Second Chance at the Sugar Shack (20 page)

She shook her head and his hand dropped against his thigh.

“Matt?” Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Talk to me.”

His eyes stared into hers. “Let it go, Kate.” He grabbed his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, and headed toward the back door.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she shouted, “I’m not the one running this time.” When the door banged shut behind him, Kate swallowed her pride, embraced regret, and reached for her sweater. “Me and my big mouth.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

D
ays passed. Matt’s campaign posters popped up all over town. There were signs of him everywhere, but Kate had caught no sign of the actual living, breathing man since the night in the bakery.

She’d tried to accept that all he’d really wanted from her was sex and closure. What better way for him to get that than to make her melt in his arms and then for
him
to walk away?

Yeah, that theory would work great, except with that logic Kate would have felt used. She didn’t. Quite the opposite had happened and no one had been more surprised than she.

In his arms she’d felt loved.

Who knew?

When he’d walked out that door, Kate had wanted to run after him. To make him stay and take her in his arms again. And why hadn’t she? If
her
pride had stung when he’d walked away from her that night, she couldn’t imagine how he’d felt when she’d left him ten years ago. Especially for something, at the time,
she’d
considered better. God, she’d been an idiot. Scratch that. No sense talking past tense.

She stood in the middle of the bakery looking at the walls that had been completely painted that night after she’d scooped up her dignity and went home. Apparently he’d come back and finished the job he’d started. But why? And would she ever have the chance to thank him?

She glanced at the floor where the ancient tiles had been covered with shiny new wood laminate, erasing any reminders of the night they’d shared together. Well, except for the big giant ache rambling around in her heart. For weeks she’d wondered what he wanted from her. She didn’t believe it was just sex. And it hadn’t been just the sex that made her realize what she wanted from him either.

Matt made her feel something she hadn’t felt before—that she was exactly where she belonged. The thought both scared her and filled her with pleasure. She could do one of two things with that information . . . run or embrace it.

A knock rapped on the front window and she opened the door for Maggie who bustled in from the cold grinning like a kid on a treasure hunt.

“I love the awning over the door,” Maggie said, shrugging off her wool coat and dumping it on one of the new bistro chairs Kate had integrated into the new design. “Might as well give people a place to sit and visit while they sample the new menu.”

“I’m so glad you went with a polka-dot design. It reminds me of the Dippin’ Dots ice cream we got at the hockey game in Boise last year.”

Kate sighed. “I just hope my dad will like it.”

“Are you kidding? He’ll love it.”

“I don’t know.” Doubt splintered Kate’s conviction. “What if in doing this makeover, I’ve taken away his memories of my mom?”

“Oh, honey, don’t you know you can never take away his memories?” Maggie gave her a hug. “They’re too embedded in his heart. True love is like that. And your mom and dad were definitely soul mates.”

There was that term again. “Is that what you and Oliver are?”

Maggie laughed. Her apple cheeks dimpled. “We didn’t start out that way. But yeah, we are. He was a cute guy who turned into a hell of a man. He takes care of us and he loves me unconditionally. Even when I never lost the baby weight, he didn’t care.” She gave a little smile and sigh. “I can’t imagine my life without him.”

The spark of utter amazement in Maggie’s voice intrigued Kate. And she had to admit, it ignited a smidge of envy, too.

Then Maggie clapped her hands together. “Okay, let’s get moving. You reopen in a few days. So what’s on the agenda for today?”

Kate’s wandering thoughts of soul mates and true love slipped back into her box of crazy but valuable ideas and she locked them away. “Well, I ordered arborvitae in these awesome ceramic urns for each side of the door and a planter box with Mom’s favorite mums for in front of the window. They should arrive this afternoon as should the glass apothecaries we’ll use to display highlighted pastries.”

“So that leaves us to . . .”

“Try out some new recipes to put on the menu.”

“Oh God,” Maggie groaned, “If they taste anything like those ice cream cupcakes, I’m in big trouble.”

Kate laughed and guided her friend to the prep area. “I promise you can have a free lifetime membership in the treat-of-the-month-club.”

“Good thing Ollie doesn’t mind a little cottage cheese with these thighs.”

