Sugared (Misfit Brides #4) (10 page)

“Kimmie—”

The door slammed behind her.

Fugglemuffins
.

This would be fun to explain to General Mom.
Well, Mom, I tried to seduce him, but instead I stormed out because I was offended by cakes being made in a laboratory.

But there had to be another way. A better way. A straightforward way.

“Oh, Kimmie, there you are.”

And there went Kimmie’s heart skydiving to her toes. “Mrs. Kincaid,” she stammered. Heat exploded in her cheeks and she wished she had a breath mint. Or a way of ducking out of this tennis date. But she wasn’t familiar with the exit routes here. “I-I had a dream we were playing tennis on the moon, but we were using hammers for tennis rackets and every time I hit a tennis ball—which was actually a bottle of corn syrup—it created shower curtains between us that were impervious to the lack of gravity.”

Josh’s slender mother smiled indulgently at her, the way Nat and Lindsey’s mom used to before she passed away, and a deep, undeniable longing for a normal mother hit Kimmie in her cupcake of a heart.

“Please, call me Esme,” Josh’s mom said. “I see I’ve missed the laboratory tour. Always my favorite part. Aiden is such a dear, and Ralph has worked for our family for years.”

The door clicked behind Kimmie. Her face went the temperature of boiled oil.

Mrs. Kincaid’s perfectly plucked brows lifted. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re working too hard again, aren’t you? Come play tennis with us. It’ll do your constitution wonders.”

Not if Kimmie beat him with a tennis racket.

She needed to make her excuses and leave. There was no reason to play nice with Josh’s mom.

Except for the part where she was so nice, Kimmie couldn’t contemplate disappointing her.

Josh stepped to Esme’s side and kissed her cheek. “I’d love nothing more, but I’m due for a meeting.”

Esme’s nose wrinkled. “Hmm. You couldn’t reschedule?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Then make it quick, and join us for lunch. I insist.”

“Sure.”

He turned to Kimmie, and there was a wariness she’d never seen in him before. Not when he faced down General Mom, not when they’d been alone in her apartment Friday night and she’d launched a miniature black hole at his bunnies in the game, not when she’d insulted Sweet Dreams in front of his parents before that. He shifted from his mother to squeeze Kimmie’s arm. “Have fun,” he said softly in her ear. Her spine went rigid. He pecked her cheek with a light brush that made her skin tingle and her nipples tighten. “Save me a seat at lunch.”

The man didn’t give up.

But Kimmie wouldn’t either. She had to prove to her mother—and to herself—that she was strong enough to run Heaven’s Bakery. That if something happened to General Mom, Kimmie could handle Josh.

“Shall we?” Esme said brightly. If she’d noticed the tension, she hadn’t let on.

And even though Kimmie wanted to plead a stomach ache, she nodded. “I can’t wait.”

If Josh’s mom were like the
normal
moms in Bliss, she’d probably have a lot to say about her pride and joy.

And until he was gone from Heaven’s Bakery, Kimmie needed to listen. If nothing else, she couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity to learn more about the enemy.

“
J
osh
, got a minute?”

Josh was due upstairs in three minutes, but he stepped into Aiden’s small office behind the lab. “What’s up?”

“You heard of that Sweeting Beauty food blogger?”

Josh shook his head.

“I tried a couple of her recipes last night. They’re good. I want to talk to her. This gourmet line—I want to do it, and I get the feeling your girl’s not interested in helping us.”

“Email and find out if she’ll sign a nondisclosure. I’ll get one from legal and send it to you this afternoon.” Whatever it took to save Sweet Dreams. Josh wanted Kimmie’s recipes, but even second best would be a vast improvement.

Based on the way she’d run out of here, second best was looking like his only option.

And he had to talk to his dad.

Today.

But more, he needed to get a grip.

Been a long time since he wanted to simply hug a woman. Since he felt the need to say
sorry
. Since swallowing his pride was a better proposition than winning.

Kimmie wasn’t her mother. Josh wasn’t sure exactly what—or
who
—she was, but she wasn’t a mini-Marilyn.

“Sure,” Aiden said. “Oh, and about Kimmie—I like her. She’s funny.”

“Leave her the hell alone,” he growled.

Growled.

For Kimmie Elias.

Aiden snickered.

Josh jammed a hand in his pocket and turned around. “If this blogger won’t sign the NDA, get someone who will. Understood?”

“Sure,
Joshie-poo
.”

