The Mad Earl's Bride (14 page)

An Excerpt from

by Darlene Panzera

Darlene Panzera, author of
Bet You’ll Marry Me
, launches a delicious new series that proves business and pleasure don’t mix . . . or do they?

A
ndi cast a glance over the rowdy karaoke crowd to the man sitting at the front table with the clear plastic bakery box in his possession.

“What am I supposed to say?” she whispered, looking back at her dark-haired sister Kim and their redheaded friend Rachel as the three of them huddled together. “ ‘Can I have your cupcake?’ He’ll think I’m a lunatic.”

“Say ‘please,’ and tell him about our tradition,” Kim suggested.

“Offer him money.” Rachel dug through her dilapidated Gucci knockoff purse and withdrew a ten-dollar bill. “And let him know we’re celebrating your sister’s birthday.”

“You did promise me a cupcake for my birthday,” Kim said with an impish grin. “Besides, the guy doesn’t look like he plans to eat it. He hasn’t even glanced at the cupcake since the old woman came in and delivered the box.”

Andi tucked a loose strand of her dark blonde hair behind her ear and drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t used to taking food from anyone. Usually she was on the other end—giving it away. Her fault. She didn’t plan ahead.

Why couldn’t any of the businesses here be open twenty-four hours a day, like in Portland? Out of the two dozen eclectic cafes and restaurants along the Astoria waterfront promising to satisfy customers’ palates, shouldn’t at least one cater to late-night customers like herself? No, they all shut down at 10:30
P.M.
, some earlier, as if they knew she was coming. That was what she got for living in a small town. Anticipation, but no cake.

However, she was determined not to let her younger sister down. She’d promised Kim a cupcake for her twenty-sixth birthday, and she’d try her best to procure one, even if it meant making a fool of herself.

Andi shot her ever-popular friend Rachel a wry look. “You know you’re better at this than I am.”

Rachel grinned. “You’re going to have to start interacting with the opposite sex again sometime.”

Maybe. But not on the personal level Rachel’s tone suggested. Andi’s divorce the previous year had left behind a bitter aftertaste that no amount of sweet talk could dissolve.

Pushing back her chair, Andi stood up. “Tonight, all I want is the cupcake.”

A
ndi had taken only five steps when the man with the bakery box turned his head and smiled.

He probably thought she was coming over hoping to find a date. Why shouldn’t he? The Captain’s Port was filled with people looking for a connection. If not for a lifetime, then at least for the few hours they shared within the friendly confines of the restaurant’s casual, communal atmosphere.

She hesitated mid-step before continuing forward. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Dressed in jeans and a navy blue tie and sportcoat jacket, he was even better looking than she’d first thought. Thirtyish. Light brown hair, fair skin, sparkling chocolate brown eyes.
Oh, my
. He could have his pick of any girl in the place. Any girl in Astoria, Oregon.

“Hi,” he greeted.

Andi swallowed the nervous tension gathering at the back of her throat and managed a smile in return. “Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s my sister’s birthday, and I promised her a cupcake.” She nodded toward the see-through box and waved the ten-dollar bill. “Is there any chance I can persuade you to sell the one you have here?”

The guy’s brows shot up. “You want my cupcake?”

An Excerpt from

by Darlene Panzera

In the second installment of Darlene Panzera’s new series, another Creative Cupcakes founder discovers that a little magic may be the secret ingredient in the recipe for love.

R
achel pushed through the double doors of the kitchen, took one look at the masked man at the counter, and dropped the tray of fresh-baked cupcakes on the floor.

Did he plan to rob Creative Cupcakes? Demand she hand over the money from the cash register? Her eyes darted around the frilly pink-and-white cupcake shop. The loud clang of the metal bakery pan hitting the tile had caused several customers sitting at tables to glance in her direction. Would the masked man threaten the other people as well? How could she protect them?