Kate grabbed a stainless steel bowl and mixing spoon and slid it across the counter to her friend. Yes, men like Ollie were definitely in the few or don’t exist category. At least in Hollywood, where men spent a fortune on spas and product and expected their women to remain forever ageless via Botox and collagen. Men like her father and Maggie’s husband were different. They liked women with substance instead of perfect thighs.

“What are we making first?” Maggie asked, doing a little dance with her bowl and spoon to the Brooks & Dunn tune on the radio.

“New York–style cheesecake with blackberry coulis.”

Maggie’s brows lifted. “What the heck is that?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll love it.” Kate pulled a springform pan from the shelf, set it on the counter, and wondered if Matt Ryan would be different, too. Was he the soul mate type? Was he the kind of man who would give unconditional love even if his woman had a little extra junk in her trunk?

The man was a walking contradiction. One minute he was trying to select a wife from a grocery list; the next minute he was on the floor with her making love with so much passion it made her heart hurt.

She opened the refrigerator door, grabbed the packages of cream cheese, and slapped them down on the counter. Her initial reaction when he’d walked out that door had been that he wanted her body but he didn’t want
her
. She could have kept thinking that if it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes when she’d mentioned his
almost
proposal. It had been apparent she’d brought back unwelcome memories of heartache and pain.

Her instincts told her to let it go. Walk away. The problem remained that her instincts, along with her good intentions, always sucked. She didn’t want to walk away. She felt something for him, something deep inside where hope raised its annoying little head and made her realize she wanted different things now than she’d wanted at twenty years old. Heck, she wanted something different than she had just a few weeks ago.

She wanted it all.

And maybe, if she played her cards right, she could have it all.

His list was ridiculous. She knew it. Deep inside he had to know it too. For his sake maybe she should leave him be and let him move on with his life.

But until she knew exactly what was in his heart, leaving him alone was impossible.

W
ith the Sugar Shack’s grand reopening looming, Kate set the tray of her pastry samples on the back floorboard of the Buick and shut the door. She’d never realized how much satisfaction could be gained from slapping a little sugar and flour together. But as she’d arranged the treats on the tray, she’d been filled with pride. In Hollywood she made a living taking someone else’s creations and putting them together. But her pastries were all her, made from scratch, her heart, and imagination.

Hopefully they tasted as tempting as they smelled. The combination of raspberries baked in perfectly puffed phyllo, blackberry cheesecake squares, buttermilk pecan tarts, and amaretto chocolate swirl fudge would surely appeal to a certain sexy bachelor. If not, the chilled bottle of Moët should do the trick.

Whatever that little something was in the back of her mind that nagged to leave Matt alone, Kate ignored. Obviously their attraction to each other was a two-way street. But somewhere since she’d stepped foot on hallowed Deer Lick dirt and now, old feelings had raised their head and new feelings were spurning her on.

In her business she had to be a huge “what if” person—as in
what if
she put the black Alberta Ferretti with the Cesare Paciotti T-strap heels? Or
what if
she paired the criss-crossed Marchesa with the sparkly Louboutin peep-toe sling backs?

What ifs
were what pushed her toward the edge and dared her to leap. They were what had made her successful. They were what drove her to try new things even when the possibility of failure was waiting with open arms.

What if
she knocked on her former boyfriend’s door, forced him to face the feelings he’d had for her ten years ago and he slammed the door in her face? She didn’t particularly like rejection.

But
what if
he didn’t reject her?

T
he Buick rolled to a stop in the gravel driveway by the lake and Kate cut the engine. She studied the house to see if there was life inside or if she’d need to take her treats and go home. Only a flickering glow illuminated the pleated shades in the front window. Puffs of gray smoke spiraled from the chimney and confirmed a fire was burning in the fireplace.

She seriously hoped Matt wasn’t entertaining one of his potential June Cleavers.

She gathered up her goodies and whistled to the pup to follow. Like the good boy he was, he lifted his leg on a nearby bush before they climbed the steps to the front door. From within the house she heard music—soft, romantic music.

Crap.

