganache on Ember’s naked body and licking it off.

“You can have this one if it doesn’t come out right.” She moves to the next white sheet and starts the second plate-sized spiral.

“What would make it ‘not right’?”

She proceeds to spiral number three without looking up. “If the meringue is chewy instead of crisp…” She turns and opens the large oven. “If the custard is runny. If I overcook the hazelnuts and the praline is bitter.”

“Wow. I just thought you meant if it was lopsided.”

Her brown eyes meet mine. “It can’t be lopsided either! I’m charging money for this.”

Catching her around the waist, I pull her to me. “When did you learn to make these amazing desserts?”

She rests her hands on my chest, playing with the lapel of my shirt. “I took a few classes, but mostly by watching videos, TV shows. Then just practice, practice, practice.”

Reaching beside us, I swipe a bit of meringue off the side of the empty bowl and touch it to her bottom lip.

“Jackson!” She pulls her head back, but I lean forward and lick it away, pulling her lip into my mouth.

She immediately relaxes in my arms. I dip my chin and kiss her deeper, sweeping my tongue inside to find hers. Her soft lips part, melting against mine as she kisses me back.

Just as fast, she pulls out of my arms. “I’ve got to start the custard. Tabby said they need this for tonight. It’s going to take at least another hour.”

Looking around the bakery, I see the plastic bucket and little pots of play-dough abandoned on the other end of the table. “Where’s Coco?”

“Tabby took her.” Ember pours cream and breaks eggs into a medium-sized pan. She exhales a little laugh. “Now that I’m paying her, she’s pimping out my child to sell fine baked goods.”

I smile and watch her work in silence several minutes longer. I’ve waited as long as I can, so I just ask.

“How did it go with your mom today?”

Her dark brow clutches. “It was… interesting. It was what I expected, but I learned some things I never knew.”

“What kind of things?”

She shakes her head. “I’m still sorting it out, but I know one thing. I’m not leaving Coco with her again. She’ll stay here with me.”

“It’s too hot here.” I go to her, sliding my hand down her back. “You’ll both stay with me at the cottage.”

Her eyes flicker to mine and just as quickly return to the pot she’s stirring. “Is that a good idea?”

“Have you changed your mind about us?” My throat tightens at the possibility she could say yes.

Her chin is still down, but she says what I want to hear. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

I have an idea. “I need to take care of some things before tonight. Bring Coco home when you’re done.”

Brown eyes flecked with caramel flash to mine, and relief floods my veins when I see happiness shining in them. “Home?”

“Yes.” It’s settled, no discussion.

“Okay,” she replies, and it’s all I need for now.