Charlotte crossed her arms over her apron and ignored the rose petal icing that smeared across her elbow. “What about those people who make you believe they’re one way or one thing, when they’re really not?”
Will frowned, confusion replacing the tired creases in his forehead. “What about them?”
Reality sank in, and as her anger diffused, Charlotte let her arms slowly unfold. What had she just done?
“Never mind.” Embarrassed, exhausted tears pricked at her eyelids, and she brushed at the front of her apron until she regained a semblance of control. “Um . . . maybe we should just discuss the cake order.”
Or maybe he should just leave. Maybe she should forget baking for this entire wedding. But no—she needed this. For Zoe. For their security. Who knew when the next big order would come in?
Will stared at her until she had no choice but to make eye contact. “Charlotte.”
She raised her eyebrows, still not trusting her voice, and blinked a few times to clear her eyes.
He leaned forward over the counter, something soft and inviting sparking in his hazel eyes. “Were we having the same conversation just now?”
No. She opened her mouth, then shut it, debating how much to divulge. She’d clearly been fighting some battle with her past and projecting it onto this man—this taken, unavailable man. Her palms grew damp. What was she thinking? She couldn’t confide in him or get emotionally involved. Was she so scared of history repeating itself that she was destined to self-fulfill the prophecy?
There was only one thing to say.
“Are you leaning toward the lemon, white chocolate, or strawberry cake?”
Will knew after the first bite that the secret ingredient in Charlotte’s amazing snickerdoodles was cream cheese. He knew that if an egg was spoiled, it would float in water instead of sink. And he knew rolling limes with the palm of your hand made them easier to juice.
Will knew food.
But Charlotte Cantrell was one recipe he couldn’t analyze.
From his position at the counter barstool, he watched her through the kitchen doorway as she quickly fixed another tray of cake samples. She had switched from passionately debating some inscrutable point, to nearly crying over the same topic, then changed subjects so swiftly he half wondered if he’d made the whole thing up.
The hardest part to figure out, though, was that it wasn’t anything like crazy-Brittany-I-need-attention. No, he’d gotten good at reading people during his years in the service, and he’d bet his last dollar that Charlotte was operating out of a painful past.
“Here you go.” She set the tray of cake bites on the counter before him, each one nestled on top of some girlie, lacy looking white paper. “You didn’t eat any the other day when Brittany was here, so I figured it’d be best if we just started over.”
Started over . . . with the cakes?
Or with him and her?
Will took a bite of the little yellow square before he attempted to answer his own question and get them both in trouble. “That’s really good.” He tried the next one—white chocolate, or something along those lines. It melted in his mouth. “Okay, I’m starting to see Brittany’s dilemma.”
“Are you going to cry?” A tiny smirk twisted Charlotte’s lips, and he nearly sprayed crumbs with his laughter.
“No tears. I promise.” He swallowed, still chuckling. “I mean, it’s not that good . . .”
Silent laughter lit her eyes, and she swatted him across the counter with a pink oven mitt. “Give it time. You haven’t tried the marshmallow caramel apple cake.” She turned the tray and he obliged.
Heaven and a campfire and a late summer fruit tree collided on his taste buds. “Wow. That’s amazing.”
Charlotte practically glowed under the warmth of his praise. It was a little unsettling how much she enjoyed it—and how much he enjoyed giving it to her.
Then her light dimmed. “It’s not traditional, though, for a wedding cake.” A troubled frown pinched Charlotte’s brow as she studied the sampler between them. He wanted to smooth the crease with his finger, make her laugh again. Erase her worry.
And figure out exactly what the heck had set her off earlier.
Most of all, he just wanted her light to turn back on. “What if we did the marshmallow caramel apple for one of the prewedding events?”
She tilted her head. “That could work.” The light began to shine, just a little, as her hopes rose. “Let’s see. Brittany mentioned an engagement party on . . . what date?” She pulled a daily desk calendar from a stack near the register and began flipping through the pages.
“It’s soon. Like, next week.” Will pulled out his phone and read the dates and times for the upcoming parties. “Adam texted me the schedule last night. Yeah, there’s the engagement party, next Friday night. And a couple’s shower two weeks later, at six p.m. on Saturday.”
One he’d have no date for. Melissa would never let him hear the end of that one.
“And she wanted dessert for the rehearsal dinner too?”