The Bachelor Baker Read online

  And wasn’t that an understatement! Bad day for Melissa, bad day for him. He was still fuming about the loss of his tools and Joe’s inability to do anything about it.

  But what bothered him even more was Melissa’s easy dismissal of him.

  Bottom of the barrel. He wondered why he cared what she thought. Wondered why he bothered to even let it concern him.

  But it did. She was the first woman he’d been attracted to since Tracy. The first woman he was even remotely interested in.

  He heard bread pans clanking around the back of the bakery. Melissa had been experimenting with a banana loaf recipe and judging from the occasional mutter it wasn’t working out.

  He felt like he should help but knew it wouldn’t be welcomed. Since he started working for her, he had discovered that Miss Melissa was a perfectionist when it came to her baking. Amanda had been complaining to him the other day that Melissa only got her to do the most basic work.

  So he kept his distance, her comment of this afternoon still stinging his pride.

  He finished cleaning up the front and packaging the leftovers and then walked to the back of the bakery to clean there.

  Melissa was bent over the large butcher-block workbench that took up most of the space in this part of the bakery, her elbows resting on the top. She was frowning at a piece of paper in front of her. She jumped when he set the trays of wrapped baked goods on the table, her frown deepening as she looked it over. “What am I going to do about all this?”

  “Make less tomorrow, I guess,” he replied curtly. He was tired, too, and not feeling exactly charitable, but when he realized how he sounded, he tempered his reply with a smile.

  But she turned away before she saw it.

  “I’ll put these in the refrigerator,” he said.

  She just nodded, her back still to him.

  He set the trays on the large racks in the refrigerator and glanced at the top of the cake Melissa had just finished. Then he frowned when he saw what was written on the top.

  “Do you know you got the wrong names on the cake?” he called out to Melissa.

  “What?”

  Brian picked up the top tier of the cake and brought it to her just as she came toward the cooler. “You made this for Peter and Ginny, right?”

  Melissa nodded, staring down at the cake Brian still held.

  “You misspelled Ginny. It’s with a G not a J and it has two Ns, not one.”

  Melissa blinked as she groaned in dismay. “Guess I’ll have to fix that.”

  Brian moved toward the table to set it down for her.

  “I can do that,” she said, reaching for the cake.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Your sleeve is dragging through the icing,” she said, trying to shift the position of the cake.

  “You have to fix it, anyway.”

  “Let me do it. Please.” She gave another tug. He lost his grip just as he was about to set the cake on the counter. Melissa tugged again as if to counter his resistance and as a result pulled too hard.

  Brian watched in horror as the cake, as if in slow motion, slid out of his hands and hovered a moment as Melissa attempted to compensate for her poor grip on the cardboard. The cake teetered, then dropped with a sickening plop onto the floor. Icing flew off to the side and the cake split into five pieces, each sliding in different directions off the cardboard onto the cement floor.

  Silence followed the descent of the cake, then Melissa dropped to the floor beside it.

  Brian also knelt down, though he could see there was nothing else to do but clean up the disastrous mess and start all over.

  “Look what you did,” Melissa cried, looking across at Brian, her eyes rimmed with red. Was she crying?

  “I don’t have time for this,” she wailed.

  “If you would have just let me put the cake down—”

  “You should have given it to me—”

  “I had it under control,” Brian snapped, his own frustration with her, with the day, with his life spilling out in a rush of anger. “But you can’t let anyone else have control, can you? You have to do it all yourself.”

  Melissa stared at him. With her eyes like two gimlets on him she reached down and grabbed some cake.

  She looked at him, then at the cake and Brian could almost hear the gears grinding in her head.

  She wouldn’t.

  Then she tossed it.

  The gooey mess hit him square on his forehead and slid down the side of his face.

  She did.

  He blinked as what just happened registered. Then anger and frustration surged through him and before he could think he snatched up some of the cake and tossed it back at her. He didn’t mean to hit her, but his aim, never good, was off and he got her on the side of her face.

  She scowled at him and tossed another handful back. Just as quickly he returned the favor, his anger burning white hot by now.

  Melissa reached down to the cake, still glaring at him. Pink, blue and white icing stuck in her hair, and cake and custard pudding clung to her face as she lobbed another piece at him that landed square on his nose.

  Then her lip quivered, her shoulders shook and, to his surprise, she giggled, then chuckled.

  Still holding his own handful of cake he watched in amazement as she leaned back against the legs of the counter, her hands clutched to her midsection as she dissolved into laughter.

  She pointed at him. “You should see—” she gasped “—your face. Icing—” But she couldn’t finish her sentence as cake and icing mixed with tears ran in a river of pink and blue down her cheeks.

  A piece of cake slid down her face as she dropped her head back against the table, clutched her sides and shook with laughter.

  Then Brian gave into the moment, releasing first a chortle, then a snicker and finally he, too, was bent over in the wreckage of the cake, waves of laughter rolling over him.

  He chanced a look at her and the mess of icing and cake decorating her face, then he started again. He backhanded tears of laughter from his eyes, unable to say anything.

