Irresistible (Cloverleigh Farms #1)(5)

I snipped the thread and made sure my handiwork didn’t show. “Speaking of the groom, we’d better get you back there for that first dance.”

“You’re right. Don’t want to let him off the hook. He’s dreading the dancing.” She laughed and faced me. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful. All lit up inside.”

“No lipstick on my teeth? No wine stain on my dress?” She glanced at her shoes. “No toilet paper?”

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re good to go.”

“Thank you so much, Frannie.” She gave me a quick hug. “You’re a doll.”

“You’re welcome. Give me one sec to put this stuff away and I’ll walk you back.”

“I can find my way, no worries.” She headed for the door. “And I’d better hurry—those macarons on the dessert table looked divine. I don’t want them to be gone when I get there.”

“Oh, I made those. I can always get you some extra if they are.”

She turned around, her mouth falling open. “You made those? They’re beautiful! And absolutely delicious! I tasted one when we visited the first time—no joke, they were one of the things that sold me on having the wedding here.”

Blushing, I smiled. “I’m so glad.”

“You’re really talented. Are you a pastry chef? What on earth are you doing at the reception desk?”

I shook my head. “I’m not a pastry chef. But I was taught by one who worked here years ago—Jean-Gaspard. He was kind enough to tolerate my constant presence and endless questions in the kitchen, and I memorized everything he said.”

She laughed. “Well, it paid off. Do you sell in stores?”

“No. Just here.”

“You need to be in business!”

“Maybe someday,” I said, tucking the needle back into the kit.

“What are you waiting for?” she cried, tossing her hands up.

“I don’t know. A lightning bolt?” I suggested, laughing self-consciously. In truth, I’d imagined it a thousand times—just a tiny little storefront with a couple glass cases lined with rows of beautifully-colored macarons. But would it succeed? What if it was too specialized? What if tourists up here just wanted fudge and ice cream? What if I failed and lost tons of money? It’s not like I had any experience or know-how when it came to business—I was just a girl who loved to bake.

“Listen, I don’t have a business card on me right now, but when I get back from Hawaii, I’m going to send one over to you. I’m in commercial real estate, and sometimes I invest in local businesses as well—especially those started by female entrepreneurs. If you ever want to talk about this some more, you let me know. It’ll be my way to show my appreciation for your saving me from eternal embarrassment at my wedding.”

“Okay,” I said, although it didn’t seem too realistic. “Thanks.”

She gave me one last grin and disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone in Mack’s office.

I packed up the sewing kit and replaced it in the top drawer along with his scissors. I knew I should get back out to the reception desk, but I couldn’t resist taking a moment to sit in his chair. Lowering myself into the worn leather, I placed my arms on the rests, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply.

His ass sits here every day. It’s like my ass is touching his.

“Frannie? What are you doing?”

My eyes flew open and I saw my sister Chloe staring at me from the doorway.

I jumped up. “Nothing,” I said quickly, coming out from behind the desk. “I was just looking for something,”

“In Mack’s office?”

“Yes.” After flipping the light switch off, I edged by her into the hall, shutting the door behind us. “The bride broke a strap on her dress, and Mack has a sewing kit in his desk. I fixed it.”

“Yeah, I just saw her rush by.” Chloe glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, have you seen Dad? Is he around tonight?”

“He was earlier. He’s not in the restaurant?” I began walking back up toward reception.

“No. Maybe he went to bed already. He’s been so tired lately. I’m worried about him.”

“Same,” I admitted, pulling open the door at the end of the hall and letting Chloe go through first. “He should slow down a little.”

“I agree. I wish he’d let me …” She sighed. “But he never will.”

“Let you what?”

“Never mind. It’s nothing. I’m heading out.”

“Okay. Night.” As I watched her head out the front door, I tried not to feel disappointed she hadn’t confided in me. But it was nothing new—although Chloe was the closest to me in age, only five years older, we had never been particularly tight.

Part of me thought maybe it was because of all the attention I’d gotten as a child due to the problem with my heart. She’d been the baby until I’d come along needing all kinds of attention and care, including three open-heart surgeries before age ten. Maybe she’d gotten ignored.

Or maybe it was the age difference. She was always growing out of things just as I was growing into them—Barbies, friendship bracelets, boy bands. Our interests never seemed to align, and she was off to college before I even hit high school.