“Shove it, Murphy, or you’ll find out what unemployment tastes like.”

Josh wasn’t protecting Kimmie from Aiden. He wasn’t staking his claim to the girl.

He was protecting a girl who, he’d begun to suspect, had little life experience outside of her little bubble of Bliss.

There was a difference.

And he’d kick anybody’s ass who dared suggest differently.

T
ennis was a fun sport
, Kimmie had decided after ten minutes on the court. Esme was a great instructor, and with Kimmie’s yoga and Pilates regimen, and her experience playing softball in her youth, she hit the ball pretty well. It wasn’t long before Esme had covered the basics and suggested a practice game.

Being out in the fresh spring air and thwacking the stuffing out of a tennis ball was a pretty decent way to recover from the trauma of touring Sweet Dreams, and then taking the long way to the club so Esme could show her Josh’s favorite places from his teenage years.

“You’re a natural, Kimmie,” Esme called from the other side of the court. “Are you sure you’ve never played before?”

Kimmie smiled. “Must be beginner’s luck.”

“Oh, no, dear, you’re wonderful.” Esme tossed the ball in the air and served it, and Kimmie scrambled to return it.

She
was
doing well. She suspected Josh’s mom was going easy on her—most people did, in nearly everything—but Kimmie was having fun. And she was relaxing. And thinking more clearly.

Esme was sweeter than simple syrup. As long as Kimmie ignored the part of her conscience protesting making friends with Josh’s mother, she was enjoying the company.

It helped that Esme hadn’t said anything about the tour of Sweet Dreams—maybe she
had
noticed the tension—and instead had steered the conversation to Bliss, asking questions about Kimmie’s hometown and the weddings and Knot Festival. Mostly. When she wasn’t talking up Josh’s innumerable virtues.

They volleyed until Kimmie missed. She scrambled to retrieve the ball, then met Esme at the net.

“You’ll have to help me talk Clayton and Josh into a doubles match.” Esme winked. “Stubborn men don’t want to do anything where we women might beat them. But wouldn’t it be fun?”

Kimmie gulped. “Absolutely.”

“They think they have to be better at everything, don’t they?”

Kimmie nodded.

“But the exercise would certainly do Clayton good.” Esme frowned. “I worry about him. He works too hard and eats too many of those snack cakes. If something ever happened to him…” She shook her head, then smiled again. “But that’s what modern medicine is for, is it not?”

Modern medicine hadn’t saved Kimmie’s dad.

General Mom didn’t talk much about him. She wore her wedding band and the diamond earrings he’d given her, and their wedding photo hung prominently above the fireplace, but Kimmie had only the haziest of hazy memories of him. She’d heard more stories about him from her friends’ parents than she had from Mom herself.

It wasn’t often she wondered why, but hearing Esme talk about Clayton made Kimmie wonder if she’d overlooked something.

If General Mom were General Mom instead of Plain Mom because she hadn’t been able to handle what she’d lost.

“Oh, look, it’s Sharlene.” Esme waved, and another woman in a white tennis outfit waved back. “Her son dropped out of Harvard. And she called Josh a terribly unflattering word last week.”

Kimmie had a few unflattering words for Josh as well. “I had a dream I was changing light bulbs in the ceiling of Wrigley Field, which was weird because Wrigley Field doesn’t have a roof, but then I was actually in a skating rink for the Olympics and I had to speed-race on brooms to qualify for the spelling bee.”

Esme blinked at her. “Oh, dear. You are too precious.” She waved at the other woman again, who had been joined by a second, shorter woman. “Sharlene, Trish, come meet Josh’s girlfriend. She’s
darling
.” She lowered her voice. “How about a doubles round, Kimmie? I do believe we can take them.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Dear, Trish needs a lesson in keeping her hands to herself. That cougar has been showing her claws where they do
not
belong, if you know what I mean.”

Kimmie squinted at the shorter woman standing beside Sharlene. Her hair was platinum blond, her nails blood red, and she was skinny as a broomstick.

Josh’s normal type.

Suddenly Trish’s nails weren’t the only things red.

“My last fortune cookie said tragedy and comedy would collide in my personal life,” Kimmie whispered.

Esme smiled. “Then let’s hand these ladies a tragic loss, shall we?”

Trish swept a look up and down Kimmie. She smirked, and her nose lifted.

As if Kimmie’s purple yoga pants and her bright yellow cupcake shirt made her less of a woman. Or perhaps as if Kimmie’s breasts and hips made her too much of a woman.

