Chapter Three
Stacey couldn’t stop thinking about Tyler as she cleaned up her kitchen. The way he’d closed his eyes and opened his mouth to let her feed him the cookie…and how tempted she’d been to kiss him, instead. To touch her lips to that beautiful mouth. To taste and nibble and see how she could make him sigh with pleasure.
But what on earth would someone like Tyler Carter see in someone like her?
You’re so dumb, Stacey.
Her father’s voice again. And she knew that voice was right. It would be much more sensible to keep things platonic between herself and Tyler. Which was why she’d backed off and suggested that he did the practice runs of the cookies on his own, rather than with her. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she had the hots for him—particularly because she did. Though to be fair, she thought, any woman with red blood in her veins would find Tyler Carter attractive.
She distracted herself by curling up with a mug of hot chocolate and her laptop, and working on the case file for her newest student. But Tyler’s words were still echoing round her head. Sports can really help with self-esteem… I need someone who could help me put a proposal together. Someone who understands about special needs.
He’d even said he thought they’d make a good team.
And maybe he was right.
Maybe together they could make a difference. Maybe they could stop some kids feeling awkward and stupid and as if they didn’t belong. And if she could stop someone feeling the way she’d felt throughout most of her own teen years, that would be a really good thing.
She could work with him.
But she’d have to drown out her father’s voice yet again before she approached Tyler on the subject.
*
“No way did you bake these, Ty,” Kelly said in the office at Carter’s Gym after her first mouthful. “Where did you buy them? Somewhere in Bozeman?”
“I’ll have you know, I made them with my own fair hands.” Tyler almost—almost—admitted that he’d set off the smoke alarm in his apartment. Except he knew Kelly wouldn’t be able to resist sharing that little tidbit with the other trainers, and the news would leak straight over the road to the fire station.
“You really expect us to believe you’ve developed a sudden ability to bake, when you made such a mess of grilled cheese in the staff kitchen here?” Jason asked.
“Is it so hard to believe?” Tyler protested.
“Yes, it is,” Sam said. “So who made the cookies really?”
“Seriously—I made them myself.”
“All on your own, or with help?” Kelly asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
“With a little help.” He could admit that much.
“From?” Jason asked.
“Someone with a much kinder heart than you three,” he retorted with a grin, refusing to let them press him into revealing his baking teacher’s name. “Someone who wouldn’t have tossed me to the wolves and signed me up to bake stuff in public.”
“It’s for a good cause,” Kelly reminded him.
“And I could’ve donated cash and prizes instead.”
“Yeah, but this way you’re actually doing something,” Sam said. “Don’t you always tell the clients that making a bit of an effort always pays extra dividends?”
Hoist with his own petard. “And that’s why,” Tyler said, “I’m making the effort to learn how to bake.”
“So does that mean we get to sample the results of your lessons?” Jason asked.
“You might regret that,” Tyler warned with a grin, “but yes, it does.”
After his shift, he called in to Monroe’s to pick up more ingredients before he went home to practice his baking. Except, even though he was sure he followed Stacey’s recipe to the letter, the cookies just weren’t the same. The edges were browner and harder—and not in a good way, because they tasted bitter—and the texture just wasn’t right.
Where had he gone wrong?
There was one person he could ask. Or was he being too pushy?
Then again, she had offered to help. And he’d washed up the container she’d lent him the previous night and needed to give it back, right? He put some of the latest cookies on a plate, tucked the plastic box under one arm and headed next door.
“Oh—hi!” she said, sounding slightly breathless when she opened the door.
“I brought your box back.”
“Thank you.”
“And I thought you might like to try my first attempt at the cookies on my own,” he said. Then he glanced at the plate. “Or maybe I should take these round all the apartments here instead and get people to donate to Harry’s House in exchange for me not making them try them. They’re a bit, um, crispy. In the wrong way.”
“It looks to me as if you left them in for about two minutes too long,” she said. “Or maybe your stove’s not the same as mine.”
