The week buzzes past in a whirlwind of planning for Julia’s shotgun wedding. Sean and I talk constantly on the phone, our conversations charged with an energy that wasn’t there before. I think that’s a good thing, but I’m not sure. How do you read a guy who admits he’s had trouble opening up in the past?

But he does open up, at least a little. I hear about his childhood summers at his dad’s ranch. He tells me about prep school and chef training and what it was like living in Paris. I tell him about growing up on a farm and how my sister is my best friend in the world.

We talk a lot, but something tells me we’re not saying everything.

Or maybe we’re just stressed about Julia’s wedding. Sean has gobs of food prep to do, and I have flower orders to confirm, centerpieces to arrange, and a bride to reassure that her itty-bitty baby bump is totally hidden by the empire waist of her dress.

“You look amazing,” I assure Julia when I stop by the bridal shop on Thursday to see how her final fitting is going. “Absolutely glowing.”

Her mother beams at me, but Julia looks doubtful as she tugs at the accent sash around her midsection. “Maybe this should be taffeta instead of crushed velvet.”

“I like the texture of the velvet,” I assure her. “It’s more sumptuous.”

“You think?” Julia’s frown lines soften just a little. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m definitely right. You look beautiful.” I steal a glance at my watch. “I’d better run if I’m going to make it to the cupcake place before closing. You have everything you need here?”

“You’re an angel, dear,” says the mother of the bride.

Julia nods, but there’s something heartbreakingly vulnerable in her expression. She smiles at me with the tiniest little one-shoulder shrug. “I just want everything to go perfectly, you know?”

“I know.” Believe me, I know. “We’ll get as close to perfect as we can.”

Which is one reason I’ve offered to handle so many details I might normally leave to the family for a wedding like this. There’s something about this couple, this wedding, that makes me doubly hopeful it all goes off without a hitch.

I hustle out of the shop, wondering if I should text Chelsea at Dew Drop Cupcakes to let her know I’ll be a few minutes late. Two members of the wedding party announced they’ve gone gluten-free, and the groom’s uncle suddenly declared he’s vegan. The bride and her mom don’t have time to sample all the flavor combinations for the last-minute substitution, so I volunteered to taste test in her stead.

Getting paid to eat cupcakes doesn’t suck.

“Amber, hey!”

I freeze mid-sprint and turn to see Bree Bracelyn. Sean’s sister waves from the other side of the street, and I resist the urge to check my watch again as she crosses to join me. Her Betty Boop curls are tucked under a knitted orange beanie, while the rest of her diminutive frame is clad in head-to-toe black.

“Cool boots,” I call as she strides closer.

“Thanks. I got them in that consignment shop over on Harriman.”

I’m tempted to ask why someone with more money than God would shop at a consignment store, but I stop myself in time. It is a damn cool shop.

“How’s it going?” I shove my ponytail over one shoulder and wonder how much Bree knows about Sean and me. Jade and I share all sorts of intimate details with each other, but do brothers and sisters talk like that?

“I’m great!” Bree says. “How about you?”

“Really well.”

“So you’re boning my brother.” Bree smiles as heat creeps into my cheeks.

“He told you that?”

“Nah.” She rocks back on her heels and grins wider. “I had a hunch. The look on your face confirmed it, so thanks.”

“Well played,” I admit, secretly relieved to have it out in the open. “So is this the part where it gets awkward?”

“Not for me,” she says. “The rest is your call. Flawless Amber’s allowed to have a sex life, right?”

I resist the urge to grimace. “You’ve been in town less than a year. How do you know my high school nickname?”

“I’m a snoop,” she says proudly. “Comes with the territory for women with trust issues. Sorry, were you headed somewhere?”

I’m two steps behind her in the conversation and wondering about the trust issues, but a glance at my watch tells me I’ve got two minutes until Chelsea closes up shop. “Dew Drop Cupcakes,” I reply. “Want to sample some flavor combos with me? I could use another set of taste buds.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bree laughs and falls into step with me. “I’d kill for your job.”