She stepped over the white-frosted chocolate mess by her feet, tried to judge the distance to the telephone on the wall, and turned her attention back to the masked man before her. Maybe he wasn’t a robber, but someone dressed for a costume party or play. The man with the black masquerade mask covering the upper half of his face also wore a black cape.

“If this is a holdup, you picked the wrong place, Zorro.” She tossed her fiery red curls over her shoulder with false bravado and laid a protective hand across the old bell-ringing register. “We don’t have any money.”

His hazel eyes sparkled through the holes in the mask, and he flashed her a disarming smile. “Maybe I can help with that.”

He turned his hand to show an empty palm, and relief flooded over her. No gun. Then he closed his fingers and swung his fist around in the air three times. When he opened his palm again, he held a quarter, which he tossed her way.

Rachel caught the coin and laughed. “You’re a magician.”

“Mike the Magnificent,” he said, extending his cape wide with one arm and taking a bow. “I’m here for the Lockwell party?”

Rachel pointed at the door leading to the back party room. The space had originally been a tattoo shop, but the tattoo artist had relocated to the rental next door. “The Lockwells aren’t here yet. The party doesn’t start until three.”

“I came early to set up before the kids arrive,” Mike told her. “Can’t have them discovering my secrets.”

“No, I guess not,” Rachel agreed. “If they did, Mike the magician might not be so magnificent.”

“Magnificence is hard to maintain.” His lips twitched as if he were suppressing a grin. “Are you Andi?”

She shook her head. “Rachel, Creative Cupcakes’ stupendous co-owner, baker, and promoter.”

This time a grin
did
escape his mouth, which led her to notice his strong, masculine jawline.

“Tell me, Rachel, what is it that makes you so stupendous?”

She gave him her most flirtatious smile. “Sorry, I can’t reveal my secrets, either.”

“Afraid if I found out the truth I might not think you were so impressively great?”

Rachel froze, fearing Mike the magician might be a mind reader as well. Careful to keep her smile intact, she forced herself to laugh off his comment.

“I just don’t think it’s nice to brag,” she responded playfully.

“Chicken,” he taunted in an equally playful tone, making his way toward the party room door.

Despite the uneasy feeling he’d discovered more about her in three minutes than most men did in three years, she wished he’d stayed to chat a few minutes more.

Andi Burke, wearing one of the new, hot pink Creative Cupcakes bibbed aprons, came in from the kitchen and stared at the cupcake mess on the floor. “What happened here?”

“Zorro came in, gave me a panic attack, and the tray slipped out of my hands.” Rachel grabbed a couple paper towels and squatted down to scoop up the crumpled cake and splattered frosting before her OCD-about-kitchen-safety friend could comment further. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the mess.”

“I should have told you Officer Lockwell hired a magician for his daughter’s birthday party.” Andi bent to help her, and, when they stood back up, asked, “Did you speak to Mike?”

Rachel nodded, her gaze on the door to the party room as it opened and Mike reappeared.

Tipping his head toward them as he walked across the shop, he said, “Good afternoon, ladies.”

An Excerpt from

by Darlene Panzera

In the final installment of Darlene Panzera’s charming series, one lonely cupcake decorator will learn that love is worth the risk . . . once she gets a little taste of romance.

F
ocus
, Kim reprimanded herself.
Keep to the task at hand and stop eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.

But she didn’t need to hear the crack of the teenage boy’s heart to feel his pain. Or to remember the last time she’d heard the wretched words, “
I’m leaving
” spoken to her.

She tried to ignore the couple as she picked up the pastry bag filled with pink icing and continued to decorate the tops of the strawberry preserve cupcakes. However, the discussion between the high school boy and the young woman she assumed to be his girlfriend kept her ears attentive.

“When will I see you again?” the boy asked.

Kim glanced toward them, leaned closer, and held her breath.

“I don’t know,” the girl replied.

The soft lilt in her accent thrust the familiarity of the conversation even deeper into Kim’s soul.

“I’m going to the university for two years,” the girl continued. “Maybe we’ll meet again after.”

