Sugared (Misfit Brides #4) (9 page)

Lindsey stared at her without blinking.

So did Will.

As though already they were sharing thoughts and teaming up to magnify the effects of their subliminal messages, even though their wedding wasn’t for another two weeks.

Kimmie was pretty sure she was tuned in to the wrong channel. “You guys want to open a cupcakery in Bliss?”

“She’s really cute,” Will murmured to Lindsey.

“Adorable,” Lindsey agreed. “And stressed, I suspect, because she’s normally quicker than this.”

“Quicker than—oh.
Oh
.” They thought
Kimmie
could open a cupcake shop. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no. I know your dad’s been good for her, and it’s really exciting that Mom’s talking about retiring for him, but no. She’d prune my pickles if I turned my back on my legacy.” Plus, Kimmie didn’t want to leave Heaven’s Bakery.

She just wanted everything to be the way it used to be.

Before the flood. Before Birdie. Before Josh.

“Retiring for my dad?” Lindsey repeated.

“So they can take their relationship to the next level.”

“The next—oh,
no
.”

A prickle of
uh-oh
trickled down Kimmie’s spine. “That’s what Mom said.”

Lindsey had been one of Kimmie’s best friends for almost a decade, but she was still scary when she put on her lawyer face. “She’s intending to retire and marry my father?”

Kimmie eyed the pizza in her lap. She could’ve taken a big bite to avoid the question, but Lindsey wouldn’t let this one go. “She didn’t exactly use those words,” Kimmie said, “but with Mom, she couldn’t have meant anything else. She, erm, believes too much in tradition for it to be anything else.”

“Dad’s told Nat and me several times that he has no intention of marrying again. And that was
after
I told him to go for it with your mother.”

“Might could be he don’t know Marilyn’s intentions,” Will said.

Lindsey’s lips parted.

“Ooh,” Kimmie breathed.

Knowing General Mom, Will was most likely right.

And knowing General Mom, if Arthur had told her he never wanted to get married, she’d probably worked out a plan to change his mind.

General Mom didn’t tolerate the
no
word.

Lindsey squeezed her lids shut, then shifted a look at Will. “I’m adding an addendum to the prenup. Having Marilyn as a stepmother-in-law is not grounds for divorce.”

He grinned. “You go on and add anything you want, lawyer lady. Won’t be needing it.”

“Was she serious about retiring?” Lindsey asked Kimmie. “Now? Or was that a ploy to get you to agree to help get Josh out of the bakery?”

“She’s been… different since she started seeing your dad. And she was really weird about her birthday this year. I think she might be.”

“Your mother’s plan is truly for your benefit, then?” Lindsey pressed.

“I think so.”

Lindsey shifted in her seat and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling Dad. He’ll know how serious she is about retiring.”

“Erm, maybe don’t mention that part about Mom and marriage?”

Lindsey pressed two fingers into her eye. “Definitely not.”

Will leaned over to peck her cheek. “Good luck.”

She rubbed the hat on his head, then stood. Wrigley stood too, shook his body, and followed her to the next room. She shut the door with a click.

Kimmie looked at Will.

She’d never been alone with
Billy Brenton
before. Even knowing him as Will. “I perfected the peach filling for your wedding cake. At least, I think I did. Mikey liked it. But he wanted to call it—never mind. You can probably guess. Or maybe not, but you know Mikey.”

He strummed his guitar again. “She didn’t see y’all kissing.”

Kimmie’s face erupted again. “Who didn’t see who kissing?”

“Lindsey. She didn’t see you and the snack cake guy at Mikey’s wedding. I asked her. Said she hasn’t ever seen you together except for the picture, so she can’t say if he’s good or bad for you. Did say she’d kick his ass if he hurt you, though. ’Course, she’ll have to get in line.” His attention drifted to the baseball game on the TV, fingers strumming.

“It’s just a business thing,” Kimmie stammered. She straightened her spine. “I can handle it.”

He slanted a look at her, and his lips turned up in the corners. “I know you can. You find your spunk, and that snack cake guy ain’t gonna know what hit him.” He nodded. “You got this, Kimmie. Don’t doubt it.”

Huh.

If Billy Brenton thought she could do it, then maybe she could.

