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This is so wrong. I shouldn’t be here, Grace thought, her conscience plagued with guilt. I should be at Sweetness getting caught up on paperwork, not sitting here like a groupie hoping to catch a glimpse of Jackson “player extraordinaire” Drayson.
Seated at a corner table inside Myers Coffee Roasters café, sipping an espresso topped with oodles of whipped cream, Grace watched the comings and goings inside Lillian’s with keen interest, wondering where the man of the hour was.
For the second time in minutes Grace glanced at her watch, then around the room. She didn’t see Jackson anywhere and she’d been looking out for him since arriving at the bakery an hour earlier. Grace was filled with mixed emotions. Relief, because she turned into a jittery fool whenever Jackson was around, and disappointment, because she enjoyed their playful banter. On Monday he’d teased her for ignoring him, on Wednesday he’d complimented her BCBG keyhole dress—claimed he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her—then suggested she take him out for a romantic dinner. He’d slipped a handwritten note into her purse when she wasn’t looking, and finding it hours later made her heart smile. It was a cute gesture, one that made her crack up every time she reread his message, but Grace couldn’t call him, not without looking desperate, so she hid the note in her top drawer and deleted all thoughts of Jackson from her mind.
Ha! barked her inner voice. If you were trying to forget him you wouldn’t be in his bakery.
Grace lowered her coffee mug from her lips and cranked her head to the right. Every time the door chimed her heart raced. Where is he? Did Jackson have the day off? Was he out with one of his girlfriends? Wining, dining and seducing his flavor of the week? Of course he was, Grace decided. The baker was an affable, laid-back guy who obviously loved women, and it would be wise to keep her distance.
Reflecting on their heated exchange the day they’d met, Grace wished she hadn’t let Jackson get under her skin. It was clear from then on that she was going to have her hands full with the hottie baker, and yesterday he’d been in fine form. Every time she entered Lillian’s he was charming his female customers, and when Grace pointed it out to him, he’d teased her for being jealous and insisted she wanted him all to herself.
Snorting in disgust, she shook her head at the memory. Grace couldn’t believe his nerve, how smug he was. To keep her anger in check she’d had to bite her tongue. Despite her misgivings about her “assignment” she’d stopped in at Lillian’s every day to sample something new. Peanut-butter-sandwich cookies on Monday, orange-marmalade coffee cake two days later, a walnut muffin on Thursday and today a Draynut. The pastry was a combination of croissant and donut, and customers were lined up around the block to get their hands on the pricey dessert that her father had mistakenly referred to as a “dragnet.”
Grace stared at her gold-rimmed plate, wondering if the pastry was as delicious as the food bloggers said it was. So far, she’d been impressed by the quality of the baked goods at Lillian’s. She’d assumed the bakery wouldn’t live up to the hype or her implausibly high standards. Trends came and went, and a little bit of buzz could go a long way when a business first opened. Grace was pleasantly—or rather unpleasantly—surprised to learn that yes, Lillian’s was that good. She’d made the mistake of mentioning that to her father last night at dinner, and once again he’d urged her to return to the bakery to sample the rest of the items on the menu. Her father wanted to know exactly what the Draysons were producing, and expected her to report back about the inner workings of the family-operated bakery.
Reflecting on her mission, Grace considered what her dad wanted her to do. One week of spying and she was still uncomfortable about it. Sure, she wasn’t doing anything illegal, but she felt like a snake for spying on the competition and wanted to stop. The biggest problem? Each day she returned to Lillian’s brought her into close contact with Jackson—a man with soulful eyes, juicy lips she wanted to kiss and muscles she was dying to stroke. He was intelligent and perceptive, and Grace feared he’d catch on to what she was doing and expose her. Deep down, she was afraid of how attracted she was to Jackson and decided in her mind to ignore him—if he ever showed up at the bakery.
Grace glanced at her wristwatch again. She knew she should get going, but she didn’t want to leave. Looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of everyone’s favorite baker, Grace couldn’t believe how dark and gloomy it was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the sun, and hoped the thick storm clouds held back the rain until she reached work.
* * *
“Rodolfo and I are abstaining from sex until our wedding night. Isn’t that romantic?”
Grace swallowed the quip on the tip of her tongue. She’d asked her bestie, Bronwyn, to meet her at Lillian’s for breakfast, but regretted it the moment their orders had arrived. When the speech pathologist wasn’t cooing about her nectarine honey tart, she was gushing about her decades-older fiancé and their fall wedding. Slim, with hazel eyes and blond curls, Bronwyn exuded such warmth and confidence she made friends everywhere she went. “Yes,” she drawled sarcastically. “It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re just jealous. You wish you had a man as sweet and as loving as Rodolfo.”
No, I wish my vibrator wasn’t on the blink, because it didn’t get the job done this morning and I need an orgasm in the worst way! Grace finished her coffee and set aside her mug. Anxious to sink her teeth into her dessert, she picked up her fork and cut into the Draynut. “Doesn’t it bother you that Rodolfo isn’t working?”
“No. I make enough money for the both of us and I love taking care of my Pooh Bear.”
The fork slipped from Grace’s hand and fell on the plate. Speechless, she stared at her friend in shock. Bronwyn liked to boast about all the nice things her fiancé did for her, but he was buying her expensive gifts with her charge card. Who did that? A real man would never take money from his woman, let alone demand a weekly allowance, and Grace didn’t understand why her bestie was cool with supporting a grown-ass man.
“The economy’s in the tank. People aren’t buying luxury cars like they used to—”
“Then he should get a job at another dealership instead of mooching off you.”
“No one’s mooching off anybody. Rodolfo’s a great catch, and I don’t mind helping him out financially from time to time. We’ve had our ups and downs and even split up for a while, but I’d rather be with Rodolfo than anyone else. He’s the only one for me...”
Listening to Bronwyn wax poetic about her fiancé, Grace realized she’d never loved anyone with unwavering devotion. Truth be told, she didn’t understand men, couldn’t figure them out, and doubted she ever would.
“Relationships are hard,” she quipped, with a knowing look, a smirk sitting pretty on her lips. “You of all people should know that.”
Grace ignored the dig, refusing to think about the night she’d dumped Phillip. To this day, Grace didn’t know what had possessed her to date the loudmouth physical trainer. Her father had always warned her that men would be after her for her money, but she didn’t believe him. Unfortunately, her dad was right. At the memory of the slap heard around the world—or rather inside Bronwyn’s elegant Capitol Hill home—Grace groaned as if she was being physically tortured. “I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t my finest moment, and every time I think about it I want to hide. It’s so embarrassing.”
Bronwyn
