Take Three (The Jilted Bride #2)(22)

Chapter 9

Selena

Sweet Seasons still smelled like freshly baked bread and lightly buttered waffles.

The polished pine floors still creaked in certain spots—their “authenticity factor”—and my dad’s old handcrafted furniture looked as if he’d made it yesterday.

My mom had added additional space to the dining area, making the room accessible for at least one hundred seated customers. She’d bought a more modern glass case to display her pies, and added fresh greenery to the outdoor patio.

Despite her updates, the bakery’s business was a lot slower than I remembered. There was the early morning rush and the lunch rush, but there were few customers in between. The ones that did come in sporadically simply wanted their items “to go.” They didn’t want to sit down and chat like they used to—not that too many people spoke to me anyway.

Outside of a “Hey, it’s been a long time!” “Good to see you again!” and a “Welcome back to the real America!”—no one paid me much mind. They weren’t the slightest bit fazed by my celebrity status. They acted like I was any other town person, failing to feed my need for attention.

Even my family—with the exception of my mother, treated me as if I was just like them. They hardly ever asked me questions about the celebrity life. They were more concerned with filling me in on the mundane things I’d missed over the past four years: Quilting competitions, state fair baking contests, small town weddings, and of course, the latest BBQ fest on the Mississippi River.

“Selena,” my mother handed me a notepad. “My afternoon waitress called in sick again. Go take care of that guy by the window. He already has a menu, just take down what he wants.”

Before I could protest, she slipped into the kitchen.

I had no desire to do any waitress work. I just wanted to sit in the kitchen and bake in oblivion every day: The less people who saw me in a tacky Sweet Seasons uniform, the better.

I took my time walking over to the guy who was dressed in an oversized black polo shirt, light khaki pants, and a brown trucker hat that covered half his face.

I waited for him to notice me and cleared my throat. “Welcome to Sweet Seasons. What do you want?”

“I’m not completely sure yet…What’s the best thing on the menu?”

“Ugh! How the hell am I supposed to know? Does it look like I work here?”

“No…” he laughed. “I guess it doesn’t. I’ll have the blueberry drop cobbler to start.”

“Great,” I took his menu and headed into the kitchen. “Blueberry drop cobbler for the baggy trucker guy by the window!”

“Selena!” my mom shook her head.

“What?”

“Your customer service skills are awful, hun!”

“What did I do wrong? And do I really have to wear these Wal-Mart jeans? I think my skin has become allergic to cheap materials over the years. I mean, these do practically nothing for my figure and I’m pretty sure—”

“Everyone has to wear the same jeans Selena Ross,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s part of the uniform. I unfortunately have to run to the store for a while. Can you at least act like you’re a real waitress while I’m gone? You’re great at that.”

“I guess…Wait, what’s the best thing on the menu?”

She smiled and handed me a plate of cobbler. “Your cherry bourbon pie.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she shoved me back out into the dining area.

I walked back over to the trucker guy and held back a gasp. He’d taken off his hat and I realized he was the same guy I saw days ago in Autumn Wonder.

He was the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life. Hands down.

His big blue eyes were glistening underneath the bakery’s bright lighting and his silky brown hair was more defined today, more curly, and I saw that he had dimples, something I didn’t notice the other day.

Why is he smiling at me? And why do I feel warm inside?

I set his plate on the table and pulled a few napkins from my apron. I tried to say, “Here is your cobbler, did you want ice cream on the side?” but no words came out.

I couldn’t stop staring at his face, taking in his perfectly sculpted features. I started to wonder how his lips would feel against mine, if he could—

“Did you figure out what the best thing on the menu was?”

I should say something witty right now…Something like, “Me”…No, that’s too bold, makes it seems like I’m trying too hard…Why the hell am I thinking about my next words? I’m not shy!

“Yes?” he interrupted my thoughts and smiled his pearly whites again.

“Um…Cherry bourbon pie?”

“Sounds great. Can I get a whole box of that to go and a cup of your best coffee blend?”

I nodded and bolted for the kitchen.

I didn’t understand what was going on. I never got nervous around men. Ever. Not around Brad Pitt. Not around Channing Tatum. Not around Ian Somerhalder.

I couldn’t believe some random stranger in khakis was affecting me.

I took my time preparing a blend of our house favorite: Heritage. It was the mildest of the coffees, but it had a spicy cinnamon undertone that all my mom’s regulars loved. I boxed up the biggest cherry bourbon pie, took the coffee pot off the brew pad, and braced myself before going back into the dining room.