Kimmie squared her shoulders. Why not? She’d never be here again in her life. And wouldn’t it be fun to leave Josh’s personal life with a bang? “Do you really think we can win?” Kimmie asked.

“Win or lose, they’ll get the message.” The competitive gleam in Esme’s eyes was almost as scary as General Mom’s during Cake Readiness Condition Four drills. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Maybe it was Esme’s confidence rubbing off, but it almost felt natural for Kimmie to twirl her tennis racket and find her mean face. “Let’s be winners.”

“I knew I liked you.”

She wouldn’t for long, but Kimmie would make the most of it for now.

If she couldn’t beat Josh, she might as well do her best against these women.

J
osh’s head
was about to split in two, and his parents’ fancy country club wasn’t helping. But he needed to talk to his dad.

He found Clayton Kincaid in his business suit, straddling a lounge chair on the deck overlooking the tennis courts. Wasn’t hard to locate Kimmie—she was the only color amidst the white tennis outfits on the green surface. Josh paused longer than he meant to, watching Kimmie dash across the court, working together with Mom in a doubles game.

Josh wouldn’t have pegged her for the tennis type, but then, how much did he know about Kimmie?

“She’s good,” Dad said. “Your mom likes her.”

Everyone liked her.

Except maybe Ralph, but then, Ralph didn’t like anyone.

Josh lowered himself to the lounge chair beside Dad. “Been thinking.”

Dad’s left hand flexed. His business suit was impeccable, but his poker face wasn’t. “You planning on proposing already? Your mother would love that.”

“Thinking about Sweet Dreams,” Josh clarified. He wasn’t touching the idea of proposing until he had to. Given what had gone down on Kimmie’s tour, this ruse wouldn’t go that far. “Figure if I’m going to inherit the company, I should take a bigger interest in all the operations. Have an idea to run past you.”

Dad’s expression shuttered.

Because he was reading between the lines and guessed Josh knew, or because he was afraid Sweet Dreams wouldn’t be around for Josh to inherit?

“What’s that?” Dad said.

“There’s a market we’ve overlooked.” He kept his tone quiet, casual, the way Dad used to when he was talking Josh out of his shell twenty years ago. The nobody’s-at-fault, we’ll-come-out-on-top tone. But Josh
would
do this, regardless of what Dad thought. Josh would make Sweet Dreams grand again. “Our competitors have overlooked it too, honestly, which gives us an edge. Few simple changes and additions, and we can ease in and build up a new domination in the industry in a matter of months. Going to take a new product line, though.”

Dad tilted his head and made eye contact. “Trained you well, didn’t I?”

“You had a good student. Smart. Highly motivated.”

“Cocky.”

“Charming.”

“Your mother’s not convinced your new lady-friend agrees.”

Josh didn’t break eye contact. “I love a challenge.”

“She’s your plan.” Not a question. A statement.

“We could work well together, if that’s what she wants. But I have options. Wouldn’t want her thinking I’m only interested in her cupcakes.”

Dad looked back at the tennis game. Mom and Kimmie high-fived, and then Kimmie headed to take her turn to serve.

“Don’t know, Josh. You got figures? Recipes? Equipment need modifications, or can it run on the configuration we’ve got? What’s the lead time? Need any fancy ingredients? If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about—”

“I’ll cover start-up costs.”

Dad harrumphed. “That’s ridiculous. You’re not touching your trust fund for Sweet Dreams business.”

“You saved my life. You don’t have to give me anything else,” Josh said quietly. “I’m doing this. With or without your support. Appreciate if I had it though.”

Dad studied him a minute before turning back to watch the game. “Buying that bakery was a fool move. That much money for a place none of us had ever seen? Thought you’d lost your mind.”

Josh smiled. “Birdie liked it.”

“She told your mother it was the best present anyone ever gave her.” Dad harrumphed again. “Damn well should’ve been, given what it cost.”

“Profitable little place,” Josh said.

Kimmie bounced the tennis ball. For all her random talk of weird dreams and fortune cookies, she had solid focus. More determination than Josh would’ve given her credit for.

If he hadn’t been focused on getting her help to save Sweet Dreams, he might’ve taken the time to enjoy her company. Appreciate how funny she was. How loyal she was. How annoyingly
nice
she was.

“Get the feeling Birdie knew what she was doing,” Dad said. “Probably good to have this girl of yours in our lives.”

Kimmie tossed the ball in the air, racket poised.

