“So you don’t want me to bake you a cake for your birthday, but you do want me to make cookies for the school’s kickoff carnival?”
On a nod, Luke shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Yeah, and I want to go with you to the bakery to pick it up.”
“I have all the ingredients to make you a chocolate cake with a raspberry glaze. It’s your favorite.”
“Sorry, Mom,” he said, rising from his chair at the breakfast bar. “I really want this cookie dough, brownie cake from the Bake Shoppe. You’ll see, it’s awesome.”
I took off my apron and hung it back in the pantry. “Okay, it is your birthday after all.”
“Great, let’s go, now.” Luke rinsed his bowl and spoon and then placed them in the dishwasher.
I grabbed my purse off the counter. “You’re not giving me much time to prep for our guests who will be here at two,” I reminded.
“It’s just Ryleigh, Grandpa, and Grandma, and a few of the guys from the team. It will be fine. I’ll help you.”
Relief washed through me realizing that Luke had found friends that were going to spend his special day with him. Although, I’d known this day meant that he would soon be driving and it was a reminder of another milestone Carter would miss and one that would never come for Logan. I locked the front door and trekked down to the truck, Luke followed behind me.
“Can I drive?” Luke asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Another time. When we get home, you can practice driving while you mow the yard.”
I climbed into the cab, and Luke groaned as he opened the passenger door. Luke talked for almost the entire ride into town, about the upcoming school year, the impending Denver Broncos season and how much he wanted a car of his own.
“Well, if you get a part-time job, we can talk about you getting a car, but first you have to pass your test.”
“How am I going to work, go to practice, and keep up with my school work?”
I flipped my turn signal onto Main Street. “Time management.”
We pulled into the parking lot and I stared up at a brick building with a black and white awning. It was posh. Topiary trees on either side of the French doors and the most beautiful window display of pastries I’d ever seen.
I looked over at Luke, before stepping out of my truck. “How did you find out about this place?”
Luke opened his door. “Brandt’s mom brought us cupcakes when we were hanging at his house last week. They were delicious.”
I twisted the gold bangle around my wrist. If this cost me a fortune, I’d consider sending Brandt’s mother the bill. We stepped inside, and the scent of creamy butter swirled with vanilla and cinnamon washed over us. My mouth started to water. The place was busy with a small line forming at the donut wall. A wall of donuts—clever.
“Hi, what can I get you today?” A chipper brunette with a waterfall braid asked from behind the display case.
Luke stepped up to the case. “I’d like the cookie dough, brownie cake, please.”
She looked at me and I nodded.
“It’s my birthday,” he added.
She smiled. “You’re in luck we have one that was made this morning. It’s an eight inch round, two-layer cake that serves eight to ten people. I can have that boxed up for you in no time.”
My head snapped to the menu pricing, fifty-five dollars. Way more than the ten dollars I spent on the ingredients at home. I’d never seen Luke so eager for a cake in all my life.
“You can step up to the register over there, and Marsha will ring up your order.”
I fished my wallet out of my purse and walked around the corner, colliding face-to-chest with another patron. Thank goodness I wasn’t carrying the cake, I would have been screwed.
My eyes flicked up to see a familiar pair of hazel eyes staring at me. Typical. And for a moment, I stared at the tiny smattering of light freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose. Why am I staring at him? Saying nothing, I sidestepped him as my brain braced for a smartass comment.
“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he called out.
An apology from Wyatt Hamilton? Surely I was hearing things. Ignoring him, I kept walking and landed in a line six deep. He approached me slowly forcing me to acknowledge his presence.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I answered politely, the shock of our encounter disappearing into a sea of gold and green.
“What are you in for today?”
“A cake. And you?”
“Lemon-raspberry cupcakes,” he said, pointing them out to me on the menu board. “They’re incredible.”
“Hey, Coach.” Luke appeared by his side standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with Wyatt.
“Hey, Luke. Are you ready for practice?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll be there and on time. I just hope I’m ready for the first game.”
Shifting uneasy, Wyatt chuckled. “Right, about that,” he paused, running his thumb along his jawline. “I am sorry that you couldn’t attend camp, but I have no doubt with the workout I’ve got lined up next week you’ll be more than ready for the season opener.”
