Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2) (28 page)

Celia arrived at Cream or Sugar bearing gifts. Namely, a platter of pumpkin muffins with streusel topping. She found Jerry in the kitchen, calmly mixing as usual. “Good morning.”

His brown eyes warmed and his reddish Hulk mustache pulled up on one side. “Morning, Celia.”

“Muffin?”

He rubbed his palms on his apron, selected a muffin, and tried a bite. “Delicious,” he pronounced.

“Thank you.”

“If you want to serve this sort of thing here in the shop, though, I’m not the one you have to convince.” He tipped his head toward the front of the building, sympathy in his expression.

She nodded and straightened her shoulders. “Wish me luck.”

“You’re going to need it.”

She carried the platter to where Donetta sat on her customary stool near the register, reading the sports pages of the
Dallas Morning News
. Donetta’s face lifted at Celia’s approach.

“Morning! Would you care for a—”

“Muffin?” Donetta finished. The older woman was the worst interrupter Celia had ever met. Eying the muffins critically, Donetta took one and bit into it.

Celia held her breath.

“It’s good,” Donetta allowed. More chewing, then an arched look. “What’s your recipe?”

Celia rattled it off. “And once I have the streusel together, I—”

“Sprinkle it on top and bake. Sure, sure.” Donetta ran her fingers through one side of her hair, flipping back the feathered layers. “Were you wanting to serve these here at Cream or Sugar?”

“Only if you like the idea.” This shop was Donetta’s roost to rule. As much as Celia loved baking, she’d only been working in an actual brick-and-mortar bakery for a week.

“We’ve had the same menu here for twenty years. Our customers know what to expect, so change makes me nervous.” She gestured toward the square with a frown. “There used to be an ice cream shop just there, see? On the opposite corner. Some new owners came in and changed the ice cream from Blue Bell, which everybody likes around here, to gelato. After that you could have heard crickets inside that place. Two months later the new owners left town. Once they’d paid all their debts, you better believe they could fit everything they had into a Winnebago. Drove off in the thing.”

Celia had discovered that it was best to nod soberly in response to one of Donetta’s cautionary tales.

Donetta finished her muffin and tossed the paper wrapper in the trash.

“I wouldn’t want,” Celia said, “to change your menu by taking anything away. Your menu is perfect. This location is perfect. You’re perfect. Have I told you lately how much I love working here?” She’d learned from Ty that Donetta did not require subtlety. Overt sucking up was preferred. Celia smiled sweetly.

“Taking a page out of Ty’s book, are you?” Enjoyment creased Donetta’s face. “Trying to charm me?”

“Is it working?”

“It’s helping.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t dare take anything off the menu. I just thought it might be fun to add a few new things, maybe offer some seasonal items for fall.” Assuming fall ever reached north Texas.

“The problem’s financial, honey.” Brackets formed on either side of Donetta’s lips. “Right now I know just what ingredients I need and how much. I know what I’ll sell. I can’t afford to spend a penny more on anything new or different.”

Much like a pie, Donetta’s personality had both sweetness and crustiness to it. Celia nodded and tried not to let her shoulders slump. “I understand.”

“Let’s go ahead and put these out, though.” Donetta lifted the plate from Celia and set it where customers could reach it. “We can cut these up and offer them as samples like they do at those city Starbucks. Folks might get a kick out of that.”

As Celia returned to the kitchen and the sanctuary of Jerry’s company, she narrowed her eyes with determination.

Donetta had won the battle. But Celia had her sights set on the war.

What if Ty had crashed his truck? That would explain his lateness.

It was Thursday, three days after Celia’s doomed attempt to
ply Donetta with muffins. Ty always arrived at Cream or Sugar between eleven and twelve. It was 12:20. No Ty.

She waited on customers while chewing the edge of her lip. Ty did not technically work here. He just volunteered. Maybe he was playing golf or taking a nap or having a romantic lunch with Tawny. Hadn’t Celia tried to convince him that she didn’t want him coming to Cream or Sugar at all? So why did his lateness worry her?

It worried her because he’d told her he’d prove to her that she could trust him. Every day since, he’d shown up and worked beside her here at the counter.

He might have crashed his truck. A chill dove through her at the thought. It was possible that he’d crashed it. He wasn’t supposed to be driving around with his injured leg, but of course he was so stubborn that he was doing it anyway.

12:25. 12:30.

She began to pray. Since Sunday night, when she’d excavated her Bible and spent time renewing her relationship with God, she had not felt like a brand-new person. She’d felt like the same person, yet changed in important ways. Her nagging emptiness had been filled with a sense of God’s nearness.

It took practice to discard all of her old ideas about religion. She’d been working to accept and re-accept His grace, to turn to Him for hope. After depending on no one but herself for so long, it didn’t yet come naturally.

Her gaze returned to the window, searching. She did not see Ty.

12:35. Celia picked up her cell phone, then hesitated. What if something had gone wrong and he needed her? What if nothing had gone wrong and he’d think her love-struck for calling?

She peered out the window and—at last!—spotted him. He pulled up in front of the shop on a Harley. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. Oy. As she watched, he killed the motorcycle’s engine and arched his leg over the seat.

Within moments, he filled the bakery’s doorway. The metal watch he sometimes wore flashed as he raised his hand to slide off his sunglasses. He grinned at her. “Hi, beautiful.”