T
here wasn’t
any reason for Josh to be nervous, but he couldn’t stop pacing in the lobby of the Sweet Dreams headquarters. The visitor chairs—specially designed to be life-size Dream Cloud Cakes—mocked him from their scattered perches amidst the blue and white swirls around the Sweet Dreams logo on the carpet. The middle-aged receptionist alternated between typing madly on her computer and casting covert glances at him whenever she answered the phone.

The row of windows making up the front wall overlooked a lush patch of grass. The waterfalls lining the entry walk flowed gleefully, but there was no sign of Kimmie.

He checked his phone again.

She hadn’t replied since his text last night about her dreams. Knowing Kimmie, that could’ve meant anything.

Not that he had any right to claim to know Kimmie. Did anyone know Kimmie? Could anyone know Kimmie?

“Oh, hi. Am I late?”

There she was, sneaking in as easily as she used to disappear.

No trench coat today. Instead, she wore her neon green jeans and a pink shirt declaring her a Cupcake Queen. Her crazy hair was in two French braids, and while her purple plaid sneakers wouldn’t win any fashion awards, they were appropriate for touring Sweet Dreams, if not for her tennis date with Mom. She didn’t carry a purse or a bag, nor, as far as Josh could tell, was she wearing any makeup or jewelry.

“Right on time, sugar.” Josh draped his arm around her shoulders and steered her through the lobby. “Traffic okay?”

“Yeah, except when that alien spaceship landed on I-90 and then all those crickets jumped out to perform Beethoven’s Fifth on kazoos. Otherwise, clear sailing.”

Sounds lovely
would’ve been the expected answer if Kimmie were any other woman. But then, any other woman wouldn’t have put those sentences together. “Kazoos?” Josh said. “Beethoven’s Fifth would work on maracas, but not kazoos. Clearly alien crickets.”

The receptionist stopped talking
and
typing, and choked on a cough.

Kimmie’s bright blue eyes narrowed, but not as far as he would’ve expected. And then she hit him with a wide, unexpected, uninhibited smile. “Wow, it’s like you added some vanilla to your cake batter.”

A smart man would’ve taken that as a sign to reconsider the idea of asking this woman to come work here every day. But Josh merely smiled while he guided her past the windows overlooking the end of the Dream Cloud Cakes production lines, where the individually wrapped jelly-filled angel food cupcakes rolled past on conveyor belts. “Wait until you see my kitchen.”

“That could revoke your vanilla.”

Probably. But he’d removed the sign that said
Laboratory
this morning, lest he set the wrong tone. “You love kitchens. It’s in your blood. Can’t hate a mixer and measuring spoons, can you? It’s not their fault they live where they live.”

Red splotches stained her cheeks, but she tilted her chin like her mother would’ve. “Nor can I save them all from unfortunate homes.”

They entered the elevator bank. Kimmie’s nose quivered. Josh barely noticed the subtle scent of snack cakes anymore, but seeing Kimmie sniff made it obvious to him too.

Didn’t smell nearly as sweet as Heaven’s Bakery.

“Factory tour, or the lab—kitchen first? Lady’s choice.”

She swept a glance at the walls decorated with Andy Warhol-esque paintings of classic Sweet Dreams treats. Her lips pursed, but then she nodded. “The factory tour, please.”

Josh let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. If she wanted to see the factory first, to take in how the cakes were produced en masse, there was a chance this new plan would work.

K
immie should’ve asked
to see the kitchen first. She’d
wanted
to see the kitchen—Josh was right, she loved kitchens and everything that went into them—but she hadn’t wanted him to suspect she was curious.

The factory tour had done exactly what it was supposed to. Kimmie had bridged her six degrees of separation with depression and was now trailing along beside Josh, silently mourning all that flour and sugar that had sacrificed itself for mass-produced snack cakes.

He’d taken her hand for the tour, and she’d gotten the usual tingle—she wasn’t so far into embracing her gloom that her hormones had completely shut down—but then he’d used words like “chocolate-flavored” and “imitation vanilla” and “non-dairy whip,” and that had squashed the majority of her lingering, otherwise-possibly-getting-bigger crush.

Then she’d stood there and watched robots and machines take all the art, all the life, all the joy out of baking and decorating cake.