Luke and Wyatt traded opinions on the Broncos defense which transitioned into other teams. The line moved and Wyatt moved along with us. Part of me wished he’d walk away and go about his business. The other part of me liked hearing Luke talking with another guy about sports. I couldn’t give Luke stats and industry news, but I could definitely hold my own when discussing plays.
When we reached the counter, I handed Marsha my credit card. “I hope you have a happy birthday, Luke.”
Wyatt raised one thick dark brow. “It’s your birthday?”
“Yep, seventeen today,” he answered. “Hey, Coach, I’m having a small party, do you want to come over this afternoon?”
My heart slammed into my ribs and I nearly dropped the pen as I signed for the cake. “Luke, I am sure that Coach Hamilton has his day already mapped out. He probably has better things to do with his Saturday.”
After shoving the receipt into my handbag, Marsha handed me the box.
His smile faded. “Actually, I was just going to watch a few games and grill a burger. My life isn’t that exciting.”
“We’re having burgers too,” Luke commented with a laugh. “Mom is not very good at the grill.”
“Coach, that will be twenty-two dollars,” Marsha interrupted.
We waited as Wyatt stepped up to the register. My mind was reeling
Luke brushed his shoulder to mine. “The guys are going to think I’m so cool having Coach Hamilton over. If he comes over, Coach seems kind of sad.”
“Does he?”
Luke stared at me as if I had suggested we kick puppies for fun. “Mom, why would a single, grown man get cupcakes? Alone . . . and on a Saturday?” He drawled out the words as if I was supposed to magically guess the answer. I shrugged. I had zero time to answer because Wyatt had turned back and was striding towards us.
“I’d love to join you for your party this afternoon.” He motioned for the doors. “What can I bring?” His hand found my elbow as he guided us out of the bakery. Luke tugged on the door, and we stepped outside into the heat.
“Just bring yourself,” I said. “If you have a certain adult beverage that you like, you’re welcome to bring that as well. Oh, are you even allowed to drink around the players?” My mouth couldn’t seem to shut up.
He chuckled seemingly amused by my line of questioning. “Yes, I am allowed. I am an adult after all. However, I only have one or two because I’d like to set a good example for my students.” Wyatt smiled a slow sexy, heart-stopping smile. I liked this playful side of him. Mostly, I enjoyed that he wasn’t being a jerk. In fact, he was being polite—complete opposite of the last time I’d seen him.
“I’m texting you our address, Coach,” Luke said, bringing my attention back to the moment. “Party starts at two.”
Wyatt stopped short of a black Audi a few cars over from my truck. “I’ll be there. Thanks for the invite.”
Luke slid into the passenger seat and I handed him the cake. “Do not harm this cake in any way shape or form,” I warned.
“Not a chance. I’m guarding this with my life.”
“You better.”
As I came around the back of the truck, I paused and my eyes flicked to Wyatt’s car with the left turn signal blinking. Left, the opposite direction of our house. That was an odd thing to think about. Wasn’t it? No, merely an observation. I opened the door and then slid into the seat feeling the warmth of the leather beneath me.
“I think Logan would like this cake a lot,” Luke commented.
I tapped my phone screen and double checked my to-do list for the party, while I was in town might as well make sure I had everything. “Your brother loved all things chocolate that is for sure.”
Luke laughed. “Dad would have requested angel food cake.”
“With butter pecan ice cream,” I added, shoving my phone back into my purse.
“I never understood why Dad liked angel food cake, it has a weird texture. Anyway, it was good that we saw Coach today. I’m glad he’s coming over.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, like I said, he seemed sad or something.”
“I didn’t get that vibe, Luke.”
Backing out of the parking spot, thoughts of Wyatt’s warm rough hand on my elbow rushed back through my mind. The loud jab of a car horn shot through my body. My right arm darted out as I slammed on the brakes.
Oh no. The cake.
My eyes caught a red sports car passing by in the mirror, yelling with obscene gestures and all.
I looked towards Luke. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” he replied, lifting the lid to the cake to inspect the damage. “It’s fine, seriously Mom, the cake didn’t even move.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” I eased my foot off the brake and continued backing out of the parking lot.
That will teach me to let my mind wander.
