A Town Called Valentine(97)
She pushed away any of her doubts and remembered that she was making a new family, including good friends she’d never neglect, and a baby sometime in her future. She smiled as she imagined Brooke and Monica as doting aunts, the widows acting as the best kind of grandparents. There was so much love here in Valentine Valley.
The bakery idea floated to the surface of her mind. She saw happy people enjoying meals together over food she’d created. Then she quickly submerged it.
Nate’s fingers dipped between her thighs and trailed higher.
Oh yes, and she had Nate—for now. She wished she could be like him, content with his life, knowing just what he wanted and what worked for him. He was watching her, his face all serious, his green eyes unusually dark as they studied her. And then they drifted to her mouth and flared with heat, and she felt an answering shiver of pleasure.
“Guess what I got yesterday?” she said in a low voice. “A persuasion gift from Leather and Lace. They want me to remember they have first dibs when I put the building on the market.”
Though the corner of his mouth turned up, he still searched her eyes with an intensity that confused her. She touched his face with her fingertips, smoothing along his brow, then dipping into the dimples in his cheeks. He caught her fingertip in his mouth and lightly bit.
“Do you want to see it?” She leaned against him, whispering near his ear, “There’s a lot of lace,” then gently bit his earlobe. “And leather.”
With a groan, he turned her across his lap, and said hoarsely, “I can’t resist you.”
She sank into his kiss, so she wouldn’t have to think he’d showed any hesitation.
But the widows did hear about the gift the next evening, when Emily had them over for dinner, along with Monica and Brooke. Emily gave everyone a tour of the restaurant, blushing with pride at all the praise, realizing what an accomplishment it had been to turn that disaster she’d seen the first night into a building any business would be happy to buy. The widows discussed the varied businesses that might go there, while she served dinner buffet style since she didn’t have a big enough table. She could picture a boutique restaurant, or maybe an exclusive shoe store, or even a bakery—run by somebody else, she told herself. And the more she looked around at these dear ladies, so concerned about her and the town, the more she felt she couldn’t go on keeping the secret about Leather and Lace’s interest. So she told them, then tried not to wince as she awaited their reaction.
After a momentary, bemused silence, Mrs. Thalberg asked, “Do they have a website?”
Soon, they were crowded around Emily’s laptop, oohing and aahing over the sometimes tasteful, sometimes raunchy, Leather and Lace catalogue.
Emily was shocked and delighted by their open minds and couldn’t help saying, “You know, Nate wasn’t certain you’d approve.”
“Young men can be so conservative,” Mrs. Palmer drawled, rolling her eyes.
As they debated the function of several of the garments—Emily kept her lips pressed together to keep from roaring with laughter—she served the raspberry torte she hadn’t taken to the Thalbergs. That launched a whole new discussion about the overworked pastry chef at the Sweetheart Inn, and all the upcoming summer weddings. Emily frowned at Monica, as if she had set the whole thing up.
After Brooke drove the widows home, Monica stayed to help Emily clean up.
“Okay, do you have a confession to make?” Emily demanded sternly.
Monica frowned, looking confused. “About what?”
“There was a lot of talk about having only one pastry chef in town. You’re the only one I discussed it with.”
“I said nothing. Scout’s honor,” she added solemnly. “But . . . have you given it any more thought?”
Emily sighed and sank down on the love seat. “When I made that flower delivery to St. John’s today, I sat there in peace for a while, hoping to find answers, but I’m just as clueless as ever. Then a wedding party began to arrive, and I found myself wondering where their reception would be, and about the cake—and I’ve never done a wedding cake in my life!”
“You know you don’t have to do wedding cakes,” Monica said, sitting in a chair opposite her. “That’s kind of a specialty, I think.”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
“Stay open-minded, Em.”
“I’ve been open-minded, but I have to go home. I start school in the fall, and I can’t just throw it away because of one different idea. I’m not that . . . flighty. Getting the money to start my own business would be hard, and how could I support a child never knowing if I’d make enough to cover the bills that month?”