Before he could get a word out, Willow said, “But this man.” She closed the distance between them, a loving smile softening her anger. “This warm, caring, funny, arrogant man has been trying to win me over for months. And—”
She was breathing so hard Zane expected another explosion, but she grabbed his face and crushed her mouth to his. Stunned, it took a moment for his addled brain to kick into gear, and when he did there was no holding back. There never was when it came to kissing Willow. He deepened the kiss, dipping her back like it was a grand kiss in a movie. But this was no movie, and this kiss—holy hell, this kiss—was nothing short of amazing, and it went on far too long for a kiss witnessed by family, but Zane was in no hurry for it to end.
When their mouths finally parted, he was so overcome with emotions, “God, I love you,” came out before he could stop it.
“Glad to hear it,” her father said. “Now let’s get you a beer.”
WILLOW AND ZANE had dinner with her family. By the time they finally left, Willow felt like she’d been through the wringer. Thankfully, her family had stopped peppering them with questions after she’d attacked Zane with the kiss that topped all others. But ever since, things had changed between her and Zane, and that was more nerve-racking than her family’s questions. She couldn’t look at him without her body heating up, and that was dangerous territory.
“I’m so glad that’s over,” she said honestly.
Zane placed his hand on her thigh, and her mind went straight to the gutter. How would she make it through the next two weeks when one kiss could set her body ablaze?
“You nailed it, Wills. That kiss was kryptonite to your family’s interrogation.”
“Whatever it takes, right?” She drove down the street toward the bakery, telling herself she’d kissed him for the sake of selling their ruse, not because she’d been waiting for an excuse with every breath she’d taken since last night. “I need to talk to Bridgette. I hate that she’s hurt.”
“I know, babe. Why don’t we put our stuff in your apartment and go get a drink? After she puts Louie to bed, we can talk to her.”
She eyed him. “We?”
“I’m not letting you take the blame.”
It’s like you really care.
He peered through the windshield intently. “Don’t stop the car.”
“Why?” She spotted two guys standing outside the bakery. “Oh God. Are those your reporters?”
“They’re not my reporters, and no. The guy from TMZ already lost his exclusive. He’s moved on to bigger and better stories. Those must be locals looking to make a buck.”
“Great. So now I can’t even go back to my own bakery? How am I supposed to get to my apartment?” She lived above the bakery.
“I’ve got an idea. Head down to Dutch’s Pub, but drive around first in case they’re watching the cars.”
“You think they won’t find us if we’re sitting in a bar? They’ll get bored of waiting and end up there anyway.” She passed the bakery and kept driving until she was several blocks away before looping around the block and heading down toward the marina.
“We’re not staying there. I just want to talk to Harley.” Harley Dutch was a bear claw, big enough to share and sweet to the very core. He had gone to school with Zane and Ben. He’d had a thriving financial management business in New York City until a few years ago, when his father had gotten ill and he’d returned to Sweetwater to help with the family pub. She knew Harley still helped Zane and Ben manage their investments.
“I’m supposed to make Louie’s Spider-Man cake tonight for his party tomorrow.”
“Do you want to deal with those reporters? I’m used to it—”
“No! I’ve had enough stress for one day.”
“Then I’ll help you make the cake tomorrow. We’ll get up early and make it before the party.”
“The party isn’t until the afternoon. I guess that’ll work.”
He took out his phone. “Let me text Harley.” After he was done, he said, “Okay, we need to swing by Harley’s house,” and went back to texting. “Can we make a quick stop at Everything and More?”
Everything and More was a small-scale department store owned by Dennis Preacher, a crotchety old man who had growled at customers ever since he’d lost his wife to cancer eight years ago. Willow couldn’t help but love Dennis and often made him special pastries just to see if she could earn a smile. It worked about a third of the time. He was definitely an acquired taste, like molasses cookies.
When she pulled up in front of the store, Zane jumped out and told her he’d be right back. Nearly twenty minutes later, she was debating going in to find him when he finally returned carrying two enormous shopping bags, which he tossed into the backseat. A pillow stuck out the top of one of them.
He slid into the front seat. “Sorry it took so long. Penny Preacher was working tonight. She texted me when she heard we were filming in Sweetwater and asked me to stop by. I figured I’d give her a thrill.”
Penny was Dennis’s granddaughter. She was a year younger than Willow and had won Strawberry Queen three years in a row at Sweetwater’s annual Strawberry Festival. She was a definite fruit and custard pastry puff, beautiful inside and out.
“Give her a thrill? Is that short for . . . Never mind. Don’t answer that.” She sped out of the parking lot, trying to remember how to breathe.
An hour later, after meeting up with Harley, who lived down the road from the pub, they were in a rowboat loaded up with camping gear and whatever else he had bought at Everything and More. The water swished off the oars as Zane rowed them out toward the island, and Willow was still stewing over Zane giving Penny a thrill.
“This is your big plan? We’re going to row out to the island and camp?” She lifted a bottle of her favorite wine from one of the boxes Harley had given them. At least she’d have that. They used to take rowboats out to the island with her siblings when they were kids, and Zane almost always came with them. Talia would read on the shore, Piper built forts, and Willow and Bridgette would pretend they were on a tropical island, ordering Ben and Zane around as if they were cabana boys. Most of the time Ben would ignore them, but Zane usually played along. It made sense now. Even back then he was honing the craft that would make him famous.
“Do you have a better plan?” His voice strained as he rowed faster. “If we stay at the B and B, they’ll just hound the place and drive the owners crazy. This way you’ll have a place to chill without anyone bothering you. Besides,” he admitted a little sheepishly, “I seem to remember a certain girl telling me she dreamed about being whisked away to a remote island.”