Not the same? He didn’t understand. “A stove is a stove is a stove, right?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Some are hotter than others—even if you’ve switched them to what you think is the same temperature. If yours is fan-assisted, the food will cook quicker.”
“Fan-assisted? How do you know if it’s fan-assisted?”
She smiled. “You really don’t cook, do you?”
“Nope.” He gave her a rueful smile. “And nobody at the gym believed I made those cookies.”
She smiled. “Well, you did.”
“If I take this batch in, I’ll never live it down.”
“Either take the temperature down twenty-five degrees, or check the cookies two minutes earlier,” she said.
“Got it.” He paused. “Would you, um…?” How crazy that he felt like a teenager, all tongue-tied and not sure how to ask her out. “Would you like to have coffee with me?” he finished. “At the Java Café. To say thank you for helping me tonight.”
“I haven’t exactly helped you,” she said.
“You told me where I went wrong. Which nobody else could’ve done,” he pointed out. “So. Can I buy you that coffee?”
“That’s really nice of you, but I’m afraid I can’t. I’m writing an assessment tonight,” she said.
Was she really busy? Tyler wondered. Or was she using work as an excuse because she didn’t want to see him?
But then, before he could suggest another evening, she asked, “Do you want me to come next door tomorrow and help you with another batch?”
Perhaps she really was busy, then, and not avoiding him. “If you’re not already doing something and I’m not being too cheeky, asking for more help.” He paused. “And I’ll make you dinner to say thank you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Fair enough. He wasn’t actually going to cook it himself. “OK, I’ll order in dinner,” he amended. “Do you like Italian? Rocco’s has a great delivery service.”
“Only if we g-go halves.”
It was a start. “OK. Halves works for me.” He looked at the cookies. “Nobody’s going to eat these—I think they’re planning to auction off the cookies after the Bake-Off, but I have a feeling they’ll have to get people to bid not to have to take these.”
“You could still make your team eat them. Tell them you need them to support your efforts, as they’re the ones who signed you up,” she suggested.
He grinned. “You have an evil streak, Miss Allman. I like it.” He lifted his hand to high-five her. She looked faintly wary, but pressed her palm against his.
Again, it felt as if electricity zinged through his skin where it touched hers. He hadn’t reacted to anyone like this in a long, long time.
“Tomorrow,” he said, and cringed inwardly at the fact that his voice had gone slightly husky. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her off. “What time’s good for you?”
“Six?” she suggested.
“Great. I’ll order takeout for delivery at seven,” he said. “What’s your favorite pizza?”
“Margherita with mushrooms and spinach,” she said.
No pepperoni? Well, OK. He could live with that. And actually he quite liked that she added greens to pizza. “Mushrooms and spinach. And dough balls?”
“That’d be good. Tomorrow, then,” she said. “Let me know how much I owe you for my share.”
*
Stacey spent the whole of the next day thinking about Tyler. He’d already bought her flowers and chocolates to say thank you for helping him. He hadn’t needed to buy her dinner as well. Or did that mean he liked her and wanted to get to know her better?
So dumb…
“No, I’m not d-dumb,” she said out loud. “I’m hearing-impaired and I have a stutter. I’m shy and a b-bit awkward. But I’m not dumb.”
Even so, there were butterflies doing a stampede in her stomach when she knocked on Tyler’s door at six. This wasn’t a real date, so why did it feel like one? And why did she think she was going to mess it up?
He gave her the warmest, sweetest smile. “Hey. Come in. Cappuccino with a spoonful of sugar, right?”
“Thanks, that’d be lovely.”
“Come and sit in the kitchen with me,” he said, and made the coffee.
She accepted the mug gratefully. “Thanks.”
“Had a good day?” he asked.
“Yes, thanks. You?”
He smiled. “Great.”
“So did you make your team eat the cookies?” she asked.
“I did. And let’s just say this time they believed I made them all on my own,” he said with a grin. “But they were brilliant about it—they ate the cookies to be supportive. Even though they had to dunk them in coffee first before they could choke them down.”
