Summer in Napa - By Marina Adair Page 0,105

Mrs. Craver.

“Lexi.” Mrs. Kincaid greeted her with a hesitant smile and took a seat at the far corner table. “Jeffery, and other.”

“Don’t mind us,” Mrs. Moberly said, taking a seat as well and making herself busy wiping down an already-clean table. “We’re just in need of an afternoon coffee and treat. But no hurry, dear; we’re in no rush.”

Mrs. Rose glared at Jeffery and whispered, loud enough for most of Main Street to hear, “We’re here as long as you need us.” With a decisive nod she took her seat and patted her purse, which according to Mrs. Lambert at the Grapevine Prune and Clip was packing a whole lot more than lipstick and her extra set of teeth.

But Lexi could survive three backseat bakers, the town’s busiest busybodies, and her ex and his new wife. It was when she saw Marc, standing frozen in the doorway looking back at her, that she knew.

Her heart slowly gave one last beat for the man she had fallen in love with.

And then it shattered.

“The recipes are mine,” Lexi whispered, her voice so small and so full of hurt, Marc’s gut twisted painfully.

Marc opened his mouth to say that he didn’t want them, that he’d never meant to hurt her, but nothing came out. The pain in his gut made it impossible to swallow, let alone speak.

The last thing he wanted to do was have this conversation here, in her grandmother’s bakery, in front of her ex-husband, his new wife, and a handful of customers. But he had waited too long, and he was out of time—and excuses.

“These recipes belong to my family,” she said, louder this time, holding out a piece of paper. “And no one is taking them from me.” She dropped the paper to her side. “You knew. This whole time you knew.”

God, his heart was breaking.

“Let me explain,” he said, moving toward her and coming to a dead stop after only one step. Because Lexi backed away and held out a shaky hand, begging him to keep his distance.

“Please. Explain. Because I want to know how my family recipes, desserts that were never served at Pairing, ended up in some contract between you, my cheat of an ex, and some distribution company.”

“Two years ago,” he said, closing the distance between them and aching to take her into his arms, “I came to visit and you made me a batch of your grandma’s éclairs.”

She nodded, her eyes big and wet, looking up as if she was silently pleading for him to make this all go away. He wanted to. So badly, but he wasn’t sure how.

“You joked that the ones in France were better,” she whispered.

The joke had been one made out of desperation, a tactic he’d adopted early on when Jeff and Lexi started dating.

They’d spent most of the evening crammed in a booth at the back of the restaurant, talking about high school, home, the progress he’d made on the hotel. The more they talked, the closer Lexi got, until she was so close that he couldn’t smell, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but her. A bottle and a half into the conversation, she’d rested her hand on his knee and leaned in and laughed at something he said—and Marc had lost it.

After years of keeping his distance, playing by the rules, ignoring the insane chemistry between them, he went in for the kiss, promising himself that he just needed to taste her one time—when Jeffery had appeared from the back office. Marc whispered something stupid in her ear, made her laugh, goaded her into baking him some of her great-grandmother’s éclairs, and vowed never to go back for another visit. At least not one that included time with Lexi.

“But you weren’t even a customer,” she said. “You were a guest.”

“Of the restaurant,” Jeffery added, and Marc wanted to punch him. “You made them in my kitchen and served them to my guest. Just like the rest of the recipes on the list.”

“The rest of the recipes I made as a favor, for you,” Lexi said to Jeff. “You said you had an important client to impress who had a sweet tooth. I assumed it was for an investor for opening Pairing West Coast. Then again, I assumed you weren’t sleeping with another woman at the time.”

“Either way, they belong to Pairing.”

“Shut up, Jeff,” Marc snapped.

“What?” Jeff shrugged like a guy who didn’t have a fucking care in the world, like Lexi’s world wasn’t shattering while they stood

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