Not likely.
Kim shook her head, and the bottom of her stomach locked down tight. From past experience, she knew that once the school year was over in June, most foreign students went home, never to return.

And left many broken hearts in their wake.

“Two years is a long time,” the boy said.

Forever is even longer.
Kim drew in a deep breath as the unmistakable catch in the poor boy’s voice replayed again and again in her mind. And her heart.

How long were they going to stand there and torment her by reminding her of her parting four years earlier with Gavin, the Irish student she’d dated in college? Dropping the bag of icing on the Creative Cupcakes counter, she moved toward them.

“Can I help you?” Kim asked, pulling on a new pair of food handler’s gloves.

“I’ll have the white chocolate macadamia,” the girl said, pointing to the cupcake she wanted in the glass display case.

The boy dug his hands into his pockets, counted the meager change he’d managed to withdraw, and turned five shades of red.

“None for me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “How much for hers?”

“You have to have one, too,” the girl protested. “It’s your birthday.”

Kim took one look at his lost-for-words expression and took pity on him. “If today is your birthday, the cupcakes are free,” she said. “For both you and your guest.”

The teenage boy’s face brightened. “Really?”

Kim nodded and removed the cupcakes the two lovebirds wanted from the display case. She even put a birthday candle on one of them. A heart on the other. Maybe the girl would come back for him. Or he would fly to Ireland for her.
Maybe
.

Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them shut for a brief second. When she opened them again, she set her jaw. Enough was enough. Now that they had their cupcakes, she could escape back into her work and forget about romance and relationships and every regrettable moment she’d ever wasted on love.

She didn’t need it. Not like her older sister, Andi, who’d recently lost her heart to Jake Hartman, their Creative Cupcakes financer and a news writer for the
Astoria Sun
. Or like her other co-owner friend, Rachel, who’d just gotten engaged to Mike Palmer, a miniature model maker for movies who also doubled as the driver of their Cupcake Mobile.

All she needed was to dive deep into her desire to put paint on canvas. She glanced at the walls of the cupcake shop, adorned with her scenic oil, acrylic, and watercolor paintings. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she’d have the money to open her own art gallery and she wouldn’t need to decorate cupcakes anymore.

But for now, she needed to serve the next customer.

An Excerpt from

A
C
UPID
,
T
EXAS
N
OVELLA

by Lori Wilde

Find out how the magic behind
New York Times
bestselling author Lori Wilde’s Cupid, Texas series began with this heartwarming story of a love that inspired a legend.

Whistle Stop, Texas

May 25th, 1924

I
met John Fant on the worst day of my life.

There he was, the most handsome man I’d ever seen, standing at the bottom of my daddy’s porch clutching a straw Panama hat in his hand, the mournful expression on his face belying the jauntiness of his double-breasted lightweight jacket and Oxford bags with sharp, smart creases running smoothly down the fronts of the legs. An intense, magnetic energy radiated from him, rolled toward me like heat waves off the Chihuahuan Desert. I felt an inexplicable tug square in the center of my belly.

His gaze settled heavily on my face. There were shadows under his eyes, as if he’d been up all night, and there was a tightness to his lips that troubled me. A snazzy red Nash Roadster sat on a patch of dirt just off the one-lane wagon road that ran in front of the house. It looked just as out of place as the magnificent man in my front yard.

My knees turned as watery as the mustang grape jelly I’d canned the summer before that hadn’t set up right, and suddenly I couldn’t catch my breath. I hung onto the screen door that I was half hiding behind.

“Is this Corliss Greenwood’s residence?” he asked.

“Yessir.” I raised my chin and stepped out onto the porch. The screen door wavered behind me, the snap stretched out of the spring from too many years of too many kids slamming it closed. Without looking around, I kicked the door shut with my bare heel.

He came up on the porch, the termite-weakened steps sagging and creaking underneath his weight.

Shame burned my cheeks.
Please, God, don’t let him put one of those two-tone wingtips right through a rotten board.