She grinned back. “Tomorrow you can wow them again, because this batch will be better.”
“So you’re going to talk me through it?”
“No, you’re going to talk me through it,” she corrected. “I guess it depends on whether you’re a visual learner, an auditory learner, or a kinesthetic learner.”
“Respectively that’s learning by seeing, hearing or…I’m guessing doing?” he asked.
“Spot on. Most people are a mixture.”
“I think I learn by doing.” He looked thoughtful. “So let’s go. First, I cream the butter and sugar,” he said, then showed her the end result.
“Perfect,” she said.
“Add the baking powder, egg, chocolate chips—and it’s meant to look as if a dog’s just thrown up in the bowl.”
She laughed. “It’s not that bad.”
“Add the flour, and squidge it together as if I’m making mud pies,” he said. “Then spoon it on to the cookie sheet.”
And he was doing all this without referring to the sheet of paper on the countertop. “If you paid attention like that in your lessons at school, you must’ve been every teacher’s favorite student,” she said.
“Except art, because I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler. And history and geography,” he said, “because I only really listened to the teachers I liked.”
Stacey went hot all over. Was this Tyler’s way of saying that he liked her, because he’d listened to what she’d told him? To stop herself thinking ridiculous things, she asked, “Did you put the stove on?”
“Ah—no. So it needs how long to warm up?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
“OK. But I can still put the cookies on the cookie sheet while I’m waiting for the stove to warm up, right?”
She nodded.
“So I cook them at 375 degrees.” He switched on the stove, then concentrated on spacing out the dough so the cookies wouldn’t merge into each other as they spread. And how gorgeous he looked when he was focused. His mouth was very slightly parted, and there was the tiniest furrow between his eyebrows. Stacey almost had to sit on her hands to stifle the urge to touch him and smooth away that furrow with her fingertip, then slide her palm down his face, trace his lower lip with the pad of her thumb, and then kiss him.
Her deal with Tyler Carter was for cooking, not kissing, she reminded herself sharply.
“You need to use slightly bigger spoonfuls of dough,” she said, “and to put the timer on for two minutes less.”
“Got it.” He followed her directions, and this time the cookies turned out perfectly. “The team’s going to accuse me of buying them in again,” he said glumly.
“I can vouch for you,” she said with a smile.
“No—you’re my secret ingredient,” he said.
Thankfully then the delivery boy from Rocco’s arrived, giving Stacey a chance to regain her composure.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Tyler asked.
“I… OK. Thank you.”
“Red or white?”
“Whatever you’re opening,” she said, wanting to keep things easy.
“Red,” he said. “I love Italian wine with Italian food.”
Stacey still felt slightly shy but she reminded herself that this wasn’t a real date; she was just helping him make cookies and they were eating together simply because it was convenient. But her fingers brushed against his when both reached to dip a dough ball in the melted garlic butter at the same time and it sent a shiver all the way down her spine.
“I’m working the late shift at the gym tomorrow night, but can I take you out to dinner on Thursday to say thanks for helping me?” he asked.
That definitely sounded more like a date, and panic sent her into a flat spin. She wasn’t good at dating. She never knew what to say, and then her stutter got worse and her date got embarrassed by her and it all went wrong. “It’s fine. You really don’t n-need to do that.”
“I was thinking maybe we could talk about the other things I’m supposed to bake,” he said, “so it’s sort of a business meeting.”
Of course it was. Just like her father always said, she was dumb. Dumb to think that Tyler would see her in any way other than a neighbor and a sort-of colleague—and perhaps a friend. “OK. And maybe we can talk about the school projects, too.”
“Great idea,” Tyler said. “We can go to Grey’s. They do amazing burgers and even I will eat their sweet potato fries rather than asking them to swap the fries for salad. I’ll come and collect you at half-past six.”
“OK. And I’d better let you get on,” she said. “See you Thursday.”
*
“You’ve got a secret,” Tara said in the elementary school’s teachers’ lounge on Wednesday lunchtime.