  A piece of cake perched on the top of her head, threatening to slide down into her eyes, and he reached over and brushed it away. Then, pulling the cuff of his shirtsleeve down, he gently wiped a blob of icing from her forehead, then one from her cheek.

  Her laughter died down as her eyes held his. He couldn’t look away and didn’t want to.

  Another chuckle escaped her lips, then she eased out a happy sigh as, to his surprise, she reached over and wiped some cake from his face, too. Then she released a gentle smile. A genuine smile.

  “I’m sorry.” That was all she said.

  Brian heard the sincerity in her voice and returned her smile, still holding her steady gaze. “I’m sorry, too.”

  He pushed the remnants of the now-destroyed cake aside and scootched over to sit beside her, too weak from laughter to sit on his own.

  He took a deep breath and then another, rolling his head to look at her. Icing frosted her long eyelashes and shone on her face. Chunks of cake clung to her hair.

  Trouble was she still looked beautiful.

  “I meant it,” she said, her voice quiet, still looking at him. “Today wasn’t a good day for either of us. I’m sorry about your tools and I’m sorry about what I said about you being my last choice. I didn’t mean...” She stopped herself there with a slow lift of her shoulders. Through the glistening frosting and the crumbs of cake he saw a flush stain her cheeks. “What I said came out wrong. I could blame it on this horrible headache and the way I’m feeling, but that’s a cheat. I want to tell you how much I appreciate your hard work. I know this job wasn’t your first choice and I feel bad that you’ve had to take it and I’m sorry I made you wear a pink-and-white-striped apron...


  He was quiet a moment as her apology faded off into a sigh.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m also truly sorry about your tools. I’m sure I would be as upset if someone took my knives or my mixer.”

  “Or your bread pans,” he said.

  Melissa laughed again, an easy tinkling laugh that shifted his equilibrium. “Is your grandfather okay?”

  “Yeah. He’s fine.” He shot her a grateful smile. “Thanks for asking.”

  “He looked so overcome when he came to the park.” Melissa stopped there, pressing her lips together as if remembering what she had said. Then she sighed. “And I’m so sorry you had to hear what I said to Dale. I wasn’t thinking straight.” She blew out a sharp breath. “I wasn’t thinking at all. Please, believe me when I say you’re not the bottom of the barrel.”

  “It would have to be a big barrel,” Brian said.

  Melissa chuckled, then grew serious. “You’re a good worker and you’ve taken a bad thing and made it work.”

  Her profuse apologies, admission and praise warmed the part of his heart that had been cool to her.

  “I haven’t been very gracious about it,” he admitted.

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “It’s just...working in a bakery was never part of my life’s plan.”

  She eased out a wry smile. “It was always part of mine,” she said quietly.

  “Always?”

  She shrugged. “When I was growing up I loved to bake.”

  “Where was growing up for you?”

  Melissa pressed her hand against her forehead, her finger slipping over the icing on her hair. “All over. Gatlinburg for a while, Knoxville, Asheville, Grand Rapids, Rapid City...wherever my mother decided we needed to stay awhile.”

  “So you moved around a lot,” he said, his voice quiet. He heard the faintest note of bitterness in her tone and wondered what her childhood had been like.

  She shot him a quick sideways look. “Understatement.” Then she lifted her apron and wiped icing from her face. He felt some slipping down his own face and was about to get it when she reached over and wiped his eyebrow. Her hand lingered a moment and a shiver teased his spine. He tamped his reaction as quickly as it came.

  Sure, she was good-looking and appealing and pretty and interesting in spite of being a control freak.

  But he had nothing to offer her. He couldn’t support her. She was his boss; he was her employee.

  Even as he reminded himself of his situation he couldn’t stop the lift of his heart as their gazes held.

  “Better get this cake cleaned up,” he said, his voice suddenly gruff.

  “I suppose,” Melissa returned, dismay etched on her features. “And I suppose I’ll have to make a new one now.”

  Brian got up and without thinking reached over to Melissa, catching her hand and pulling her to her feet.

  For a moment they stood face to face, then Melissa laughed. “You need to wash up before you leave here,” she said.

  “So do you.” He brushed another piece of cake from her face and again her smile faded as her expression grew serious. He wasn’t sure if he had imagined the awareness radiating between them. Wasn’t sure if it was simply the moment, or his lonely heart, or the realization that Melissa grew more appealing every day.

  Chapter Seven

  Watery light from the moon shone down on the back door of the bakery as Melissa pulled her keys out of her purse. As always, she glanced around the quiet back street, but all she saw was her shadow and the only sound was a rustling of leaves.

  Who would be skulking around Bygones at five in the morning anyhow?

  You, she thought.

  She closed her eyes a moment as a flash of pain sliced through her skull. She should be home in bed, but that wasn’t a luxury afforded to her. She had bread to bake.

  Not as much as yesterday.

  The thought taunted her and as she let herself into the bakery she indulged in a few seconds of self-pity, thinking of all the leftovers from the day before. Were the rumors going around town right? Was this bakery just a one-off? Were people already tired of her offerings? Were they truly unable to pay what she was charging?