By one o’clock I had everything done and with an hour to spare until the guests arrived. Luke was in the shower, and I found myself with a bit of alone time. I walked to my wine fridge and pulled out a bottle of Underwood Rosé.
“Hello, anybody home?” My sister, Ryleigh’s voice, filtered through the kitchen.
“Perfect timing, I’m pouring some wine.”
Ryleigh dropped her bags to the floor and then wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” Pulling back from our embrace I smiled and stared at my sister for a moment. She looked like a movie star—makeup dewy and natural, lips a shade of soft pink and not one strand of blonde hair out of place. Ryleigh wasn’t a movie star, but she knew and worked with plenty of them. According to the Hollywood Reporter my sister was one of the top ten most powerful celebrity stylists.
She scooped up the glass from the counter. “Where’s the birthday boy?”
“Upstairs getting ready or playing video games. It’s a tossup.”
She shook her head, adjusting the top of her off-the-shoulder dress. “I’m going with video games.”
I motioned for her to take a seat at the breakfast bar. “So what’s new with the lives of the rich and famous?”
“I’m styling several celebs for the Emmy’s next month. I just landed Emma Bailey-Wilson as a client.”
“The former Missus Ronan Connolly?” I asked over the rim of my glass.
She nodded. “Now she’s married to Dax Martin.”
“Oh yeah, I think I remember reading something about that online. One and a half million dollars at the Plaza, right?”
“I would have killed to have known Emma then because I would’ve styled the fuck out of that wedding,” she said, before taking a drink.
“God, I love Manhattan.”
“Remember when the three of us were going to move into that incredible loft in Manhattan?”
The three of us being her, me and Carter. We were so young. So many hopes and dreams.
“I do. You were going to be a fashion model. I think you dubbed yourself the next Cindy Crawford.” I took a long sip of wine.
She pointed her glass at me. “And you were going to take photographs and design jewelry. I was going to be the face of your brand.”
“Aunt Ryleigh,” Luke called out as he rushed into the kitchen to hug her. “What did you bring me from Italy?”
“Luke,” I groaned. “Manners please.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Aunt Ryleigh.”
She didn’t excuse his behavior, which I appreciated, she just tousled his hair and smiled. As the two of them chatted, my thoughts drifted back to our conversation. Carter was going to revolutionize the tech world by day and play bartender at night. He joked about opening a bar called Your Mom’s and the t-shirts would say, “I spent last night at Your Mom’s.”
My parents’ elated voices boomed through the hallway. As expected they were fifteen minutes early. This was only the second time that they’d been to our new house. My mother was not at all happy that we’d moved so far away . . . if you considered far away just over an hour drive time. I greeted my dad and then he and Luke went into the living room to flip on the television.
Once Luke and our dad were out of earshot, Mom leveled her gaze at Ryleigh. “Are you going to wear that dress to a party filled with teen boys?”
“Nice to see you too, Mom, and yes I am,” she answered.
“Your shoulders are bare and it shows off your breasts,” Mom stage-whispered. “You want these teenage boys to have hard-ons all afternoon.”
My eyes popped wide. “Honestly, Mom,” I hissed.
“On second thought.” Ryleigh tapped her finger to her glass. “I think I have something shorter and tighter in my luggage. Maybe I’ll wear that instead.”
“No, you stay right there,” I ordered my sister. “Mom, this is Luke’s day and I’m not going to play referee between the two of you. Ryleigh is appropriately dressed, and she looks beautiful. If all you’re going to do is criticize her or me or anyone else then you can leave.”
My mother fidgeted with the pearls around her neck. “Fine, I’ll respect the rules of your home.”
“Thank you,” I answered. “Now, what can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of wine.”
As I turned to walk back to the refrigerator, my eyes swung to see Wyatt Hamilton standing in my entryway, filling the space wearing a grey t-shirt that clung to his muscles, every single one of them and a pair of black denim jeans. I watched him as he strode towards me and wondered what he heard or how much.
“Luke, you have a guest,” I called over my shoulder hoping that no one instantly recognized Wyatt.
Luke raced into the kitchen. “Hey, Coach. My grandpa and I are watching the Rockies play. You like baseball?”
“Hey, Luke,” he said. “Yeah, let’s go check it out.” The two of them strode into the living room where I heard indistinct chattering about stats and who was up next at bat.