“Isn’t your job sort of the same as mine?”

“The clientele makes all the difference.” She makes a face. “I love my clients, but the sort of brides we’re scheduling at Ponderosa would send their personal butlers to bring them samples of cupcakes on monogrammed silver trays.”

“And their personal assistants would hand feed them each bite?”

Bree laughs. “Something like that.”

We reach the end of the block and the front door of a brightly-lit shop decorated in pastel hues. There’s a glass case in front that’s brimming with cupcakes almost too beautiful to eat. I push through the door, engulfing us both in a cloud of warm vanilla and brown sugar and a million other scents that leave my mouth watering.

Chelsea Singer comes out wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Hey, lady,” she says, leaning in to give me a sugar-scented hug. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“Just running late,” I say. “Thanks for waiting. Chels, you know Bree?”

“Bree Bracelyn,” offers my curly-haired companion as she steps forward with an outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Chelsea smiles and shakes her hand. “You’re from the family that’s turning that old ranch into a luxury resort?”

Bree nods, barely masking her surprise. “That’s right.”

“Small town,” I remind her. “Same reason you found out about my nickname, I guess.”

“Ah.” Bree nods. “I guess it’s hard to keep secrets here.”

Is it my imagination, or do her eyes flash with worry? She glances away quickly, so maybe it’s all in my head.

Chelsea washes her hands at an adorable pink pastel pedestal sink behind the counter. “So are you ready to do some tasting?”

“That depends,” I say. “Do gluten-free, vegan cupcakes taste like reindeer food?”

“Bite your tongue.” Chelsea wipes her hands on a towel. “Everything I make tastes like little clouds of heaven.”

“Little clouds of heaven,” Bree repeats, looking impressed. “I could use more of that in my life.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Chelsea pries the lids off several small tubs of frosting and pulls out a white-handled spreading knife. “All three of these are vegan. We’ve got vanilla, lemon chiffon, and salted chocolate. Normally I’d put them in a pastry bag and make pretty swirly patterns, but you’re going for taste here, not appearance.”

I consider telling her about my vulva cookie decorations but decide against it. I don’t know Sean’s sister that well yet, so I’d rather not leave her thinking I’m a perv.

I point to the mini cupcakes laid out on a round tray beside her. “Are those the gluten-free choices?”

“Yep. That’s orange cream, mint mocha, and vanilla bean.” Chelsea shrugs. “They weren’t necessarily made to go together, but you said you wanted to kill two birds with one stone.”

“Thanks for making this work for us.”

“No prob,” Chelsea says. “Here, grab a pen and some paper so you can take notes if you want.”

“Thank you.” Bree selects a daisy-topped pen and a lavender notecard, and I do likewise with mint-green paper and a pen adorned with a floppy sunflower.

Chelsea sets to work smearing each bite-sized cupcake with a generous dollop of frosting.

“Those look delicious,” Bree says. “I’d apologize for horning in on your tasting session, but I’m not actually sorry.”

“I’m glad for the extra set of taste buds,” I assure her. “I invited Sean, but he had too much to do to get ready for the wedding.”

“Glad to help.”

“And I’m glad to meet you,” Chelsea adds, smiling at Bree. “I hope you’ll consider using us for any of your events that call for cupcakes.”

“I definitely will.” She studies Chelsea with an odd little ghost of a smile. “One of my brothers has a major sweet tooth. He’d love y—this place.”

Chelsea spreads frosting on another cupcake and smiles. “I’d love to meet him.”

I start to ask which brother but stop myself. I haven’t met any of them, so there’s no point asking her to rattle off names. Should it worry me that I haven’t met more of Sean’s family?

Bree plucks one of Chelsea’s business cards from a cupcake-adorned holder and tucks it in her coat pocket, while Chelsea finishes spreading the frosting.

I don’t know how she achieves the perfect ratio of cake to icing, but it’s magical. She pushes the tray forward and starts pointing. “This is the gluten-free orange cream cupcake with the vegan vanilla frosting,” she says. “And here it is with the salted chocolate, and this one has the lemon. See what you think.”

