Batter Up (Bachelors of Buttermilk Falls Book 1) (2 page)

Send to me her perfect match.

Spell out his letters in this batch.”

Abby raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? That’s the spell?”

Emma shrugged. “I didn’t make it up. Blame Grandma Stevens.”

“Sure. Way to throw our dead grandmother under the bus.” Abby closed her eyes.

Emma watched her cousin’s shimmering purple eyelids. Abby no doubt was repeating the spell over and over in her head, willing something to happen. Emma would have to think of something to get the failed attempt off Abby’s mind if it didn’t work. Strike that—when it didn’t work. Perhaps they could try a new recipe with the batter. Add in some of the European chocolate that came in the other day
. Excellent idea!
Emma searched below for the box containing the decadent candy.

A minute ticked by and Abby let out a frustrated grunt. She’d always been the dramatic one in the family. That hadn’t changed in twenty-five years.

“Don’t take it personally, Abs.” Emma opened the cash register and started counting receipts from the day. “It took me years to do it, and like I said, it doesn’t work on females.”

“Emma, Emma,” Abby shrieked. She clutched the wooden spoon tight in her hand.

“What?” Emma set her receipts aside.

“Oh my God. Something’s happening.” Abby jumped up and down, pointing at the bowl. “It’s working! It’s working!”

Emma rushed over and peered in. Sure enough the letter
J
had formed in blue cursive writing. “Well, I’ll be . . .”

They hovered around the bowl for a few minutes longer. No additional letters appeared. Just one lone
J
.

“Awe . . . see? It won’t give us girls any hints on who are soul mates are. It’s stubborn that way.” She grabbed two empty cupcake tins underneath the counter and handed them to Abby. “Let’s get these in the oven. I want to make sure I’m home in an hour to feed Magic.”

Abby filled the trays and handed the empty mixing bowl to Emma, disappointment etched on her face.

“We’ll try again next week,” Emma offered and headed into the kitchen. Out of her cousin’s vision, she glanced down into the bowl and frowned.

She’d never seen the batter turn blue before. What did it mean?

T
wo Months Later

J
ason Levine sipped
his Grey Goose martini and leaned back into the plush red sofa, surveying the scene. The multicolored lights from the slot machines surrounding him, along with the ear-shattering music, pounded his head.

He wasn’t a huge fan of Las Vegas. Never had been. His best friend, Brandon Swift, however, insisted that he join him for a guys’ weekend in Sin City. So far, he’d managed to lose five hundred dollars at an unlucky roulette table and wasted the rest of his time watching his pal hit on anything in a miniskirt. He was ready to hop the first plane back home to Miami.

Not that it mattered when he returned. He had royally screwed up.

An investigative reporter for the
Miami Herald
, he’d dumped everything for a hot story earlier this year, chasing one false lead after another. How was he supposed to know the bad guys had caught on to him some time ago and were intentionally sending him to some of the seediest places in South Florida on a wild goose chase?

It all finally culminated with a nice little bullet hole, lodged into his condo’s front door. His editor had yanked him off the story so fast, he’d suffered proverbial whiplash.

Shortly after the hit on his condo, the trail went cold. However, with the perpetrators still on the loose, his editor, Tina, had chained him to his desk for “his protection.” He was lucky these days if she’d let him cover a new club or art gallery opening on South Beach.

She said it was for his safety. He knew better. It was also to teach him a lesson. She constantly berated him for his recklessness.

He glanced over at Brandon who was planted at the bar, making conversation with a pretty brunette. It didn’t surprise him. He suspected his best friend would try to take full advantage of their last night in town. He wouldn’t be Brandon if he didn’t.

Though Vegas wasn’t quite Jason’s thing, it had been nice to catch up with his old pal from journalism school. Since Brandon worked for the
Los Angeles Times
, they would often meet up once or twice a year for hiking trips somewhere in the middle, be it Colorado or Montana. Lately, however, his newly divorced friend was more interested in exploring territories of the feminine kind.

Jason eyed the brunette’s tight red mini dress. Cute. Not his type but definitely attractive. He could use some action of his own with the right woman, it’s just his heart wasn’t in it. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that somehow he was cheating. He knew that it was time to move on—at least, that was probably what Dr. Phil would recommend. His heart had other plans.

“Hey, buddy.” Brandon came over to the couch with the mystery girl. “This is Caitlin. Doll, this is my best friend, Jason.”

“Hi, best friend, Jason.” Caitlin giggled and let Brandon lead her to the adjacent red couch that made a cozy
L
shape.

