her for a bowl of chicken noodle soup? That’s what Sara was—comfortable, nurturing, and homey—with a dash of kink.
Whatever the reason, the small offer brought tears to her tired eyes. Yeah, regrouping before the onslaught of questions sounded nice. Until she realized that Marc was staring down at her with a big dose of pity. Just like Jeffery had when he’d told her he didn’t even want to try to make it work, that he was already in love with Sara.
“I’m fine, actually,” she said, pulling her hand away. Because she was not some woman who crumbled every time a man broke her heart. She was not her mother.
Lexi ignored Marc’s raised brow, and the fact that she was standing on Main Street in her grandmother’s shirt and people were starting to recognize her and wave. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”
“Lexi, wait.” Marc’s hand shot out, grabbing her elbow. “I can’t let you go in there.”
That was all she wanted right now. To hug her grandma, make her way upstairs to her room, and get away from the probing eyes. She wanted to be alone. With an éclair.
“I wasn’t aware that you were my newly appointed social advisor. See ya later, Marc.”
She opened the pastry-shop door and took in a deep, calming breath. Cinnamon, vanilla, and the smell of home only made holding back tears all the more difficult. Especially when she took one step inside, looked past the life-sized cardboard cutout of Baywatch-era David Hasselhoff in red trunks, chest hair, and a plastic lei, past the glass display case filled with petits fours and truffles, past her utter humiliation to lock eyes with Pricilla, who, dressed in a grass skirt and crocheted coconuts, looked as startled to see Lexi as Lexi was when a good portion of the town leaped out from behind the counter and yelled, “Surprise!”
Everyone froze with smiles in place. Arms out wide.
A party popper exploded.
Her grandmother shifted on her orthopedics.
And without a word, Lexi took one step back, then another, turning on her third step to run—straight into a solid mass of warm, manly muscles.
“Easy there.” Marc’s arms came around her to help steady her, she was sure. It actually threw her off more than the surprise party. Or the fact that the portion of the town that was here was the male half. “You run now and everyone will talk.”
“But I’m a mess,” she whispered into his chest. “And why are there so many men here?”
“Our grandmothers have been conspiring again,” he whispered back, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
Pricilla and ChiChi Ryo had been trying to marry off their grandkids for years. All in the name of procreation. And now that ChiChi had her a new granddaughter, with another one on the way, Pricilla desperately wanted someone to dote on. Lexi had thought her grandma would give her at least a few months to ease into being back home and single. Apparently not.
“You could have at least warned me.” He thankfully didn’t mention that he had, in his high-handed way, tried to warn her.
“And miss all the fun?”
“Yeah.” She looked down at the disaster she had become. “Fun.”
Then Marc did the most un-Marc-like thing ever. Instead of telling her how stubborn she was or pointing out the fact that she matched the Baywatch decor, he tucked a finger under her chin, lifted her gaze to his, and said softly enough that only she could hear, “You are Alexis Moreau. Student-body president, prom queen, valedictorian, and the most distinguished pastry chef that St. Helena High’s culinary-immersion program ever graduated.”
She didn’t know about the last part; her grandmother pretty much took that title. But the conviction behind his words, his belief in her, almost made it feel real. Back straight, chest high, sending crumbs scattering to the ground, she fluffed her mop of hair and, ignoring Marc as he swiped a glob of éclair filling off her top, cocked her head slightly to the side—and went for enchanting.
“Now, turn around,” he whispered, taking her by the shoulders and spinning her to face the awaiting guests. “Flash that sexy girl-next-door smile.”
He thought her smile was sexy?
“And show them that you are here to kick ass and take names.” Then, with a resounding smack on the rump, he said, really loudly, “Bring on the bachelors.”
Two hours, eleven minutes, and three éclairs later, Lexi lay on her grandmother’s floral couch, a plastic lei pressing into her cheek as she smothered her face with