Mocha Pleasures. Pamela Yaye
wealthy, well-connected couple with friends in high places, and I’m dying to join their social circle. Hence, the dinner party.”
“Dad, I can’t. I have roller derby practice at noon. ”
He snorted. “I wish you’d quit that stupid team.”
“And I wish you wouldn’t work 24/7.”
“If I host a dinner party on the twentieth, will you come?”
Grace had a game that afternoon, but she didn’t tell her dad. Didn’t want to upset him. “Sure, Dad,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll bring the wine.”
“Wear something nice,” he advised. “They’re bringing their son and he’s single.”
“That’s nice, but I’m not interested.”
“You should be. Ainsworth Ventura owns a profitable management company and was recently named entrepreneur of the year. Do you know what dating him could do for us?”
Grace didn’t know, didn’t care and had zero desire to meet the Seattle businessman.
“Like you, he’s ready to settle down and start a family.”
“Settling down is the furthest thing from my mind—”
“You’ll change your mind once you meet Ainsworth. He’s a ridiculously wealthy young man with everything going for him. Google him. You’ll see that I’m right.”
Yawning, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone, curious if her girlfriend Bronwyn Johansson had answered the text she’d sent that morning. They hadn’t seen each other in a week, and Grace was looking forward to catching up with her bestie.
“Think you can make some of your apple beignets and toffee cookie bars for dessert?”
Grace shifted her weight from one foot to the next, fidgeting with her fingers. She hadn’t set foot in the kitchen since her mother’s death and didn’t plan to. She used to love baking, would spend hours experimenting in the kitchen, but without Rosemary at her side, cooking held no appeal. These days she worked in the back office, managing the bakery the best she could. “No. I can’t,” she said, unable to shake her melancholy feelings.
“The regulars keep asking when you’ll be back in the kitchen and I want to know, too.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t feel up to it right now.”
“Grace, it’s been fourteen months. You have to move on.”
Her stomach churned and pain stabbed her heart. Was there a time limit on grief? A predetermined mourning period her therapist had failed to mention to her? Grace wanted to turn the tables on her dad, wanted to ask him when he was going to quit hiding out in his office and start living again, but knew better than to question him. “Dad, I’m beat. I’m going home.”
“All right. Good night, pumpkin. Text me when you get home.”
Living at home wasn’t ideal, especially when Grace wanted to entertain, but whenever she broached the subject of finding her own place, her dad got upset, said he couldn’t stand to live in the house alone, and she’d bury the idea. He still missed her mom, continued to grieve her death over a year later, and balked whenever Grace encouraged him to join a social club, or try online dating. “Don’t worry, Dad. I will. I always do.”
“I know. You’re such a good girl. The best daughter a father could ever ask for.”
He wasn’t one to show affection; Grace was shocked when her dad hugged her and kissed her cheek. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d held her, and she was comforted by his touch. Hearing her cell phone, she took it out of the pocket of her blazer and glanced discreetly at the screen. Grace groaned inwardly. What did Phillip want now? He was as annoying as a pesky mosquito, buzzing around in the dead of night, and she was sick of him blowing up her phone. Why was he calling her? Couldn’t he take a hint? It was the third time he’d phoned her that afternoon, but since Grace had nothing to say to him she let the call go to voice mail.
“We need to work together to save your mother’s shop,” her father said quietly, sorrow flickering across his strong facial features. “I’m counting on you to come through for me.”
“Dad, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Sweetness on top. I promise.” But as the impassioned declaration left her mouth, Grace knew it was a lie.
This is so wrong. I shouldn’t be here, Grace thought, her conscience plagued with guilt. I should be at Sweetness getting caught up on paperwork, not sitting here like a groupie hoping to catch a glimpse of Jackson “player extraordinaire” Drayson.
Seated at a corner table inside Myers Coffee Roasters café, sipping an espresso topped with oodles of whipped cream, Grace watched the comings and goings inside Lillian’s with keen interest, wondering where the man of the hour was.
For the second time in minutes Grace glanced at her watch, then around the room. She didn’t see Jackson anywhere and she’d been looking out for him since arriving at the bakery an hour earlier. Grace was filled with mixed emotions. Relief, because she turned into a jittery fool whenever Jackson was around, and disappointment, because she enjoyed their playful banter. On Monday he’d teased her for ignoring him, on Wednesday he’d complimented her BCBG keyhole dress—claimed he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her—then suggested she take him out for a romantic dinner. He’d slipped a handwritten note into her purse when she wasn’t looking, and finding it hours later made her heart smile. It was a cute gesture, one that made her crack up every time she reread his message, but Grace couldn’t call him, not without looking desperate, so she hid the note in her top drawer and deleted all thoughts of Jackson from her mind.
Ha! barked her inner voice. If you were trying to forget him you wouldn’t be in his bakery.
Grace lowered her coffee mug from her lips and cranked her head to the right. Every time the door chimed her heart raced. Where is he? Did Jackson have the day off? Was he out with one of his girlfriends? Wining, dining and seducing his flavor of the week? Of course he was, Grace decided. The baker was an affable, laid-back guy who obviously loved women, and it would be wise to keep her distance.
Reflecting on their heated exchange the day they’d met, Grace wished she hadn’t let Jackson get under her skin. It was clear from then on that she was going to have her hands full with the hottie baker, and yesterday he’d been in fine form. Every time she entered Lillian’s he was charming his female customers, and when Grace pointed it out to him, he’d teased her for being jealous and insisted she wanted him all to herself.
Snorting in disgust, she shook her head at the memory. Grace couldn’t believe his nerve, how smug he was. To keep her anger in check she’d had to bite her tongue. Despite her misgivings about her “assignment” she’d stopped in at Lillian’s every day to sample something new. Peanut-butter-sandwich cookies on Monday, orange-marmalade coffee cake two days later, a walnut muffin on Thursday and today a Draynut. The pastry was a combination of croissant and donut, and customers were lined up around the block to get their hands on the pricey dessert that her father had mistakenly referred to as a “dragnet.”
Grace stared at her gold-rimmed plate, wondering if the pastry was as delicious as the food bloggers said it was. So far, she’d been impressed by the quality of the baked goods at Lillian’s. She’d assumed the bakery wouldn’t live up to the hype or her implausibly high standards. Trends came and went, and a little bit of buzz could go a long way when a business first opened. Grace was pleasantly—or rather unpleasantly—surprised to learn that yes, Lillian’s was that good. She’d made the mistake of mentioning that to her father last night at dinner, and once again he’d urged her to return to the bakery to sample the rest of the items on the menu. Her father wanted to know exactly what the Draysons were producing, and expected her to report back