Jason nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Caitlin’s here with her friends for a bachelorette party.” Brandon turned so only Jason could see him mouth the word, “Yes!”

Jason leaned back, realizing they weren’t calling it a night anytime soon. “So, where are your friends?”

“I just sent a text.” She jumped up. “Oh, there they are. Hey, bitches! Over here, over here!” She waved to a group of girls walking toward them.

Within seconds, a half a dozen women surrounded Jason and Brandon. All looked like Caitlin, in short, colorful dresses and stiletto heels. The mix of floral perfumes started to make Jason dizzy.

A pretty blonde plopped down next to him, crossing her short, tanned legs. Her bright pink boa tickled his arm. She fiddled with a silver, sparkly tiara wedged in her hair.

“Bridget, we need to photograph your last hour as a wild, single woman.” Caitlin jumped up and grabbed Brandon by the arm, instructing him to sit next to the bride on the opposite side of Jason. “Guys, this is my cousin, Bridget. Lean in and pretend like you want a piece of her.”

Jason took a drink, biting down on an ice cube. Had Brandon and he really just become the man candy for a bachelorette party? God help him. He put his arm around the apparent bride-to-be. “Congratulations,” he shouted over the music pounding his eardrum.

“Thank you,” she yelled back.

“Where’s the groom?”

“He’s at the chapel.” Bridget accepted a pink foamy shot from one of her bridesmaids.

“Chapel? You’re getting married tonight?”

Without warning, all the girls screamed and clinked their shot glasses, causing Jason to cover his ears.

Bridget laughed. “Sorry about that. ‘Married’ is our code word.” She tilted her head back and downed the shot. “Anytime one of us says it, we drink.” She set down her shot glass. “But yes, to answer your question. We’re getting . . . um . . . hitched tonight,” she said, trying to avoid the trigger word.

“Well, congratulations on . . .” he paused and smiled, “tying the knot.”

Bridget grabbed his hand and Brandon’s. “Oh my gosh. You two should totally come to my wedding. You’re both so handsome. My bridesmaids would love it.”

Jason chuckled. Hanging out at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel—or wherever the Sin City ceremony would take place—wasn’t something he needed to cross off his bucket list. “Oh, I don’t—”

“We’d love to.” Brandon interrupted and pulled Caitlin onto his lap. His hand freely roamed her back.

Jason watched as his buddy began to make out with the cute brunette. He downed his martini. Apparently, he and Brandon were going with the girls on a little fieldtrip.

Thirty minutes later, Jason could only laugh. The girls’ bright pink limousine had pulled up to a white chapel situated in the heart of Las Vegas. If the tacky neon lights didn’t announce they’d arrived, the chubby Elvis impersonator waiting to greet them certainly did.

Bridget giggled. “I can’t believe Elvis is at my wedding!”

Jason peered out to see the impersonator thrusting his pelvis. His white jumpsuit sparkled with silver rhinestones. “I think he’s ready for you.” He grinned and took a final swig of his beer.

The girls stumbled out of the limo. Jason hit Brandon on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Dude, why are we here?”

“Really, man, how long has it been since you’ve had some fun? Relax. Maybe there’s a story in there?”

Jason shook his head. Doubt it. Unless he decided to write for the
National Enquirer
. Then again . . . given the state of his fledging career, it might be his only option.

Accepting his fate, Jason climbed out of the limo, nodding a hello to Elvis. “Glad to see you’re alive.” He whipped out his iPhone and snapped a picture. May as well document the wedding he was crashing. Could be good fodder to get his boss to feel sorry for him.

Inside the chapel, the tacky décor matched the outside with plastic flowers and tissue wedding bells strung all over the single room. Four white benches were arranged on each side of the aisle. Above the altar hung a huge white wooden cross. Somehow, Jason didn’t feel this place was particularly holy, but who was he to judge?

Bridget grabbed his hand. “Come meet my fiancé.” She threw her arms around both Jason and Brandon, trying to maintain her balance. “Honey, these are my new friends.”

The lanky, balding groom walked over wearing a white tux with an aqua bow tie. His solid stare suggested he was ready to rumble if he needed to. Just what Jason needed—an ass-whipping in a Vegas wedding chapel. Although, he was pretty sure he could take this guy if he needed to. He’d leave the two groomsmen eyeing them from the front of the room for Brandon.

“Hi. Congratulations.” Jason gently moved the tipsy bride’s arm off him. “They made us come.”

“Not yet!” Caitlin laughed, latching her arms around Brandon’s middle. “That’s later with this one.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Hey, man. We’re sorry to crash your wedding. We can leave.”

