No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(20)

She disappeared.

Oh, yeah. Hannah was in a league of her own. And my target had just narrowed to a singular quarry.



Days later, I stumbled into the front area of Sweet Dreams with coffee, as usual. Only the room was crowded. Eight strange faces greeted me, a couple of them bright-eyed and cheery. The rest had traveled from the sort of place I hailed from: groggy and a little slow on the uptake. The ones without coffee stared at my Starbucks tray. I turned, shielding my coffees from them in case any got the inadvisable idea of tackling me.

Uncertain what provoked the mass exodus of college-aged brethren to show up before store hours, I made my way back to the kitchen. Hannah was intently focused, poring over a stack of papers at her desk.

Understanding finally hit me. “You’re hiring.”

Blinking, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled when she saw me. “Ooo, coffee.” She abandoned her stack and grabbed the cup I held out. “I’m bleary-eyed from reading all those resumes.”

“Any potentials?”

She nodded. “Two really stand out above the others. I’ve already had ten-minute interviews with each of them. Daniel is a little edgy—has a Mohawk, piercings, and tattoos—but I love his fun personality. Chloe’s more reserved but has been baking since she was twelve. Both are qualified with great references, and they’re smart enough to learn quickly.”

“Which one’s Chloe?” I edged toward the doorway. Conversations between the applicants had erupted, everyone talking and laughing. A group of five congregated around the couch. Mohawked Daniel leaned forward in the center of the larger group, telling a story that pulled the others to the edge of their seats.

“The one with red hair pulled into a fluffy ponytail,” Hannah whispered, pressing beside me.

Chloe sat in the remaining group of three, oblivious to Daniel. She was calm in a welcoming way and engaged with the other two girls about a topic so funny, they all burst out laughing.

You could tell a lot from watching people interact with others: the expression on their face, body language. Both top candidates seemed honest and didn’t carry baggage on the outside—critical qualities in employees.

“I like them too. I say hire them on the spot.”



Game day arrived. Our first event.

For the occasion, Hannah didn’t bake a cake of the football field. And she didn’t do a lame football-shaped cake. Nope.

She built the whole damned stadium.

Complete with green-iced trees on the outer edge, lit paneling along the sides, and tiny spectator heads in the stands that angled down to the turf in the center, the cake looked like an architect’s model. As if the stadium itself wasn’t enough, she replicated a life-sized Vince Lombardi Trophy in silver frosting as an entirely separate cake.

They were works of art.

I couldn’t stop staring at the massive creation. Twisted tubes of white chocolate formed the goal posts on either side. She even had tiny sideline benches with water coolers.

The good thing about my absorbing every little detail of her masterpiece was that, for a short time anyway, I could focus on something other than her. Setting up the final touches on the VIP suite right before the guests showed, we’d each been busy with our list of tasks, and the cake had been one of the last items to arrive. In fact, guests had already started to trickle in, several entering right behind the cake caravan.

Rolled in on several carts by the two new staff members Hannah had hired, the cake’s slow approach through the entry doors drew everyone’s attention. Hannah followed behind, guarding the corners of the cake with a scrutinizing eye to be sure they successfully made the turn with their wide load.

I couldn’t have been more proud as I finally pulled back. I moved closer to her, feeling her palpable excitement. “You did good, Maestro.”

Hannah looked up at me, her expression hardened into a seriousness that surpassed any I’d seen before. After a pause of several beats, she smiled.

And she went from gorgeous to stunning.

Wearing simple jeans dressed up with a black, long-sleeved collared top with French cuffs, she pulled off carefree professional with class. The dark color was a change for her, and it turned her hazel eyes a vivid green.

They held mine.

I swallowed. “You look great, by the way.”

Her smile warmed further, if that was even possible. “Thanks.” Tilting her head, she regarded me a moment. “Why do you call me Maestro? When you used it during our business negotiations, you seemed flippant. But just now, it seemed friendlier.”

I smiled. “It is friendlier. The day we met in your kitchen, you’d orchestrated masterpieces with the wave of your spatula like a conductor, and then you inadvertently flicked frosting onto me.”

Eyes widening, remorse flashed across her face. “Sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. When I’d met you at my bar’s grand opening, you were an Ice Queen. But in your kitchen, you revealed this whole other side when you thought no one was looking. The Maestro nickname reminds me of your free-spirited side. Does it bother you?”

Her brows furrowed. “Ice Queen?”

My lips twitched as I fought a smile. “Seriously? The chilling reception you gave was effective and memorable. But I like calling you Maestro. It reminds me that there’s so much more to you than meets the eye.”