“Told you,” Josh said. “I’m smart.”

Dad chuckled while Kimmie swung her racket up to connect with the ball. She moved in a perfect arc, the sun shining down on her golden hair still tucked up in braids that swung when she moved. She heaved out a grunt when her racket hit the ball, sending it rocketing straight to—

Straight to Mom’s head.

Mom’s head jerked sideways, her racket dropped, and she collapsed to the ground.

Josh shot to his feet and took off for the stairs. He hit the gate to the courts and yanked it open, then flew across the court to Mom’s crumpled figure. Kimmie bent over her, muttering, gingerly touching Mom’s shoulder. “Esme? I am
so sorry
, Esme. Oh, frogs. Oh, frogs and frosting, please say something. Please, please say something.”

Josh dropped to his knees. “
Move!
” He shoved Kimmie aside.

Mom’s pupils were unfocused. A red welt was already rising on her cheek. “Mom? Mom, can you hear me?”

His heart was trying to beat out of his chest, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

Not Mom. Not Mom.

He couldn’t lose Mom.

“Mom.” He felt a pulse, could see her chest moving, her eyes blinking. He put a hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “Mom?”

His lungs shrank. His skin itched everywhere—his arms, his knees, his scalp—and his legs and arms felt too heavy for his body.

He was nine years old again. Watching his mother—his first mother—get weaker and weaker until she disappeared, fading into nothingness, and left him alone, terrified, hungry—“
Mom!
”

“Holy
hell
,” she whooshed out. She blinked, then winced and rolled onto her back. “Sign that girl up for my team. She’s got an arm.”

“Mom?” Josh’s voice cracked. A punctuated, prepubescent kind of crack.

She found his hand and squeezed it. “I’m okay, honey.” Her eyes shut, her eyelids wrinkled. “Just a little accident. I’ll be okay.”

“Mom? Mom, don’t go to sleep.”

More bodies crowded around them.

“Esme?” someone said.

“Oh, Josh, what can we do to help?” another voice said.

“Get the hell out of my way, that’s my wife,” Dad boomed.

“Oh, good gracious,” Mom muttered. She heaved a body-moving sigh, then tightened her grip on Josh’s hand and opened her eyes. “Help me up, sweetheart.”

“Your neck—”

“Is
fine
,” she said. She pulled on his hand, and soon she was sitting.

Dad squatted beside them. “Esme? Sweetheart, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four. Have you been running? Clayton, I was at your checkup last week, and the doctor specifically told you to build up
slowly
with the exercise plan. I’m
fine
, but you’re going to give me a heart attack if you don’t start listening to your doctors.
And
your wife. Who do you think has taken care of you all these years?”

Josh leaned on his heels and pressed his palms into his eye sockets.

If Mom was harping, she was fine.

“Back up and let a woman breathe,” she said. “Oh! Oh, dear. Where’s Kimmie?”

Josh lifted his head.

She was gone.

He stood, swept a look around the tennis courts, then at the club windows and the deck where he and Dad had been a minute ago.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

“Oh, no.” Mom was pushing to her feet. She winced, putting a tentative finger to the growing welt on her face. “Oh, Josh, she won’t think I’m angry, will she?”

Who the hell knew what Kimmie ever thought?

“Where did she go?” Mom said.

And again, with Kimmie, who the hell knew? “She’ll be fine, Mom. But you should see a doctor.”

Mom’s expression narrowed to a displeased Mom-squint. “Joshua Nathaniel Kincaid, do you care about that girl at
all
?”

Josh’s lungs opened up, but his face gathered an unusual heat. “Of the two of you, she wasn’t the one who almost broke her head on the tennis courts,” he said. “I’ll find her, but not until you promise to go get checked out.”

“You should do what Josh says,” one of the women in tennis skirts said.

Right. Trish.

Josh remembered Trish.

“He’s super smart,” Trish added.

And he was disgusted with the Josh who had sat in the bar and had drinks with Trish last year before Christmas.

She was as boring as a blank book and she only wanted his money.

“Let’s go, Esme,” Dad said. “Josh has a girl to chase and work to do.”

“Mrs. Kincaid.” The club manager arrived. “Are you okay? Your companion was quite upset. Said there had been an accident?”

“I’m
fine
,” Mom said again. “That poor girl. She’s sweet but quite nervous, isn’t she?” She gave Josh a pained smile. “No wonder you’re taken with her. She reminds me of you.”