“Don’t sweat it. These girls can be a handful.” Tom chuckled, glancing at Caitlin. “Especially that one.”

“That’s one way to describe it.” Jason shook his head, watching Brandon and the brunette once again in a full-on lip lock. He turned back to Tom. “I’m Jason Levine, by the way. That’s my buddy, Brandon Swift.”

“Tom Reed.”

“Nice to meet you. Say, does this chapel got any beer?”

“Right this way.” Tom motioned for Jason to follow him, and Jason waited while the groom grabbed two beers out of a black duffle bag. “I snagged some from the minibar in our hotel room.” He popped a can open and handed it to Jason.

“You know, this is the most expensive beer you’ll probably buy here.” Jason laughed.

“No kidding.” Tom shrugged and cracked open his can. “Oh, well. You only get married once, right?”

Jason glanced back at Brandon and Caitlin. They had taken their public display to a bench. He wondered if his buddy would ever get married again. Brandon rarely showed it, but his divorce had changed him, and the jury was still out if it was for the better. Jason turned away. “So, Bridget seems like a nice girl.”

“She is,” Tom agreed and then smiled widely. “I can’t wait to marry her.”

“What made you decide to do it in Vegas?”

“Total whim.”

“I bet most of these weddings are.” Jason took a seat in the first row. The wooden bench creaked.

Tom pointed to his arm. “This guy is a reminder that every day is a gift.”

Jason looked over, realizing his hand was a prosthetic. “How did that happen?”

“Iraq.” Tom shook his head, then laughed. “Wrong place. Wrong time.”

“I’m sorry, man.” Jason didn’t know what to say. He nodded in the direction Bridget had disappeared to. “Looks like you had the last laugh on those bastards.”

“I sure did. I wasn’t going to let those sons of bitches rob me of the life I was meant to live.”

Tom’s words struck a chord. Jason wondered often what it would be like for him to be living the life he was meant to live. It didn’t matter now. That opportunity had been taken from him. “And you’re sure Bridget is the one?”

Tom nodded and took a swig of his beer. “Absolutely. The batter doesn’t lie.”

Jason cocked an eyebrow. “Batter?”

“Yep, cake batter. Hey, can I get you another beer? I’ve got a few more in my duffle bag.”

“No, man. Thanks.” Did he hear Tom correctly? Cake batter? How much had he had to drink earlier? Did one of the girls slip him something? “What do you mean by cake batter?”

Tom began fiddling with his cuff links. “Sounds silly, I know, but Emma Stevens has been matchmaking for years. She’s freakin’ amazing at it.”

Jason relaxed on the bench. His sleuthing skills kicked in. “Is she one of the bridesmaids?”

“No, she’s not here.”

“What does she do with cake batter?”

Tom took another drink. “Well, she’s the owner of the Sugar Spoon bakery. I don’t know how she does it, but she prepares this cake and then closes her eyes. Then in minutes . . . poof . . . my bride’s name appeared.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Man, I know it sounds crazy, but it works.” He paused, “Hey, if you’re single and ever in Buttermilk Falls, New York, you should go see her. She can help you out. Half the town has benefited from her batter. Bridget and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Jason finished his beer. Was he really having an honest-to-goodness conversation about a town full of bachelors and bachelorettes and magical cake batter? What kind of drugs were they doing in Buttermilk Falls?

Was he sitting on a story? A delicious, albeit offbeat, story that his kooky editor just might eat up. His lips turned up in a smile as he draped his arm over the bench. “Tom, since we have a few minutes . . . Tell me more about this Emma Stevens and her batter.”

E
mma cradled
the red Tupperware container with one hand and knocked on the door of the Reynolds’s cottage rental with her other. She waved back to her mom in the passenger seat as her Aunt Jackie sped down the road. Somehow, Emma had been tasked with delivering the scrumptious treats that her mother had baked this morning.

That her mother insisted the cookies be delivered while they were warm and then hightailed it out of Emma’s cottage next door didn’t surprise her one bit. Even with a broken foot, her mother managed to scurry away. Emma had blushed when her mom and Aunt Jackie both agreed that this new male resident had dimples to die for, a really cute butt, and wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Typical. Her mom could spot a bachelor a mile away. Good for Batter Up night? Yes. Good for Emma? Usually no.

Guess he isn’t home.
She pulled open the lid, reached in for a cookie, and took a bite. The delicious milk chocolate melted on her tongue. The latest bachelor to Buttermilk Falls didn’t know what he was missing. She made sure the container was tight and laid it on the doormat. Her mother had taped on the lid a slip of paper that said, “Welcome.” She was a little surprised the note hadn’t included Emma’s phone number or her ring size.

