Second Chance Lane (Brockenridge #2) - Nicola Marsh Page 0,79
too many hours to mull her upcoming meeting with Mason.
When Jane arrived home, she spied a box on her doorstep. She was expecting colour samples for the bakery walls and Tom from the local hardware shop had said he’d deliver some swatches to her today. However, when she got out of the car and strode up the path to her door, she noticed the package was wrapped in Betty’s Bakery’s distinctive paper. Intrigued, she lifted the box to her nose and inhaled, savouring the sugary vanilla aroma.
She took her mystery delivery into the kitchen and laid it on the table. The box weighed a tonne and when she tore off the paper she saw why: a large vanilla sponge topped with pale pink icing took pride of place in the centre of the box, the ornate turquoise lettering making her smile.
I DECORATE CAKES, YOU DECORATE ROOMS.
Mason. An unexpectedly sweet, corny gesture, but she couldn’t figure out why. They’d been nothing but professional with one another since she last saw him and this cake reeked of sentimentality. It reminded her of her dad, who’d regularly bestowed flowers and chocolates on Gladys, trying to show how much he cared.
And it had been a lie, all of it.
She swiped a finger through some of the frosting and popped it into her mouth. Creamy and smooth, with a hint of rosewater. Delicious. As tempted as she was to cut herself a giant piece and eat the lot, she had to finish the last of her presentation and head back to the bakery. She had a job to do and impressing Mason had become incredibly important. Not because she wanted to make up for her shoddy behaviour towards him in the past, but because, for the first time in forever, she valued what a man thought of her.
Not that she was under any illusions. She didn’t expect them to have a relationship beyond professional. And if she were foolish enough to succumb to his obvious charms, it would end like all the other ‘relationships’ she’d ever had: short-term gain, long-term pain. She was tired of flings. She deserved better.
After a solid ninety minutes of work, she slid her laptop into its case, gathered her portfolio and headed for the door, pausing briefly in front of the hall mirror to check her appearance. She hadn’t dyed her hair in months and darker strands wound through the blonde, giving the appearance of artfully applied highlights. She wore it in a ponytail most days but had blow dried it into a sleek, glossy curtain today—for professional reasons, of course. Yeah, she had to keep telling herself that and forget seeing him in that damn towel.
Today would get them back on track. Work focussed. Businesslike. Minimal flirting. She repeated that mantra for the ten minutes it took to reach the bakery, park her car and strut in like a woman on a mission. The vanilla and cinnamon aromas in the air always comforted her. But today, not even the familiarity of those sweet smells could quell her nerves as Betty caught sight of her from behind the counter and pointed at the shop next door.
Of course Mason would be waiting there for her, prompt and professional. She could handle that. What she couldn’t handle was imagining things that weren’t there, like the desire in his eyes when she’d asked if he still wanted her for the job and he’d replied ‘absolutely’. She’d pondered that response for days, mentally chastising herself for being foolish and reading too much into it. Heck, the guy had lived in France for five years, stood to reason he’d be a flirting expert. For the next hour or so, she would have to remind herself of that and not try to interpret every glance or comment.
She entered the empty shop with a giant red ‘sold’ sticker on the window and spotted Mason standing behind the counter. Jane could barely remember what this place had been used for—possibly a dry cleaners? It had been closed since her early teens. Had Mason harboured a dream of expanding his mum’s bakery since then? Driven to fulfil his potential while she’d been strutting around high school pretending she owned the world? It irritated, knowing so little about him. The one person she could ask, Betty, would get the wrong idea if Jane started delving into what made Mason tick.
‘I see you’ve come prepared,’ Mason said by way of greeting, gesturing at her portfolio and laptop.