Matt probably did have someone inside and she was about to be a party crasher. She tried to peer through the shades with no luck. And as she stood on his front porch with tasty treats, delicious champagne, and, just in case, wearing her sexiest matching bra and panties, she knew she had to make a decision. Did she risk humiliating herself? Then again, the reason she was there had nothing to do with personal pride and everything to do with matters of the heart.

The cold air stung her cheeks as she looked down to the pup by her side. “What do you think?”

His cheerful brown eyes looked up at her and he sneezed.

“Are you sure?”

He sneezed again.

“Okay, but if I look like an ass, it’s going to be your fault.”

She took a deep breath, raised her fist, and rapped hard on the rustic pine door.

A few seconds later, the door swung open and Matt stood there in threadbare jeans that hung low on his lean hips. A red plaid flannel hung from his broad shoulders, unbuttoned to reveal smooth taut skin over a perfect set of abs. His feet were bare. His hair was mussed. And he looked at her as if she had antennas growing out of the back of her head.

Uh-oh.

“Am I . . . interrupting?” she asked in a tone purposely oozing with sweetness while she balanced the tray in one hand and grasped the champagne bottle in the other.

His ice blue eyes narrowed and he stared at her from behind a thick fringe of dark lashes. His chiseled jawline clenched. “What do you want, Hollywood?” His acerbic tone bit into the moniker she’d strangely become accustomed to him calling her.

“Like I said, am I interrupting?”

He folded his arms across that perfect naked chest and rocked back on his heels. “Depends.”

Obviously he wouldn’t be of any help. She rose to the balls of her feet and peered over his shoulder. When she didn’t see any apron-wearing prospective brides, she went with her gut. Not that her intuition had ever led her in the right direction before. Still, she could always hope for a first time.

She edged past him and strolled into the living room like she owned the place. “Come on, pup.” A flash of golden fur made a beeline for the rug in front of a huge stone fireplace that showcased a roaring fire. He curled up and laid his head on his front paws, watching her as though he knew she was about to make a total fool of herself.

Kate glanced around the room to find the place sparsely decorated in an Adirondack style without the typical bear or moose motif. Just comfortable furniture, warm earthy colors and rustic wood. “Nice place.”

Matt stood in the doorway as though debating whether to toss her out or lock her in. Finally he closed the door and the icy draft retreated. A little.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, making his way toward her—step by intimidating step.

Heart thumping, she set the dessert tray down on the coffee table, listened to the song playing on the stereo and grinned up at him. “Never thought of you as a Bublé kind of guy, Deputy Ryan.”

A frown furrowed the smooth skin between his dark brows. “I like all kinds of music.”

“Uh-huh.” She brushed past him, went into the kitchen, and searched the cupboards for champagne glasses. “You just seem more like the Lynyrd Skynyrd type to me.”

“What’s wrong with Michael Bublé?”

“Nothing. He’s great.”

“You know him?”

She shrugged, pulled down two wine glasses from a middle shelf, and set them on the granite counter. “We’ve met a time or two.”

“Shit.” He stalked to the stereo and snapped off the CD.

“You didn’t have to turn him off,” she said, grabbing the Moët and peeling off the foil cover. “I love his voice.”

“I’m sure you do since you know him up close and personal.”

His sharp tone sent a shiver through her heart. “Oooh, do I detect a note of jealousy?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Kate?” he demanded instead of owning up to the truth.

“I need to use you.”

His eyes widened. “Pardon me?”

“I brought a peace offering to thank you for finishing the paint job at the Shack. I didn’t expect that. It was a very nice gesture.”

“It was no big deal.”

She locked eyes with him. “It was a big deal to me. You saved me a lot of work. So thank you.” She nodded toward the tray. “And to repay you for your random act of kindness, I brought you some samples of desserts I’m adding to the Sugar Shack’s menu. I needed an impartial opinion. Maggie taste-tested everything several times but she’s no help. If it contains anything that resembles sugar, she gives it an instant thumb’s-up.”

She twisted the wire muzzle to release the champagne cork but before it could pop Matt asked, “What’s with that?”

“Everything tastes better with champagne.”

He glanced at the label and then at her. “I’m not into your fancy stuff, Hollywood. I’m more of a beer kind of guy. Regardless of whose music I listen to.”