Relieved that she didn’t have to exchange awkward small talk with the mysterious neighbor, she turned and hopped down the steps onto the gravel pavement. It was probably better that he wasn’t home. She wasn’t ready to flirt with some random hot guy. It had been seven months since Michael had moved to New York City, but it still felt like only yesterday.

She reached her cottage and flung open the side door that led to her kitchen. A furry black cat pounced at her pink flats.

“Magic, you can’t seriously be hungry again?” She laughed, scooping up her four-legged roommate and giving him a quick hug and kiss on his black furry head before setting him back down on the floor.

She pulled out a coffee mug and a K-Cup to brew, her eyes resting on a picture of Michael and her, held up by a glittery pink Sugar Spoon magnet on the center of her refrigerator. Proof of happier times, it had been taken last 4
^th
of July at the bottom of the falls. They looked so in love, arms around each other. How did everything go so wrong seven months later? She thought back to that horrible winter night.

E
mma pulled
the hot rolls out of the oven, entered the dining area, and placed them next to a fresh Caesar salad that she had prepared earlier. Reaching into her pink apron, she grabbed a booklet of matches and lit the tea light candles.

Michael would arrive any second. At least, she hoped so. He always ran late and had a bad habit of not telling her when he was running a few minutes behind. She whipped off her apron and shoved it underneath the counter. Soon, they would be sipping red wine and enjoying a romantic pasta dinner. She had closed the bakeshop early to get ready for this special occasion. Fishing her compact from her purse, she checked her hair and makeup.

Tonight’s anniversary dinner was going to be perfect. They had been together for five years. Michael had said he had something important to talk to her about. Emma couldn’t wait. She knew it wasn’t a proposal. Not yet. They had decided to put off getting engaged until they had made a dent in Michael’s law school debt. It was the responsible thing to do.

She suspected this big news was him ready to ask her to move in with him. It made perfect sense. She practically lived at his cottage across the lake from hers.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true . . . at least, not anymore. Lately, he’d found every excuse on the planet for her not to stay over. He needed to study; his brother was crashing at his place; the fellas were coming over to watch the game; he was too tired—the list of excuses went on and on. Emma chalked it up to his nerves over the looming bar exam. Now that that was over, their relationship would no doubt get back to normal. She missed him. Tonight, they would begin a new chapter. She was eager to flip to the end and get to their happily ever after.

The front door chimed. Emma smoothed her black cocktail dress and gave her wavy blond hair a quick toss for good luck. She had decided to go with sexy curls for this special occasion. Hopefully his hands would be tangled in them before the night was over. She giggled. More than once she tried to get him to have hot office sex in the bakery’s back office. He thought it was cheesy and too cliché. Maybe she could persuade him tonight.

Michael stood in the doorway in his black wool pea coat and dark jeans with his Burberry scarf loosely draped around his neck. No candy. No flowers. She brushed off the brief feeling of disappointment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like it was Valentine’s Day. He was here and that was all that mattered.

“Hi.”

“Hi, dinner’s ready.” She stood on her tippy toes and kissed his cheek, motioning for him to take a seat. “I hope you’re hungry.” She tugged on his coat. “Let me take this for you.”

He reached for her hand. “I’m fine. I think I’ll keep it on.”

“Really? Is it cold in here? I’ll just go turn the heat up.” She started to walk toward the kitchen, but Michael grabbed her arm.

“Emma. I can’t stay.”

“What? I thought we were having dinner? I made your favorite.” She studied her boyfriend. He could barely look at her. Something wasn’t right.

Michael let out a deep sigh. “I’m so sorry.”

Emma frowned. “Baby, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s . . . uh . . . a good thing . . .”

A good thing? She doubted it. Not with his uncomfortable expression threatening to ruin her well-planned evening. Emma grabbed his hands. “Talk to me.” She searched his eyes for an answer.

He gently pulled away. “I don’t deserve this or you.”

“You don’t?” She crossed her arms, not liking for one second where this conversation was headed. “And why is that, Michael?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Where are you going?”

“To Manhattan.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? I love New York City.” She waited for an answer that didn’t come. “You didn’t tell me because I’m not invited. This isn’t a vacation, is it?” she asked, her voice flatlined.

“Emma, I need some time to figure out who I am.”

“And you need to do this in New York City? Without me?”

