Bridget reached for the doorknob, then froze. “Did you make my breakfast, Tanner?”
“Sure did,” the guy answered, back to all grins.
“You didn’t do anything to it, did you?” She turned to Soren. “Am I going to be stoned all day? I have way too much to do to be talking to eggs and stealing baked goods.”
Tanner put up his hands defensively. “Don’t worry, bird lady! I didn’t add any special ingredients to your food.”
Soren’s smirk was back. “Looks like you get to spend the day with me stone-cold sober,” he teased as they left the mountain house and headed toward the truck.
This man! Full disclosure. If he wasn’t such a wedding wrecking prick, she would have laughed. He was a curmudgeon, but he wasn’t totally without a sense of humor.
He opened her door, and she got in the truck. It was a sweet gesture, old-fashioned chivalry like something her grandpa Dasher used to do.
Did she like it?
It didn’t matter.
She pulled her planner and a pen from her bag as Soren started the truck, and they headed toward the village.
To Do:
Finish the wedding cake
That was a must! Her plan was to recreate their parents’ three-tiered red velvet cake with buttercream frosting. It wasn’t a technically difficult recipe. She’d created far more intricate designs at the pâtisserie. But she had to get it right. She and Lori had made red velvet cake dozens of times with their grandmother in the two years after their parents had died. Baking had become a way to remember the good times. The simple act of mixing, combining, and creating had allowed her to funnel her despair, anger, and sadness into something sweet, beautiful, and delicious.
She might have been very much alone since Lori went to college, but she was never lonely when she baked.
“We’re here,” Soren said, cutting the ignition.
“Already?” she asked, sliding the planner into her bag.
“Yeah, you hum to yourself when you’re concentrating,” he added.
For a detached jerk, he noticed quite a bit.
“I must have gotten lost in my thoughts,” she replied, then glanced out the window at the bakery and gasped.
“What?” Soren asked.
“It’s a Cupid Bakery. The one in Dallas closed not too long ago. Gaston was elated.”
“Who’s Gaston? Another boyfriend?” Soren asked, his words taking on an irritated inflection.
“No way! He’s my ex-boss—a real pompous jackass. You two would get along great,” she added as butterflies fluttered in her belly, waiting for Soren’s pithy retort. Except he wasn’t biting.
“If it’s where we’re stuck today, we might as well get to it,” he muttered under his breath.
A gal could get whiplash reacting to his mood swings.
She got out of the truck and spied Lori and Tom inside the bakery. Her sister had her arms around Tom’s neck while his encircled her waist. They were the picture of happiness when, as if on cue, Tom leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sister’s lips.
Bridget sighed as a contented warmth spread through her body.
Tom loved her sister. From the first minute she’d met him, she couldn’t help noticing that he looked at Lori the same adoring way her father used to look at her mother.
She glanced at Soren and found him glowering in full-on sourpuss mode. If he couldn’t be happy for them, then that was his issue.
She opened the door to the bakery as a bell on the hinge rang out their arrival.
The couple pulled apart, their cheeks growing pink.
“I hope you did a little dancing along with all that kissing for the red velvet cakes,” she teased as she and Soren entered the quaint shop.
Lori’s blush deepened. “Yes, Birdie, I make Tom dance with me no matter what we bake.”
“And it always turns out delicious,” Tom added with a kiss to Lori’s temple.
“Speaking of delicious,” Lori went on. “What did you do to those peanut butter blossoms?”
Bridget stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“They’re always good. But last night, they were absolutely divine. I’ve never seen people scarf down cookies as fast as they did at Kringle Acres,” Lori continued.
“My entire family was raving about them,” Tom added.
Oh no!
She didn’t add any special gummy bears to the batter, did she?
“I followed Grandma’s recipe. But I can tell you that there was absolutely no substance that would cause a psychotropic response in those cookies.” She looked to Soren. “Was there?”
He dropped the jackass vibe. “No, those cookies were plain old cookies.”