laughed. “It is fantastic. Wyatt, I need to be able to support myself and my kids. And I can. That’s what makes it fantastic. I can do this. You need to trust me.”
“Great. Fine. I trust you.”
“Good, because I feel I owe you for playing with the kids, and a cake would be a simple way for me to pay that back.”
He gaped at her. “Did you hear what you just said? You want to pay me for playing.”
She shoved her key into the ignition and started the SUV. “You’re an idiot.”
“True. But I’m an idiot who is going to get cake at this wedding.”
But in the car on the way to the reception venue, he stared out the window. He couldn’t remember the last time anybody had ordered him around like this. Worse, he couldn’t remember a time a woman had ordered him around like this—and he still liked her.
He sighed internally. And there it was. The truth. He still liked her.
The question was what did he do about it?
Avoiding her didn’t work. She wouldn’t take his money so he could recategorize her. And even after not seeing her all week, the minute he was in the same car with her all his feelings came tumbling back.
He was nuts.
Wrong…
Really? Wrong? They were healthy, single, attracted people. Why was liking her wrong?
Because she didn’t want to like him.
They arrived at the wedding reception more quickly than the week before because this venue was closer. As they unloaded the square layers with black lace trim, Missy gazed at each one lovingly. In high school, she’d hated having to bake fancy cakes for the diner, but now she was so glad she had. At age thirty-three she had twenty years of cake-baking experience behind her. And she was very, very good.
“The kids told me this one is yellow.”
She peeked over at Wyatt, relieved he was finally talking. “It is. It’s a yellow cake…with butter cream fondant and rolled fondant to make the black lace.”
“How do you make lace?”
His question surprised her. Most people saw the finished product and didn’t care how it got that way.
“There are patterns and forms you can buy, but I made my own.”
He studied the intricate design. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“I do things like this when you’re playing with the kids.”
He shot her a funny look and she turned away. The little spark of attraction she’d felt when she’d seen his scruffy day-old beard and butt-hugging jeans that morning flared again. With his sexy, fingers-run-through-it-in-frustration hair and his long, lean body, he was enough to drive her to distraction.
But she wouldn’t be distracted.
Well, maybe a little. She was a normal woman and he was extremely sexy. Was it so wrong to be attracted? No. The trick would be not letting him see.
They arranged the black-and-white cake from the big square layer to the smallest layer, which had a top hat and sparkly wedding veil at the peak.
“Cute.”
She stood back. “Different. I’ll say that.”
“You act as if you didn’t know how it would turn out.”
“I didn’t. The bride is a Goth who wanted something black with hints of Victorian. She told me what she wanted and I made it.”
“Can you eat the top hat?”
“Yep. And the veil, too.”
“Amazing.”
Their gazes caught. The flare of attraction became a flicker of need. She tried to squelch it, but in four years she hadn’t felt anything like this. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never felt anything like this. Wyatt was bold, sexy, commanding. And he liked her. The real her. Not the pretend version most men saw when they looked at her. He’d seen her stubborn streak, and still helped her—was still attracted to her.
What if there really was something going on between them? Something real. He could walk away. Hell, after she’d yelled at him on Sunday he should have walked away. But he hadn’t. Even though they’d had a fairly nasty difference of opinion—which they’d yet to get beyond—here they were. He was still attracted to her. She was still attracted to him.
The bride arrived in her black-and-white wedding gown with her tuxedo-clad groom in tow. At least fourteen tattoos were visible above the bodice of her strapless gown.
Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. “Different.”
“Very her,” Missy replied, standing beside him, off to the left of the cake, out of the way so they didn’t detract from it.
He looked at the bride, looked at the cake. “You’re really very good at this.”
Missy’s smile came slowly. Anybody could throw batter into a pan and get a cake. But not everybody could match baking ability with artistry. It was a gift. She never took it for granted.
“I know.”
“I can see why you’re so confident.”
“Thanks.”
“Someday you are going to be the best.”
She laughed. There was an unimaginable joy in having something she was good at. But an even greater joy at having people appreciate it. “Thanks.”
He growled and she frowned at him. “What?”
“I can never seem to say the right thing to you.”
Music from the string quartet blended with the noise of wedding guests taking seats. The best man took the microphone, hit it to make sure it was live. The tap, tap, tap rolled into the room like thunder.
Wyatt caught Missy’s hand. “Let’s go outside.”
Confused, she let him lead her through the French doors to a wide wooden deck, which was filled with milling wedding guests. Avoiding them, he guided her to the steps, and they clambered down until they stood in a quiet garden.
She looked around. She hadn’t done a lot of exploring of the country clubs and other wedding venues where she took her cakes, but seeing how beautiful, and inspiring, this garden was, maybe she should.
“This is nice.”
He sighed heavily. “Let’s not change the subject until I get out what I want to say.”
She peeked over at him, suddenly realizing how alone they were. All her nerve endings sprang to life. She’d never been attracted to a man like this. And he wasn’t just nice, he was thoughtful. Or