“Yes.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

She bit her lip, too afraid to ask the next question. Somehow, she mustered up the courage. “Michael, are you breaking up with me?”

Emma snapped back into the present as her coffee finished brewing. That night, he had said no. That this wasn’t permanent and was the best move for his law career. However, the next morning, he had packed up his SUV and left Buttermilk Falls without saying good-bye. No, she had witnessed his departure from her dock on the other side of the lake. Once en route, he called her. She had let it go straight to voicemail.

Two days later, they had a long talk where Michael promised that this move was temporary and just something he needed to get out of his system. New York City was only an eight-hour drive, or short plane ride, away. They’d make it work. Emma had remained hopeful those first few weeks, but as the days passed and Michael’s calls grew less frequent, she finally realized what everyone else in town already knew. She had been dumped. In late February, she sent Michael an e-mail asking him not to call. He responded cordially that he would respect her wishes and hoped that one day they could be friends.

Friends? How was that possible?

In typical Emma fashion, she threw herself into her work, spending almost every waking hour running the bakery. After college, Emma had begun working full time at the Sugar Spoon. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but she learned quickly that sometimes plans change. Since her grandmother passed away and her mother retired, ownership of the bakeshop had transferred to Emma. She oversaw its complete operation with Abby’s help.

She also carried on her grandmother’s tradition of Batter Up night. Every Monday evening, she put all her attention into helping one lucky bachelor find his true love. Focusing on someone else’s love life forced her to not dwell on her own heartache. In a strange way, it helped her move on. Week after week, she began to realize that perhaps Michael wasn’t the man for her. So many men came into her bakeshop on Monday night with one purpose: to obtain the name of the woman they could fully commit to. This was the kind of man she wanted to be with. Not someone who would up and leave her.

Her thoughts drifted to Bridget and Tom. They had texted her a selfie from their wedding in Las Vegas this weekend. Both were grinning and showing off their rings, an Elvis impersonator wedged between them. It looked like it had been an absolute hoot.

No one was surprised by their whirlwind courtship over the last two months or their sudden trip to Sin City to get hitched. Bridget was his perfect match: both adventure-seeking and spontaneous. What surprised Emma was that Tom needed her help in the first place. Still, she was happy to give him the assurance and nudge he needed to ask the librarian out.

Emma couldn’t wait to catch up with the newlyweds when they returned. Perhaps she’d stop by the library after her shift tomorrow and get the scoop from Bridget. Her friend had mentioned that they were postponing a real honeymoon until next winter when Buttermilk Falls would most likely be under two feet of snow.

Grabbing her hot pink ceramic mug, Emma crossed her tiny living room and slid the glass door open to her lake-view deck. This was her favorite part of the weekend. There was simply no place on earth she’d rather be than watching the morning sunrays shine down on the beautiful crystal lake.

She took a seat and watched as a family of ducks waddled across the pond. How cute. No doubt it was going to be a gorgeous summer day for feet in the water, webbed or not.

She began to mentally run through her to-do list. Being Sunday, it wasn’t too long. The bakery was closed, and she had the glorious day all to herself. Her afternoon always included a routine stop at the Star Lite diner.

The sound of a door shutting jarred Emma out of her thoughts. She watched as Caitlin Reynolds stepped outside from the cottage next door in nothing but a men’s light blue buttoned-down shirt. Emma leaned back in her rocker and cocked her head. Well, this is interesting.

Caitlin and Emma were rivals in high school, always fighting for top spots on the debate team, the cheerleading squad, and editor of their school’s newspaper. Michael had dated Caitlin all senior year and throughout college. Shortly after they graduated, their relationship fizzled. Two years later, Emma and Michael began dating while he commuted to law school. Whether it was a random run-in at the supermarket or sitting at a table near each other at the Star Lite, Caitlin always had a snarky word for her. Some people knew how to hold a grudge, and Caitlin Reynolds was one of them.

Her arch rival’s parents owned the cottage next to Emma’s and sometimes rented it out during the summer months. Since Emma started dating Michael, Caitlin rarely stayed there.

She turned around, shooting Emma a smug look. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Emma chirped back.
God, put some pants on.

“How’s Michael?”

Bitch!
Caitlin knew they were broken up. The whole town did.

“Just fine,” Emma shot back and stood. Typical Caitlin to take a cheap shot at her. If she stayed on her deck a minute longer, she was sure her petty rival would take another. She closed the glass door and sighed. Her mother would be disappointed to learn that the new bachelor with dimples to die for appeared to be already taken. Good. Any guy interested in Caitlin Reynolds was definitely not for her.