A Town Called Valentine(94)

Emily frowned. “No, no messages.”

“He saw his brother’s handiwork in their new special display.”

“What did he say?”

“He seemed surprised, like Josh hadn’t told him. And Josh apparently didn’t tell him he was taking you to lunch.” Monica blinked her big brown eyes innocently.

Emily waved a hand, then licked batter off her finger before it spread anyplace else. “There wasn’t a plan. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Okay. Think that’s a good idea, when something’s going on between those two?”

“A good idea?” Emily echoed, confused. “Josh is a client. Why would Nate care?”

“I don’t know. But I thought you seemed a little upset about not knowing about the rodeo. And since he didn’t call you, maybe he’s a little upset you didn’t tell him about Josh.”

Emily opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. Was dating truly getting this complicated? She was trying hard not to involve Nate too deeply in her life—how could he possibly object?

Monica looked around the kitchen. “You baked more than one dessert?” she asked incredulously.

Emily glanced at the brownies and the raspberry torte with a little guilt. “I couldn’t decide.”

“They’re all good—everyone says so. You could sell them.”

Emily blinked at Monica, then around her kitchen, still orderly in the middle of a baking explosion. Sell her desserts? “You mean . . . to a bakery?”

Monica met her gaze in surprise. “Well . . . you could sell them yourself.”

“My own bakery?” she asked in disbelief. “I don’t know anything about running a business.”

“Why can’t you learn?”

“You don’t understand—my mom’s business took up most of her time, and so I stayed as far away from it as I could.”

“I thought you said men took up the rest of her time.”

“Well . . . they did.”

“Would you make that mistake?”

“Of course not! But this isn’t about my mom. Do you have any idea how much real estate costs in San Francisco? I couldn’t just . . . open a business.”

Monica rested her chin on her fist and watched her with interest. “Who said anything about San Francisco? You own a building right here.”

“But . . . this isn’t my home,” Emily said, bewildered. “I’m not staying here. And I’ve got Berkeley in the fall.” But in that moment, she thought of making heart-shaped cakes and gooey Valentine’s Day treats. But that would mean changing every plan she had for herself, flitting to whatever new idea struck her fancy—and that seemed too much like her mom.

“Okay, forget about where you have a bakery,” Monica said. “Is it something that interests you?”

“I—I never thought about it. I just like to bake. I’m not a trained pastry chef. No one would buy anything from me!”

“Then maybe you should think about it first. Nothing else has occurred to you, right?”

“I’m going back to college to figure that out,” she said, feeling stubborn and uneasy. “Not culinary school.”

“And you like college,” Monica said dubiously.

“I’m older and wiser now. And smart, too—did I mention that? I know lots of people back home, a whole network of people who’ll help me make a decision.” But some friends hadn’t been so easy to reach the few times she’d called. Maybe they really were Greg’s friends instead of hers.

“Should I be sorry I brought this up?” Monica asked.

Emily shook off her panic. “No, no, of course not. But I’m not a chef, I’m not a businessperson. I don’t know what I am,” she finished, looking away.

She felt Monica touch her arm.

“It’s okay, Em,” she said softly. “There’s no rush.”

“No rush? I’m thirty years old!” she whispered fiercely. “Ever since—since Greg left me, my life has been turned upside down. I’ve really had to look at myself, and realize how poorly prepared I let myself be, all in the name of love and family.”

“Those aren’t bad motives, honey.”

“I wasn’t thinking about my future—I let Greg take care of me. And Nate,” she whispered. “It would be too easy to let him take care of me. I’m pathetic.”