Stacey frowned. “I’m not with you.”
“You keep looking into the distance and smiling to yourself. So. What’s his name?”
Stacey felt herself flush. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Tara grinned. “Yes, you do. Your eyes are all dreamy. And don’t tell me that it’s a pile of paperwork making you look that way.”
Stacey sighed. “It’s not what you think. I’m helping my neighbor, Tyler Carter.”
“Tyler Carter? As in the owner of Carter’s Gym and the sexiest personal trainer in Marietta?” Tara asked.
Stacey scrunched up her nose. “You know the Bachelor Bake-Off fundraiser for Harry’s House?” At Tara’s nod, she continued, “His team at the gym and some of the clients sponsored him and signed him up to be one of the bakers. Except he can’t bake.”
“And you’re teaching him?”
“To make c-cookies. Yes.”
“The same ones you bring to school?” Tara raised an eyebrow. “And what’s he teaching you in return?”
Stacey felt her color deepen. “Nothing. I’m just helping him out as a n-neighbor and a f-friend.”
“You’re stuttering, honey,” Tara said gently. “Which tells me you don’t think about him that way. Just be careful you don’t get in too deep.”
Because Tyler was way out of her league. She already knew that. “We’re just f-friends,” she protested. It was true—at least from his point of view.
“Tyler Carter’s a nice guy,” Tara said. “He was a couple of years above me at school. My entire year group was in love with him. And he was always gallant to all of us—whether we had braces, acne, freckles, bad hair, or whatever else we were cringing inwardly about, he never made fun of anyone or made them feel anything other than special.”
So the way Tyler made her feel was just the way he was with everyone? Part of her appreciated that he was a nice guy; but part of her was disappointed. She’d been starting to think that maybe he found her special. Still, better to know now than to make a fool of herself. “Got it,” Stacey said.
“He’s one of the good guys, so don’t think I’m trying to put him down,” Tara said. “I’m not trying to spread gossip, either, but I know he’s passed up a few offers lately. I don’t think he’s looking for commitment right now. He was living with someone, a while back, and I think it was pretty serious, but she’s not on the scene now.”
Stacey decided she’d make very sure that Tyler had no idea what she was starting to feel about him. She’d play it safe and keep it strictly platonic. “Thanks for—well, looking out for me,” she said. For stopping her making a fool of herself.
“That’s what friends are for,” Tara said.
“I’m not g-getting involved with him—just helping with the fundraiser. I was kind of hoping you’d buy a ticket to the Bake-Off and maybe sit with me?”
“Of course I will. We’ll get a group together,” Tara said. “And if you need any ideas, I’m your wing woman.”
*
On Thursday night, Tyler knocked on Stacey’s door. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she said. Thanks to Tara’s warning, she hadn’t spent hours on her makeup or wondering what to wear. She’d simply been practical and dressed in jeans, a thick sweater, flat boots, and a coat, because in a Montana winter it was way too cold to wear anything else.
“I booked us a booth,” he said.
“Great.”
He tucked his arm into hers as they went out into the street. “The temperature’s dropped and it’s a bit slippery underfoot. I’ll stop you falling if you lose your balance.”
Which was a nice thing for him to do. He’d do the same for any female between the ages of six and ninety-six, Stacey knew. It didn’t mean anything more than the fact that Tyler Carter had really good manners. How crazy that it still made her feel cherished.
“It’s so pretty in Marietta when it snows,” she said, to cover her confusion. “I love the way the store-f-fronts are lit up and the sidewalks have a sprinkling of snow.”
It was also incredibly romantic. But Tyler Carter wasn’t looking for romance. He was looking for friendship, for someone to help him make a difference to the world. She could do that; she just had to keep reminding herself that friendship was all that he was offering.
As they walked down Main Street, she could see Grey’s Saloon on the corner. “And that’s one of the prettiest buildings in Marietta. I love the balustraded balcony.”
