And that just made him feel all the more guilty. If he’d been a better man, maybe that accident would never have happened.
His steps faltered. Maybe he didn’t need a petit four. Maybe he didn’t need to find Charlotte, after all.
Maybe he just needed to keep hiding. Right out there in the open, in that circle of beautiful, shallow females who only confirmed he was doing the right thing and missing absolutely nothing of substance by avoiding a relationship.
Then he glimpsed Charlotte through the window, stacking giant silver trays. He opened the door.
She looked up, windblown and clearly aggravated, judging by the tight lines around her mouth and the pinch between her eyebrows. Then he remembered—Brittany. Charlotte had been the woman he’d seen Brittany toting around outside. He’d been so glad to see her, he’d forgotten about Brittany being . . . well, Brittany. No wonder Charlotte looked as if she could smash someone in the face with a petit four.
Which looked delicious. He stepped inside, closer to the dessert table, and smiled at Charlotte and her friend. But Charlotte’s tense expression didn’t relax. Uh-oh. Maybe it wasn’t just about Brittany.
Her redheaded coworker’s eyes widened. She looked back and forth between Charlotte and Will and then snatched the trays from Charlotte’s hands. “I’ll load the van.” And just like that, she was gone.
He glimpsed the anger in Charlotte’s eyes and was tempted to call the redhead back as mediator. Instead, he took a bite of an orange-topped petit four. “Wow, these are amazing. Good call.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. It was the one of the best desserts he’d ever tasted. He’d had never thought to try the orange caramel flavor with cinnamon and pecans, but it worked. And was that nutmeg?
Charlotte was inspiring him to want to cook again. He hadn’t thought twice about ingredients in years, but everything he tasted of hers made him want to examine it to find the best part. Find her best part.
She softened, as if on autopilot, before quickly stiffening again. “Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.” She started to push past him toward the front of the house.
“Charlotte.” He stepped in front of her, and her eyebrows shot up.
“I said, excuse me.”
He’d heard her. Still didn’t like it. “What’s the hurry?”
“I’ve got to be somewhere.” She checked her wrist, then must have realized she hadn’t put her watch on. She tapped her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “I’m running late.”
Something else was up. She wouldn’t make eye contact. Was this because of his quick departure and week-long absence from The Dough Knot? He cleared his throat. “Listen, about last week . . .”
She didn’t give him a chance to explain—not that he’d totally figured out the right words to say, anyway. Avoiding his eyes, she shrugged, gaze glued to the floor. “Forget it.”
“No, I clearly hurt your feelings. I want to make it right.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
She was trying to move past him again, and if he didn’t relent soon, he’d just be a jerk. Still, he wanted her to hear him out.
But what excuse did he have that he could actually voice? “I left in a hurry, and it was rude. I’m sorry.” The facts, if nothing else.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” She cut him a sharp glance, one that made him wish she’d go back to averting her gaze. “You owe me nothing.”
Ouch. “I thought we were friends.” He wanted to be more than that. Didn’t he? He didn’t know anymore. He only knew that the thought of Charlotte holding anything against him made him want to fix it. He already missed the friendly banter they’d created over his weeks of Tuesday visits to The Dough Knot. The thought of losing that made his head throb. “Aren’t we friends?”
She lifted her chin. “You’re my client.”
That one cut even deeper. He silently stepped aside. She slipped past him without a backward glance.
He knew, because he watched her leave.
“Why are all men the same?” Charlotte struggled to keep her voice down as she rinsed out a mixing bowl in the industrial kitchen sink.
It was Tuesday afternoon, but Zoe was in the dining room, eating a chocolate-chip bagel and baking pretend cupcakes. She’d been out of school for the day for teacher conferences, so Charlotte had set her up at one of the tables with a rainy-day toy baking set she’d stashed for just such an occasion.
“Is that a rhetorical question?” Julie paused to swipe a lick of cheesecake batter from a spatula before tossing it in the other side of the sink. “Or are you actually expecting an answer?”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte dried the bowl and set it on the counter. She needed to zest the lemons for the next batch of lemon bars. Needed to put the leftover cake pops from the Hannigans’ birthday party in the front display case. Needed to sort through inventory for their upcoming order. She was pretty sure they were running low on bakery boxes.