She’d had a moment of imagining her cupcakes created on such a large scale, of leaving Bliss, leaving her mother, starting fresh somewhere else, but that moment had dissolved faster than salt in boiling water.

It didn’t matter what General Mom thought of the idea of Kimmie giving Josh cupcake recipes, or what General Mom would do if Kimmie suggested leaving Heaven’s Bakery to come work here.

Because Kimmie couldn’t stomach the idea of having her creations mass-produced with soulless computers and metal equipment while white-cloaked figures observed from the side.

She couldn’t do it.

Which took her back to wondering about Josh’s intention of incorporating Heaven’s Bakery into Sweet Dreams somehow, which left her even sadder.

He didn’t
get
Bliss, or he wouldn’t have asked her here today.

Josh stopped and entered a code on a keypad. A door swung open, and he ushered her into a small anteroom with hairnets and footie covers in organized bins on a shelf. Chef coats hung on hooks on the opposite wall. “Suit up, sugar,” he said with another of those devilishly handsome smiles. “We’re getting to the best part now.”

Kimmie faked a smile and donned a hairnet, coat, and footie covers. Josh tweaked her hairnet, then shrugged into a coat himself.

With the suit beneath the white chef’s coat, he could’ve had his own Food Network show.
Cooking with the Snack Cake Romeo
. Low lights, seductive music, Josh in a suit and apron, talking about flour and sugar and butter and vanilla… Kimmie shivered. His pineapple upside-down cake
had
been remarkably edible, if on the flat side.

And his overly competitive nature about Killer Bunnies had been almost cute, which was even better than his normal devilish handsomeness. If he’d wanted her for anything other than as a business asset, if he’d taken her anywhere but
here
, she could’ve easily given in to his charm.

But he didn’t care about
her
charm. He only cared about her skill with cake and his bottom line. And cleanliness, apparently. He insisted she wash her hands before they went into the kitchen.

As if germs were a bigger problem than the horrible things they did in the name of cake.

Josh put his hand at the small of Kimmie’s back and guided her into the room. “Welcome to paradise, sugar.”

Paradise
was a large room with white walls, buzzing fluorescents, the usual worktables, cabinets, and drawers, plus a miniature stainless steel production line. Where Heaven’s Bakery would’ve been bustling with seven bakers, decorators, and dishwashers on a normal Wednesday, Kimmie only saw two other people: a skinny, nervous-looking older man whose hairnet didn’t hide the shine on his forehead, and a vaguely familiar, solid brute of a guy about Kimmie’s age and a few inches taller.

The older man gave Kimmie a watered-down version of General Mom’s
who dares to enter my sugar lair?
glare. “Mr. Kincaid,” he said in a squeaky voice.

The poor man. He’d probably flunked out of Keebler Elf school.

He stepped away from the stainless table, and Kimmie’s stomach shrieked in terror.

Green cake bits were laid out in sample cups.

She suppressed a shudder. At Heaven’s Bakery, she could handle green cake. Here?

No. Just no.

“Ralph,” Josh said.

“Me too,” Kimmie said. She would definitely ralph if she had to try those things.

Josh squinted at her. “Ralph Shemansky, meet Kimberly Elias.”

Oh,
pumplegunker
. Kimmie’s cheeks burned. “Hi,” she said.

Ralph’s long, straight nose and small, dark eyes reminded Kimmie of a crow. “You’re that fancy-schmancy baker from… what’s it called? Joy? Peace?”

“Bliss,” Kimmie said.

“Hmm,” Ralph said.

Josh shifted between them. “Ralph is head of product development,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” Kimmie said. “I’m so sorry.”

Josh frowned at her. Kimmie sucked her lips into her mouth.

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

The other guy in the room stepped up, sweeping a cool green gaze over Kimmie. His lips were twitching, but she couldn’t tell if he was trying to suppress a grin or a grimace. “Aiden Murphy. Quality assurance and product development assistant.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kimmie said again.

Josh sighed. She clapped a hand over her mouth. She needed to shut up. Not everyone had Kimmie’s standards for sugar. These people believed in snacks that tasted like undercooked sawdust. And that was their right.

Even if it was super, super sad.

“Aiden,” Josh said, “Kimmie would love to see the mixer. And the measuring cups. She’s particularly fond of those.”

“Mr. Kincaid, we have a
very
busy day planned,” Ralph said.

