Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,55

lap, where she was back to twisting her fingers together. “I know what I wanted when I came here, but nothing has gone like I thought it would. Not a single thing.”

The wry humor was gone, replaced by a quiet sincerity. She was no longer the wary, reclusive cave girl, but wasn’t the bold, say-it-like-it-is girl, either. This was a new side of her, maybe more vulnerable . . . but definitely honest. He’d wanted that trust from her earlier, had been miffed that she didn’t just offer it up to him. Now that she was . . . he didn’t know how he felt.

More disconcerted than he thought he’d be, for one. He knew this wasn’t the kind of thing she did often, if ever . . . and he didn’t want to do anything, say anything, to abuse or ruin the trust she was placing in him. But he had no idea what to say . . . or, possibly more important, what not to say. So he did the one thing he knew how to do . . . he listened.

“I didn’t expect to be homeless,” she said without a trace of self-pity, but rather bluntly . . . baldly.

That tugged on him far more strongly than any woe-is-me story would have.

“I didn’t count on losing my business before I even got it started, didn’t count on being trapped with no mode of transportation. I’ve been truly terrified of letting the visions come back, of making direct contact with anyone, and then folks here didn’t seem to be all that freaked out by the idea. Apparently, Bea had been giving them the benefit of her second sight all along.

“Except they have no idea how different mine is from hers. I don’t know what to make of the fact that the first vision I had was far stronger and more detailed than any I’ve had before, or why it affected me so deeply, so . . . personally.” She paused for a long moment before finally lifting her gaze to his. “And I definitely don’t know what to make of you. Any part of you.”

“Well, that makes us even, Honey Pie.”

Her lips quirked the tiniest bit at his use of her nickname, but her eyes were still so unguarded, and he wanted nothing more than to taste that mouth of hers one more time. Take away that uncertainty and replace it with . . . something stronger, something more stable, something just . . . more.

“Part of me still wants what I came here for, a chance at a normal life, or as close to one as I can have.” She glanced away again, looking through the front windshield, though he doubted she saw anything beyond the dashboard. Her viewpoint was entirely internal now. “And then things happen, like what happened on the porch this morning, or I find out that my inheritance is quite legally leased out for the next three and a half years and out of my reach for at least that long.”

She was finger twisting in earnest now, her tone agitated as she spoke faster, like she had to get it all out before running out of time.

He was prepared to give her all the time she needed.

“Not that I’d kick the cupcake ladies out at this point, anyway. That would guarantee my own business would be a failure before it even started. Plus, I like them, or the ones I’ve met, anyway, and I’d like to think we might become friends. Lani even invited me to come bake cupcakes with their baking club, and, you know what . . . I’d like that. No, I’d love that.” She broke off, took a breath. “I know I’ve lived under the proverbial rock for far too long, and I’m willing to work—hard—to get the life I want, but that life doesn’t seem to want me back.”

She stopped then, seeming more pissed than sad or lost, and he thought she might swear at the injustice of it. He sure as hell would have. Instead, she got that resigned, squared shoulder look back, which made him want to swear at her.

“It would be easier,” she said evenly, flatly, and worse, unemotionally, “and definitely smarter, to just go back to what I know I can make work.”

“Only?” His question seemed to surprise her, jerking her gaze back to his.

She held it for such a long moment, he fully expected her to continue her retreat, scrambling rapidly back into