“It used to be the town bordello,” Tyler told her. “The girls used to walk up and down the balcony to attract the clients.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He smiled at her. “If you like history, go talk to Chelsea Collier—she knows everything about the history of the town.”
When they went into Grey’s they were greeted with a nod by Reese Kendrick, the laconic saloon manager. “You’re in the booth at the end,” he said.
“Thanks, Reese.” Tyler returned the nod and ushered her over to the booth.
“So you recommend the burgers and sweet potato fries?” she asked.
“And the huckleberry pie is to die for.”
“I’m kind of surprised a gym owner would recommend pie.”
He gave her one of those knee-melting smiles. “It’s OK for me because I burn off a lot of calories during the day.”
When the food arrived, she tried the burger. “You’re right. This is amazing.”
“The food’s always good at Grey’s. Ry Henderson used to be the chef here,” Tyler explained, “and his red velvet cheesecake was legendary.”
“Could he not have helped you learn to bake?”
Tyler wrinkled his nose. “Apart from the fact that he’s about to be a new dad, so he’s going to have his hands full, he’s one of the judges of the Bake-Off.”
“So there’s a conflict of interest, then.”
“Yup. But, thanks to you, I don’t have to worry about that.” He paused. “You know our project? I’ve been doing some research today into the studies showing the effects of exercise on self-esteem.”
Our project. Crazy how that made her feel warm inside. “What did you come up with?” she asked.
“There’s a study showing that lifting weights is really good for your self-esteem—each time you lift a little bit heavier, you feel more capable, and that increases your feeling of self-worth. You can actually measure your progress.”
Stacey liked the sound of that; and maybe it was something she could do herself. Though she did have one worry. “But doesn’t lifting weights make you—well…”
“Bulk up? Not if you’re a woman,” he said with a smile. “It just makes you strong.”
Maybe she could ask him to teach her.
But that might be pushy.
“I’m referencing all the studies in my report—everything from pregnant women to elderly participants—and the principles are the same, whatever the group. We need to set goals, keep them small and manageable, and help the kids measure the changes, so it makes them feel more confident and capable. So they might be able to run on the spot for ten seconds one week, fifteen seconds the next, and they can measure how much better they’re getting.”
“So you’re thinking aerobics?”
“Probably circuit training,” he said, “so it’s a bit of everything and if I mix it up that’ll keep it fun for them. The important thing is that they keep coming back and keep getting a little bit better every time, so their confidence grows and they start feeling good about themselves. We can maybe start with school—then, once Harry’s House is up and running, I can run classes there, too.”
“I agree—the teen years are tough, and anything that helps get the kids through them is a good thing.” She liked the way he was thinking—and his obvious dedication. “So what do you need from me?”
“I could do with a list of the kind of difficulties the kids with special needs face—and then maybe I could ask you to read over my proposal and see where it needs improving?”
“I can do that,” she agreed.
And at the end of the evening she realized that she’d hardly stuttered at all in Tyler’s company, because she felt so at ease with him.
How had that happened? It had taken her months with her other friends in Marietta, and even now she felt waves of shyness and self-doubt with them. But with Tyler she just felt good.
Again, he tucked her arm into his on the way back to their apartments. Outside her door, for a second she thought he was going to kiss her goodnight, and her heart rate kicked up a notch.
But then he smiled at her. “I really enjoyed spending time with you tonight, Stacey.”
“Me t-too,” she said.
“Maybe we can do that again, sometime.”
“As friends,” she said swiftly, not wanting him to think that she was trying to come on to him.
“Sure.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m on early shift tomorrow, so I’ll practice my baking when I get home and bring you cookies after school.”
“That’d be good. Goodnight, Tyler.”
“Goodnight, Stacey.”
As she let herself into her apartment, Stacey had to admit that she was disappointed he hadn’t kissed her, even on the cheek.
Then again, there was Tara’s warning. Tyler wasn’t looking for commitment. She’d just be setting herself up for heartbreak if she hoped they could be anything more than just friends. So it was better to play it safe and keep her heart under wraps.