Second Chance Lane (Brockenridge #2) - Nicola Marsh Page 0,52

lot of charities and liked where she lived. She didn’t harbour grandiose plans or pie-in-the-sky dreams. She was … content.

So why did she care what her mother said or getting Gladys to own up to what she’d done?

Annoyed at herself for dwelling, she closed her portfolio and laptop and headed for the bathroom. But not even a long, hot shower, a leisurely application of subtle make-up and dressing in her favourite casual sundress could shake off her funk.

The sooner Mason got here and they got down to business, the better.

She set the table, uncorked the wine and had just finished making the gravy when the doorbell rang. After a quick wipe down of the surface she’d been working on, she rinsed her hands and dried them on a tea towel. The bell rang again. Ridiculously flustered, she slipped her bare feet into low-heeled wedges and headed for the door. After dragging in a deep breath that did little to steady her nerves, she opened it.

And her mouth went dry. Mason stood on her stoop, freshly showered, by the look of his wet hair curling around the collar of his sky-blue polo shirt, faded jeans elongating his legs, and golden stubble accentuating his strong jaw. But it was what she spied in his hands that really had her salivating: the signature silver-embossed Betty’s Bakery paper wrapped around a rectangular box.

‘Dessert as promised,’ Mason said, holding the box out to her.

‘I love everything your mum bakes, so thank you.’ She took the box and stepped back to let him in. ‘I’m there practically every day, as you can probably tell from my waistline.’

‘Your curves are beautiful,’ he murmured, his fingers brushing the dip of her hip for a second, sending heat streaking through her body. ‘But Mum didn’t bake any of that, I did.’

The way to her heart was definitely through her stomach and as she kicked the door shut, their gazes locked, sending another sizzle through her.

‘Come in,’ she said, her voice a tad squeaky as she led the way to the kitchen. ‘I can’t wait to see what you’ve made.’

‘A little of everything. Mini chocolate croissants, apple strudel and plaited pastry dusted in cinnamon sugar.’

‘Sounds divine,’ she said, placing the box on the counter and tearing a corner of the paper to take a peek, blown away by the detail of his pastries. ‘Wow, they look amazing.’

‘What can I say? I’m good with my hands.’ As if to emphasise the point, he waved them at her while wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, making her laugh and dissolving some of the tension she’d been harbouring all afternoon.

‘That’s good to know, considering you’ll be holding up a lot of swatches and colour samples in the new bakery.’

His smile faded. ‘Speaking of the new bakery, there may be a problem.’

Her heart sank. She knew this whole thing had been too good to be true. He didn’t want her designing the interior; had probably found some upmarket firm in Melbourne to do the job.

‘Apparently the owner is reneging on the deal.’

‘Why?’

‘Mum’s been negotiating through the real estate agency in town and assumed the sale would go through easily, seeing as the place has been empty for years. But the owner’s stalling before signing on the dotted line.’

A long-buried memory surfaced of her parents arguing about the deed to one of the shops. Jane knew her father had owned a few shops in Brockenridge, along with extensive land holdings and factories in Melbourne. When her dad had been alive, he’d sold most of the Brockenridge holdings and she assumed her mum had sold the rest. Was Gladys the owner of the empty store beside the bakery? Could she be deliberately stalling on the sale because she thought Mason and Jane were involved? Gladys rarely did anything by chance, and now that throwaway comment about Jane sniffing around Mason made sense if Gladys wanted to sabotage this deal to make her look bad by association. Could her mother really be that petty?

She couldn’t say anything, not until she’d confronted her mother. Presenting a professional front to Mason did not include airing her family laundry, so she settled for, ‘That’s weird.’

‘It’s bloody annoying, because if we can’t secure that extra space I can’t see the patisserie idea taking off.’

And he’d leave town ASAP. It shouldn’t bother her. They were nothing more than work colleagues who’d flirted a little. But it did, because for the first time in a long time, she felt something beyond attraction and, once the