Carrie Warren reached over the counter, distracting Willow from her eavesdropping. She had gone to school with Piper and was about as gossipy as they came. “Let me see the ring, Willow. Oh my goodness. That is huge! Just gorgeous.”
Willow thought of Carrie by what she resembled, not what she ordered. She was a lemon tart: sweet-looking, but one bite was often overwhelming. She glanced at Zane, catching his eye. “Yes, well, everything Zane does, he does big.”
“I want all the details,” Carrie gushed. “How did he propose?”
Curiosity shone in Zane’s eyes, and Willow recalled the story he’d concocted about the proposal. “It was beautiful,” she said, and a smile crawled across Zane’s lips. She loved his smile, and it killed her to know how much she’d hurt him last night with her confused reaction. She turned back to Carrie before the longing she felt poured out of her mouth. “But I’d like to keep the details of our proposal private. What can I get for you?”
She felt Zane’s gaze burning into her as she filled Carrie’s order, but there was no time to stop and try to clear the air. The bakery was slammed, and she and Zane worked in tandem for the next few hours. Zane poured on the charm to each and every customer, touching Willow every time they passed in the narrow space behind the counter and whispering sexy innuendos until she sported an irrepressible, bordering on ridiculous, smile.
Now he was helping the last customer, a young brunette Willow didn’t recognize, while Willow wiped down the tables.
Zane called across the shop, “Hey, babe. I need a good whipping.”
Her mind went straight to the gutter. Whipping? Are you into that? Am I? No. No way. Her eyes darted to the customer, who was giggling. Only then did Willow notice the box of éclairs in Zane’s hand. Oh, thank goodness.
After topping the éclairs with whipped cream, which brought more sexy innuendos than should be legal, she rang up the customer and locked the door behind her after she left. She felt Zane’s presence before his arms circled her waist from behind, and his soft, warm lips touched her neck.
“We make a good team, Wills. Let me be the frosting on your cupcake.”
Yes, yes, yes. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong. They needed time to talk before she could fall under his spell again. But first she had to get started on Louie’s cake. A flicker of panic rose in her chest. Bridgette was probably furious with her for not calling last night.
“I can’t think about frosting your cupcake right now. I haven’t even made Louie’s cake yet. The place has been a zoo since early this morning.”
He turned her in his arms, and his seductive gaze bored into her. “Hi. Remember me? The guy who told you he loves you?”
Only he could make her laugh when she was so stressed. “I remember.”
“My security guys got rid of the reporters.”
“Yes,” she said as firmly as she could, trying to claw her way back to having some modicum of a backbone. “But the people in town wanted to congratulate me, and I have no idea where all those girls came from, but they obviously wanted to get an eyeful—and probably much more—of you. I changed my mind. I don’t want national exposure. It sounded good. Actually, it sounded too good to be true, but it’s a big pain in the butt. I should have had time to make Louie’s cake, but I haven’t had time to breathe.”
“Then I’ll help you. And all of this stuff will die down by tomorrow. I’ve already taken care of it. It happens every time we film in a new place. Fans come from neighboring towns to get a look at celebrities. I hate it, too, Wills. I hate it more than you could ever imagine. But it’ll be over quick, especially without the media hounds feeding them articles every day.”
“What a nightmare. I don’t know how you deal with that kind of attention. I’ve decided that I’m happy with my quiet, small-town life. If my days were all this busy, I’d have to hire people to help me. I like having a business where I can hang a sign on the door and lock up because I want to run an errand and not have to worry about people mobbing the place. I want to do more catering, but all I really want is to make Sweetie Pie into a bakery and bookstore.” Why was she suddenly a motormouth? She must really be nervous. “Aurelia’s here for the week, and I’m going to talk to her when I get a chance. So please nix the exposure except where we have to be seen together to clean up your reputation. Just please keep them away from the bakery.”
Aurelia Stark had been raised by her grandparents, who had owned the only bookstore in Sweetwater for more than forty years. She’d gone to school with Willow and had moved away after college. A few years ago, Aurelia’s grandparents had sold the bookstore when Aurelia’s grandfather had suffered a stroke and moved into a rehab facility on Long Island. Mick Bad, the attorney who purchased the building the bookstore was in, lived in New York City and had been looking for a small place in town to use as a weekend getaway. He’d gotten along so well with Aurelia’s grandmother, he’d kept the store intact on the first floor, in case Aurelia’s grandmother ever wanted to come back and run it, and used the apartment upstairs as his getaway. Aurelia came into town for a few days each month and opened the store to keep her grandmother’s dream alive. Willow hoped she could convince her to go into business together and combine the bookstore with the bakery.
“Already taken care of.” Zane leaned forward. “The exposure you’ve already gained, plus the catering for the set, should still help with getting your name out there. Even without the photographers hounding us, they’ll be around the set, and stories will still make the papers.”
She arched a brow. “Did I mention that I received an e-mail this morning from someone named Payton from craft services for the set? She’s sending over the breakfast menu tomorrow. She said they usually have bagels and pastries for breakfast, but apparently some of the crew members have special dietary needs.”
“Like I said, I’ll help.”
“I’m sure you have to study your lines and do whatever actors do.” She glanced out the window at the two security guards. She hated that they needed to be there, but she had signed up for this.
Zane slid a hand to the back of her neck, brushing his thumb over her skin.
“Come on, Wills. Let me help you bake Louie’s cake. Give me an inch.”
“You’ll take a mile.” Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“That’s true,” he admitted. “I’m good at taking more with you. But in all fairness, I can’t help it. Maybe I shouldn’t have let us go so far last night.”
“You? Ha! Aren’t you the cocky one? That was my decision, too.” She couldn’t stop her voice from rising, and the emotions that had bottled up over the last twenty-four hours rushed out. She swatted at a rose, sending several petals sailing to the floor. “And I don’t hate these!”
He crossed his arms, and despite her tantrum, he was perfectly calm. “You gave them away.”
“I was angry. Or . . . confused. I was something.”