Bree and I get busy tasting, making appropriate yummy noises and licking crumbs off our fingers as Chelsea batters up another round of samples.

“Mmm,” Bree says. “I’m going to have to rub Sean’s nose in it for missing out on this.”

“I’m sure he’s whipping up plenty of his own yumminess.” Did that sound porny? I have to keep reminding myself Bree is the sister of the guy I’m sleeping with. I adore her, but I need to choose my words carefully.

Bree jots something on her notecard and picks up another sample. “He’s been working like crazy fine-tuning the menu for the restaurant.”

“The menu he’s planned for the wedding sounds amazing, too.”

Bree nods and plucks another bite of cupcake off the tray. “He kicked me out of his kitchen this morning after I taste-tested too many of his parmesan crispies,” she says. “Rude.”

I laugh and pick up a tiny cupcake with peachy-colored frosting. “I’m just glad he agreed to do the wedding catering,” I say. “It’s been crazy pulling it together on such short notice.”

“I’m amazed he found time,” Bree says. “Between finishing the restaurant and getting things ready for inspections and the stress of having his damn mother under the same roof, he’s been working nonstop. He must really like you.”

I smile and try to focus on the last part of what she said, but it’s the middle part that snagged my brain.

“His mother?” I dig my nails into my palm, hoping Bree doesn’t catch my confusion.

She grabs one of the mint mocha cupcakes with vanilla icing. “God only knows how long she’s staying, but at least it’s not with me. I don’t know how Sean’s living with—” Bree stops and stares at me. “You didn’t know.”

I fumble for another cupcake bite and force a smile. “I’m sure he mentioned it and I forgot,” I say. “It’s been crazy lately.”

“Wedding planning pickles your brain like nothing else,” Chelsea adds, offering a helpful smile.

Bree studies my face, her expression unreadable. “Sean’s always been weird about his mom,” she says. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Weird how?”

“She’s a real piece of work,” Bree says. “She’s been here more than a month, and we’ve spent the whole time freaking out that she’s going to file some stupid suit and try to claim part of our property.”

A month. More than a month his mother’s been here, and Sean never said a word. Never mentioned a family freakout of any kind.

I clear my throat and force down a piece of cupcake with the texture of cardboard. I have a hunch it’s me and not the cupcake. “She could take your resort?”

Bree shakes her head and glances at Chelsea, who gives her a reassuring smile. “No,” Bree says carefully. “Our lawyer seems confident that can’t happen. But she could tie us up in legal crap, and that’s a pain. Not to mention expensive.” She shrugs and reaches for another piece of cupcake. “It wouldn’t be so bad, but Sean refuses to talk about it.”

The words tumble around together in my head, and I try not to read too much into this. Is it a red flag that Sean never mentioned something so huge?

Bree studies my face again, and I force a smile. “I love this one,” I say, pointing to the sample with vanilla and lemon.

Hesitating only a moment, Bree takes my cue. “This one with orange and salted chocolate is my favorite.”

“Mine, too,” Chelsea says. “It was our most popular combination over the holidays.”

Chelsea smiles at me, but there’s a question in her eyes.

You okay?

I nod and pick up a sample with vanilla on mint mocha. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Bree’s comment about trust issues just set me on edge, that’s all. There’s no reason to panic. No reason to assume Sean is anything but a super nice guy who’s a little closed off.

I can’t let this wig me out. I don’t know where things are headed with us, but I can’t sabotage things by worrying he’s another jerk who’s destined to shut me out now that he’s gotten what he wants.

Dusting my hands on a little pink napkin, I jot a few notes on my mint-green index card. “I’m really liking the vanilla and lemon. Very bright and springy.”

Chelsea smiles and hands me a bottle of water. “Here’s this, in case you want to cleanse your palate.”

“Thanks.” I take a swig from the bottle, less worried about my palate than I am the lump in my throat.