Pointedly. As if he wanted Kimmie out of his kitchen as much as she wanted to escape.

“It’s okay,” Kimmie said. “I’ve seen mixers. And measuring cups. We don’t have to keep you. From—”

“A small demo of the oven won’t take long,” Josh interrupted. “You don’t have one of
those
in Bliss.”

The metal monstrosity loomed like an evil cyborg monster from one of her dreams.

He was correct. They didn’t have one in Bliss. If Kimmie had her way, they never would. “It looks very… clean.”

Aiden hooked a hand through Kimmie’s other elbow and nudged her toward the replica of the ovens out on the factory floor. “It has a temperature range that beats most commercial ovens too. Bet you love it more than your Joshie-poo.”

A memory snapped into focus. Aiden was Josh’s friend from the bar last week.

Did he know this was a game?

Or did he know what Josh’s full plans for her—and Heaven’s Bakery—actually were?

“I can’t wait,” she said weakly.

Aiden winked at her, then patted the silver monstrosity that was a shorter version of the ovens with the moving belts on the production line. “Winifred here’s our secret weapon.”

“I’m sure she’s… a lovely oven.”

“Mr. Kincaid, I have to get these samples up to your father
right now
,” Ralph said.

Josh gestured to the door. “Aiden can hold down the kitchen for a few minutes.”

Ralph’s lip curled, clearly telegraphing
get that cake-bunny out of my lab
.

Josh
had
said he brought all of his girlfriends here.

Kimmie turned around. She didn’t want to see
Winifred
. She didn’t want beady-eyed Ralph judging her. She wanted to go home.

And that was when she saw it.

The big bulletin board with a huge sign proclaiming
Ralph’s Laboratory
across the top.

“Laboratory?” she whispered.

Josh’s cheeks went pink. “Food science is—”

“Cake isn’t supposed to be made in a
laboratory
,” Kimmie hissed at him. She shook her head, then squeezed her hands over her ears. “I want to go home.”

Josh reached for her arm. “How about a cup of coffee?”

She snatched her elbow away from him again, then marched out, ignoring the satisfied glare coming from Ralph while he shoved the green cake bits in a box.

“Is it real coffee, or is it the tears of the ghosts of bakers past?” she muttered.

“These creative insults are oddly sexy,” Josh murmured.

She socked him in the gut, then stomped into the anteroom.

“Enjoy the rest of your tour,” Ralph called.

Kimmie swung around, but she found herself nose-first in Josh’s shoulder.

“Some days I’d like to toss him in a mud pit with your mother and watch them wrestle to the death,” he said. “They’re equally annoying in their own ways.” Despite his words, his voice was doing funny things to Kimmie’s secret parts.

She shoved him again. He wasn’t real.
This
wasn’t real. And she didn’t want it to be.

Not here in snack cake hell. Especially when he didn’t mean it.

He took her chin and lifted it until he was staring down at her with those brilliant, focused sapphires. “You could change things here, Kimmie. You have a gift. You could be bigger than your mother. Bigger than Bliss. You could be a baking legend.”

“But where’s the
love
?” She pushed him away again, and this time, she turned and pulled off her hairnet. She flung off the coat and fought out of her footies. She wanted a piece of coconut cream pie and a full-strength Kimmie colada. “I’m done.
Done
.”

“Kimmie—”

“No.” Her heart hammered almost as hard as her stomach was twisted. “You don’t care about me. You don’t care about Bliss. You don’t care about Heaven’s Bakery. What
do
you care about? Money? Power? Your ego? That’s not where I come from. It’s not what I believe in. I won’t help you. And I’m done pretending to like you. Because I don’t. I don’t like you. And I don’t like to not like people, and I don’t want to not like you, but you’re making it very, very easy.”

As if he cared.

And that was the part that stung the most.

Josh Kincaid was incapable of caring how much it hurt Kimmie to not like him. After their fake date Friday night, she’d honestly thought the plan to Kimmie him to death was working. That he was warming up to her enough to care about her. To like her the same way everyone else did in Bliss, even if she knew better than to dream he might find her attractive as a woman.

To consider selling them back Heaven’s Bakery because it was the right thing to do.

Apparently she’d been wrong.

She banged out into the hallway. “I’ll see myself out.”