No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(6)
A few turns onto the sleepy downtown streets of Glenhaven, and I saw my destination. A sign stating “Sweet Dreams” above a yellow-and-white-striped awning told me I’d found the right place. I parked then walked up to the entrance as I took a deep breath, not looking forward to the meeting.
The sun hadn’t risen yet, giving a grayish cast to the abandoned street, but faint light glowed from within the bakery from somewhere in the back.
With care, I knocked on the wood frame that surrounded the glass panes in the top section of the door. After waiting a minute and getting no response, I tried the knob. It turned, and I pushed in.
“Hello?” I surveyed the clean space while stepping inside. Three stools lined a low counter. Beside them was a large, empty display case.
From somewhere further inside, a metal clap and a ringing sounded out. I followed the noise to the back, into a kitchen sizable enough to accommodate an army of pastry chefs. The lone occupant, however, stood with her back to me, surrounded by hundreds of colorful cupcakes and a few multi-level cakes. The sound came from a metal bowl that spun to a stop a few feet from her, mere inches from a cake half-covered in icing.
Her shoulders slumped in relief.
A ruffled apron had twisted on her body; the bottom sat crooked on her hips. Dried remnants of various frosting colors dotted the tanned skin on her arms, making her look like she’d broken out in rainbow chicken pox. She wore shorts short enough that I could see toned thighs beneath her apron skirt.
A quick glance at my watch: 7:03 a.m.
Oblivious to my presence, she bent over, focused on icing a different cake, armed with some weapon of pastry, a plastic bag with a gleaming metal tip on the end. I kept silent, unwilling to interrupt her flow. Curves in motion reminded me of what I’d admired during the grand opening of Loading Zone, yet the image of the woman in front of me was day and night to the one I remembered.
The master craftsman standing before me proceeded to coat her creation in what looked like shining green scales, each one laid perfectly upon the last. Her speed with the icing tube was such that I barely saw her movements before the entire surface had been coated.
She straightened and eyed her work from several angles before nodding once. She discarded the bag, then pulled off a plastic lid from a glass bowl and picked up a small spatula. After she dipped it down and scraped up, the tip was coated in pink frosting.
I watched, amused that her determined focus made her completely unaware she was late. Another time check: 7:07 a.m.
From my position leaning against the edge of a stainless steel counter covered in rows of cupcakes, I cleared my throat.
She jumped. Pink frosting flew out in an arc as she whirled around, splattering onto everything in its path, including me.
“Whoa! Easy, Maestro.” It was an apt nickname, the way she orchestrated creations with the flick of her pastry wand. I dragged my finger along my forearm, scraping frosting off, and then stuck it in my mouth, licking the sweetness while I stared at her.
She dropped her frosting weapon and fully faced me, wiping green-stained hands on her apron. “Oh! Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I…I forgot the time.”
Striking greenish-hazel eyes stared back at me, flecks of gold sparking in the bright light. Her cute face had smudged flour on one cheek, her chin, and a long smear across her forehead. Long dark brown hair had been clipped up, but some pieces had fallen loose, brushing her cheeks.
A purple V-neck tee clung to the top of her breasts before the apron hid the very interesting curves from sight.
But out of sight meant on my mind…
Her brow furrowed. “Wait. Are you here about our meeting? Where’s Kristen?” Her expression hardened further into something resembling annoyance.
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you or intrude into your private space. I knocked and tried to get your attention, but you didn’t hear me. Kristen had an emergency. I’m here to present the proposal.”
With a cautious expression, she held out her hand. “I’m Hannah.”
My memory flashed to the hand I’d offered and she’d rejected six months ago. Regardless, I shook hers, surprised by her strong grip as it held mine for a brief second. “We’ve met once. I’m Cade.”
Her eyes narrowed for a split second as she released my hand. “Oh, yeah. I remember. The player, Drink List Guy.” She turned away and proceeded to use the insides of her outstretched forearms to scoot her cupcakes away from the edges of the counters.
“Player?” Well that answered a question about the ice-queen treatment six months ago.
“Kiki shared your exploits. You sounded like a player to me.”
I closed my hand to find it sticky. I flipped it over. Green icing coated my skin. I rubbed my palm clean on my thigh. If the color didn’t wash out of my jeans, I’d deal.
By the time she turned around, her “cute and disheveled” vibe disappeared behind a calm, collected demeanor. I smirked. There was a touch of the Ice Queen Hannah I remembered.
I still had to take a deep breath, though. The girl in close proximity to me was beautiful and sensual, even with her false demeanor. I decided it was all a front, because her true identity was the one I’d caught unaware while she lost herself in her craft.
With quick fingers, she untied the apron, pulled it over her head, then tossed it onto a wheeled chair in the corner by a desk. “Let’s go up front so we can sit down.”