  She dropped her keys back into her purse and went into the tiny office off the front room. She looked at the recipes hanging on the wall: recipes for the cakes and tarts she was baking for Gracie Wilson’s wedding.

  It would be okay, she reminded herself. It would be okay.

  She rummaged through her purse for the pain medication she had stocked up on yesterday. She shook a couple of pills out into her palm, then tossed them into her mouth.

  Then almost choked on them.

  A figure loomed in the back of the bakery. Tall. Broad shouldered. A really big person.

  Her heart dove and her stomach flopped as her hand scrabbled for the rolling pin on the counter.

  “Who’s there?” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so shaky as she grasped the handle.

  “It’s me.” Really Big Person stepped into the single light Melissa had turned on and relief made her legs rubbery. “Brian.”

  “Were you really going to use that thing?” he asked as he took a few steps closer, his grin a white slash against his features.

  Melissa looked from the rolling pin to him then laid it on the table. “I would have if you were a bad guy. What are you doing here?”

  Brian reached for his apron hanging on the hook beside Melissa’s. “I’ve come to help you.”

  She frowned, glancing at the clock above the sink.

  “Yeah. I’m early today. Eager to get going,” he said, a surprising note of humor in his voice. He tied the strings of his apron, then walked over to her. “You don’t look much better than you did yesterday.”

  “I’m feeling fine. You don’t need to worry—” But her sentence was cut off as another flash of pain hit her. She gasped, pressing her fingers to her temple, and when she straightened Brian was studying her.

  “Yeah. Real fine,” he said dryly. “You should be home.”

  “I can’t,” she grumbled. “Who else could I get to do this?”

  “Me.”

  She stared at him. “You?”

  “Yeah. What’s so bad about that?”

  “Nothing. I guess. If I knew you were able to do this.”

  “I’m not incapable,” he retorted.

  Melissa was about to protest again when another burst of pain made her wince.

  “Right,” he said, striding past her, picking up a plastic chair and bringing to her. “You sit yourself here and tell me what to do. That shouldn’t be hard for you.”

  “I’m not that bossy,” she declared as he set his hands on her shoulder and gently pushed down.

  “I rest my case.”

  “I’ll need to finish that cake,” she said, her mind ticking back to the disaster of yesterday. In spite of the headache pounding through her head, she couldn’t stop a smile thinking of how he looked after their cake fight.

  “Cake after bread,” he said. “I’m guessing we need flour and lots of it.”

  “I don’t need to tell you where that is.” She leaned back in the chair, waiting for the medication to kick in.

  Brian saluted, then strode to the back of the bakery, whistling a tuneless ditty.

  A few minutes later the first batch of dough was whirling around in the huge mixer, under her supervision, the dough winding around the hook, the hum of the machine a comforting sound.

  “How long does that need to mix?” Brian asked as he washed his hands.

  “A few minutes more and then you can proof it.”

  “Prove what?” Brian frowned as he hung up the hand towel.

  “That the yeast works,” she returned wit
h a faint smile. Her head still felt as if someone was cutting through it with a dull knife, but she also felt as if a weight had fallen off her shoulders. Brian’s presence created a surprising comfort.

  She got up and ignored Brian’s warning look as she slowly walked over to the other mixing bowl. “I’m just going to make up the cake,” she told him when he frowned at her. “I’ll take my time.”

  “Okay, but I’ll do any heavy lifting required.”

  She gave a wan smile, hoping, praying she could get through the day intact. The pain was debilitating.

  As the batter finished mixing and she was about to remove the bowl from the mixer, Brian nudged her aside. “Go grease the pan and I’ll pour this in for you.”

  Ten minutes later the cake was in the oven and Brian was washing the bowl. “Now will you sit down?”

  She was about to protest when Brian pointed at the chair, his expression brooking no discussion.

  “I don’t know if you realize how wrong this feels for me,” she said, weakly giving in. “I’m usually here all by myself.”

  “And running the show single-handedly,” Brian said, slanting her a teasing grin. “It’s amazing what you get done in a day.”

  His unexpected praise warmed her heart.

  “Not as much as I’d like to,” she said. “Though I won’t need to make as much today.”

  Brian set the clean bowl on the machine, then glanced over his shoulder. “The other day, when Eversleigh was asking you about bringing in business from other places, you said it was hard because you didn’t have contacts in the area.”

  “I don’t. I’m just a city slicker, after all.”

  To her surprise a flush tinted Brian’s ruddy cheeks. “Yeah. Well, I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s true,” she said. “I am a city slicker and I know local people were turned down to give me and Lily and the others an opportunity. I feel bad about it, but I wasn’t letting the opportunity go by because of that.”

  “Nor should you have. But, like you said, it means you don’t know the area. I do. And my friend Kirk’s wife, Abby, she’s in charge of the Farmer’s Markets Association in Concordia and Junction City. I called her last night and asked her if there would be any room for you to sell some goods from the bakery. She was all excited and figured it would be a fantastic idea. She thinks people would be all over it.”