Pulling open the refrigerator I reached in snagging the bottle of chardonnay that I purchased especially for my mother.
“Oh my God,” Ryleigh whispered coming up behind me. “Who is that handsome hunk of beef who just waltzed in?”
“Luke’s football coach,” I replied, uncorking the bottle. “And must you refer to him as a hunk of beef? It’s a bit sexist.”
“If the t-shirt fits, and does it ever.” She hummed the last few words.
I rolled my eyes as I poured my mom more than half a glass of wine. I wanted these feelings or whatever they were that I had for Wyatt to disappear, but if my current state of awareness was any indication, I was in serious trouble. No, it’s just nerves, the pressure of playing hostess.
Wyatt Hamilton was the one man I couldn’t be with especially under the given circumstances. He was my son’s coach and potential teacher. Besides that what would people think of me? My husband just passed away. It has been nineteen months. The thought caused my chest to ache.
“Here you go,” I said, handing the glass to my mom.
“Thank you, dear.” My mother glided toward the living room, and I felt all the tension roll off my shoulders. My head swiveled in Ryleigh’s direction.
“I hope Mom gets plowed.”
I snickered and shook my head. “You don’t mean that.”
My sister shrugged. “You have got to tell me about Luke’s coach. What is his story?”
Before I could answer, the doorbell rang, and my eyes flicked to the time. “Make yourself useful and fill up those bowls with the pretzels and chips,” I called over my shoulder as I rounded the corner of the breakfast bar.
She side-eyed me. “Yeah, don’t think for one second that I’m letting you off the hook.”
For the moment I was off the hook. From the living room, Wyatt pinned his green eyes on me and I smiled. I needed to pull myself together before someone noticed the lingering looks between the two of us.
The whoosh of flames from the grill danced up through grates and I stumbled backwards. Ryleigh sat the plate of raw meat down and I stared at my cooking orders.
“Are you starting the grill or the homecoming bonfire?” Wyatt asked, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
Luke and his friends burst out in a fit of laughter. Ryleigh hid her smile behind her wine glass.
I pointed the spatula at him. “I know, I know. I followed the directions—covering the tops and side of the charcoal bricks.”
“I know that you don’t need the help, but would it be all right if I gave the grill a shot. I rarely get the opportunity to cook for this many people, and I kind of enjoy the process.”
“Honestly, I should learn,” I asserted. “I don’t know why I can’t cook on a grill.”
“It just takes practice.” He leaned in.
Wyatt was so close to me that I could feel the heat vibrating off him, or perhaps that was just the flames of the grill. The breeze kicked up, caressing my skin, I felt it wafting up my skirt cooling the light layer of sweat.
“Okay,” I replied, officially handing over the grilling duties. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
I turned on my heel meeting Ryleigh’s eyes as she pushed off from the railing of the back deck. When I made my way to where she was standing, she cocked a brow.
“Lemme guess. He’s single and he’s the first man you’ve thought about in a long time, but you won’t do anything about it because he’s your son’s coach. It’s forbidden.”
We walked inside the house, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting my face. “What brings you to this assumption?”
“Part of my skillset is that I can sense chemistry miles away,” she informed. “I don’t need a camera to tell me that there is something crackling between the two of you.”
Ignoring my sister’s comment, I sneaked a gaze of Wyatt at the grill. What happened to this jerk of a man from a few days ago? Never mind that, where was the guy who was an arrogant ass to me the first time we met? In this moment, I couldn’t see that guy at all. Instead, there was this carefree soul who manned the grill with one hand and tossed a football to a few teenage boys with the other. A man who shared a laugh with my father that ended in the clicking of beer bottles. His relaxed demeanor affected the air around him, and I found that to be just as intoxicating as the bristling energy that poured from him when he challenged me.
My gaze lingered a little too long on his biceps flexing under his shirt and then to his long fingers as they wrapped around the football to throw it high in the air. Seconds later, the ball whizzed back. Wyatt jumped up to catch the ball, the hem of his t-shirt rose up a notch exposing the deep lines of his abdomen.
Chilly clarity crept in, chasing away the desire I had to explore those lines with my hands or my tongue. For the sake of my son’s education, I needed to lock those feelings of lust of up real tight because there was no reality in which I was allowed to be attracted to Wyatt Hamilton.