A hitch of deep affection caught at Celia’s heart. She might be the dumbest girl alive. She knew for sure she was the most relieved. “Hey,” she answered, casual.

He made his way around the counter, his hair mussed. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

He approached, his gaze too perceptive. “Yes you had.”

“Not everyone’s life revolves around you, showboat.”

“I hate that nickname.”

A sense of rightness filled her. Ty was safe. Her world had not come undone.

“I was late because I drove over to Lucas to watch an eighteen-year-old kid bull ride this morning. He’d called and asked if I could look over his form and give him some tips.” He pulled a bottled water from the drawer near the register where Donetta kept a supply. After twisting off the top, he drained a third. “The kid’s dad has built him a nice setup. He even has a chute.”

“Um.” Celia drew her brows together suspiciously. “You yourself did not climb on top of any bulls. Right?”

He had the sense to look chagrined.

“You climbed
on top of a bull?”

“Just inside the chute. To show the kid something.”

“So far this morning you’ve driven back and forth to the town of Lucas without a helmet on a motorcycle I’ve never seen before, but I assume you own.”

He dipped his chin.

“And you climbed on top of a bull? A bull!” It seemed she’d had good reason to worry about him. “Even inside the chute, they bang around. You could have wrecked your knee again.”

His dimple sank into his cheek. “But I didn’t.”

“It’s not safe. If I ever see you on top of a motorcycle without a helmet again or hear about you riding a bull, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

“Go on. I’m dying to hear.”

“I’ll tell your mother!”

He laughed.

“I will,” she insisted.

“I’m terrified,” he vowed. He leaned insolently against the counter, measuring her. “I thought nagging was something wives did.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I am your wife. At least for the moment. So I’m entitled.”

“You can nag me all you want. I like it. It means you don’t want to see me get hurt.” He reached out to rearrange a curl that kept bobbing close to her right eye.

She dodged out of his reach. “No touching.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your husband. Aren’t
I
entitled?”

“You know you’re not. We’re—”

“Can I tell you something before you go off on a thirty-minute rant about us being respectful friends?”

She crossed her arms. “I suppose.”

“Last night I signed the papers to buy Jim’s property.”

It took her a moment to adjust to the abrupt subject change. He’d kept her updated on the battle he’d fought to buy his neighbor’s land; now his legendary determination had prevailed. “That’s great, Ty.” Perhaps his new career would keep him off bulls and Harleys. “Really. I’m happy for you. Congratulations.”

“Thank you kindly.”

“Once the deal closes, I guess you’ll be busy birthing animals or galloping around on your horses or whatever it is rodeo stock people do. You won’t have time to come into the shop anymore.”

“Which should make you happy.”

“Very happy,” she lied.

He looked at her in that knowing way again, like he could see the truths she’d hidden inside.

She got snared by those dangerously beautiful eyes. This confounded chemistry between them! It had existed in Vegas. And it persisted now. Her hand ached to grab a handful of his shirt and pull—

“How about you go in the kitchen and bake something to celebrate the new land? I can handle it out here.”

Humor tugged at her lips. “You can handle an empty shop?”

“Or a full one. My ladies will be coming in soon.”

“True.”

“I’ve got this, Celia. Go bake something. Everybody in Holley is talking about those pumpkin muffins you made.”

“Donetta won’t spend money on anything new. I can’t use her ingredients.”

“Then use your own. We’ll put whatever you make in the display case and sell it. Donetta can’t complain about making money on something that cost her nothing.”

“I’m nervous! I don’t want to overstep and make Donetta angry. Just between you and me, I really like this job.”

“I’ll protect you from Donetta. Go on.”

She wavered. Ty had proven himself more than capable of running Cream or Sugar’s front room. The customers loved him more than they loved her, and she loved baking more than she loved working behind the counter.

Ty, who could do no wrong in Donetta’s eyes, had said he’d protect her. If he trashed every donut they had and started selling whiskey shots instead, Donetta would applaud and thank him heartily for his good judgment.

“Go.” He bumped her arm with his.

Celia drove to the gingerbread house and loaded her baking supplies into her Prius. Thankfully, flour and sugar cost next to nothing, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to afford donating them. When she returned to the shop, she commandeered some empty pantry space, donned a hairnet and apron, and scrubbed her hands.

The scent of a cake baking filled the air, making Ty’s stomach growl. Good grief. It smelled like edible sin. He’d skipped lunch because he’d been running late and he’d wanted to see Celia more than he’d wanted food. “Is it almost finished?”

“Uh-huh” came her reply from the depths of the kitchen.

The mayor stopped by for his daily chocolate glazed donut. Then came a group of four female co-workers.

Most days, Ty found it hard to believe he worked in a donut shop. Thing was, he’d have done a lot worse to spend time with Celia. This job was easier than shooting fish in a barrel, and he liked talking to people. Plus, coming here gave him a reason to escape his empty house. He hated his empty house.

At the sound of footsteps, he turned to see Celia walking toward him holding a yellow one-layer cake. Thanks to the hairnet she’d probably just removed, her curls were messy and made her look like she’d rolled out of bed after a long night in the sack. He caught a whiff of vanilla.

As fierce as Celia was, Ty had learned to read her face. Right now he saw pride and vulnerability both, and the sight caused something within him to burn with tenderness. He cared for Celia way more than he’d planned to care, which was straight-up painful and pointless. He cleared this throat. “What kind of cake is this?”