Page 104 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

Sydney woke slowly, her eyelids fluttering and taking in a streak of sunlight coming through a window opposite her. It took only half a second for her to recollect exactly where she was.

In the Lodge.

In Steve Gate’s bed.

What in the world was she thinking?

She barely knew the man, and yet, she had flung herself at him like a narcissistic nymphomaniac who had been deprived of sex for six months.

Well, it had been six months.

Still, she was such an idiot! And where was he?

Unmoving, she stared ahead and listened. No breathing. No snoring. Wait. Water running. Yes, the shower. He was taking a shower.

Sitting up, she scanned the room, pulling the sheets up to her neck. Naked, oh God yes, she was blissfully naked. Blips of memory from the night before skidded across her mind’s eye.

Good sex.

Oh. Mama. Yes.

But anyway, she had to think. Was this stupid with a capital S? Yes. Yes, it was. Thank God he’d fished a condom out of his luggage. At least she wasn’t that stupid. But she hadn’t gotten him to admit anything, no specifics about himself. They hadn’t gone that far. Had she ruined her chances by sleeping with him?

Hussy.

What was wrong with you, Sydney Hart?

So, all right. It’s done. What now? Should she stick around and see what his next move would be? Should she get out of here before he leaves the shower? Was this just a silly one nightstand and all would be forgotten on both ends by sundown?

“Crap. I have no clue what to do here,”

she whispered.

She got up and stepped toward the bathroom door. The shower was still on. Glancing about, she noticed her clothing scattered all over the floor, mingling with his.

“Find panties.”

That would be a good first step. She did, and then her camisole, and pulled it over her head.

“Okay, now I feel just a tad less…vulnerable.”

Vulnerable. Ugh.

Yes.

It was how she felt. Maybe she should just leave this scenario and see if he comes poking around anymore. Then she would know.

Poking. Around. Gah!

She spied her slacks draped over an end table by a leather chair. She hurried and snatched them off. When she did, a couple of magazines fell to the floor.

She glanced down.

Southern’s Best. Well, that piqued her interest. Crouching, she picked up the magazine and saw it was the one that featured her scones. She leafed to the page, knowing it by heart. She had the same dog-eared magazine at home. As she found the page, she sucked in a breath.

There she was in the picture, with a fat, red circle around her face.

Big. Red. Fat. Circle.

Bullseye.

What?

A fissure of something terror-like gripped her gut.

Was Suzie right? Steve is a stalker? She had delicious hot-fudge, almost-stranger sex with a freaking stalker?

Oh, shit, shit, shit!

She dropped the magazine to the floor. As it fell, she noticed a second magazine on the floor too. Another issue of Southern’s Best. She reached for it, lifted it closer.

This one was dated a year earlier and, on the cover, was a picture of a man in front of his bakery, with a sign—one very much like the sign hanging over her bakery—that read Best Scones of the South, 5th Year in a Row.

A man. In front of his bakery. Best scones of the south. Fifth year…

In. A. Row.

She studied the man, then the name of the bakery written in script on the window. Then lower to the address label on the magazine.

Stone Kellerman. Stone’s Scones. Followed by an Atlanta address.

Steve?

No.

Stone Kellerman.

She gasped. She’d heard of him. Everyone had heard of him. She knew the hell who he was. He was an icon in the realm of scone competitors. Ruthless, she’d heard. He would do anything to win, and had, over the years. He held that scone award up like it was a Pulitzer Prize or something. She’d never expected that she would beat him out in the competition, but she had.

And now he was here—for what reason?

A sickening feeling landed in the pit of her stomach. She knew the reason.

In a flash, she ripped the cover off the magazine, tore it into a million pieces, and let them flutter to the floor.

“You lying, cheating, conniving scone stalker,”

she whispered.

****

With the force of a thousand sore muscles, Sydney punched at the yeast dough, kneading it repeatedly. She sprinkled some flour, blew her bangs out of her eyes, and dug the heel of her hands into the dough again.

“It’s yeast dough, Sydney. It requires a tender touch. You might as well go at it with beaters.”

Suzie was right, of course, but she needed to put her frustration into something. Might as well be the yeast dough.

“So, what’s up with you this morning?”

she prodded.

“Nothing.”

Sydney moved to another bowl of dough waiting to be punched down and put her fist into it with a satisfying pop.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

The pressure inside of her was enormous. It bubbled up inside her chest, squeezed her neck, and couldn’t help but spill over and out of her mouth.

“If you must know, I slept with him, all right! Are you happy now?”

she yelled, looking straight into Suzie’s face.

The look Sydney got back was blank.

“You slept with whom?”

Whom? Whom else? Why does she need to make me say it?

“Oh, the hell with it.”

Sydney attacked the dough again with full force, punched and kneaded it, then all of a sudden, reached her arms around it, wadded it up into a big, fat ball, scooped it up close to her chest, and dropped the entire thing into the trashcan.

“Sydney? What on earth?”

She whirled.

“I slept with him, okay? The scone man. The stalker. The Stone of Stone’s Scones. Not Steve. Not an editor. A traitor. A stealer of recipes. A jealous scone man from Atlanta who swept me off my feet, temporarily, that is, because I do not feel one bit of emotion for this man except contempt. And hate. And humiliation. And stupidity.”

She paused, but only slightly.

“He wasn’t after me, he was after my scones. My recipe.”

“Sydney...”

Her shoulders slumped, and she sank onto a high stool.

“I slept with a scone stalker.”

For a moment no one moved. Suzie didn’t say a word and kept her distance from Sydney, who swore if she heard the words, I told you so, come out of her mouth she would probably have a conniption, whatever that was.

“Stone Kellerman? That Stone? Of Stone’s Scones in Atlanta who had the best scones of the south until you…”

Sydney sniffled.

“Yes. That Stone.”

“Oh, Syd…”

She put up a hand.

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

“I understand.”

“But he’s not a stalker. Not of the people kind, anyway. He’s just a scone stalker. Damned man was just after my scone recipe.”

“Unthinkable.”

Suzie moved one step closer.

“He’ll never work again in this business.”

“Of course not.”

“I’ll write a letter to Southern’s Best.”

“You do that.”

“I slept with the bastard.”

“I know.”

“It was good.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence fell over the kitchen, then Suzie said.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“I hate his guts.”

She sighed.

Suzie stifled a smile.

“He better get his ass out of town, or I’m going to have it on a cake pedestal.”

“I’m sure he’s long gone.”

“He better be.”

She sniffled again and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“Damned scone stalker.”

****

On his way back to Atlanta, Stone took the long way to the Interstate. A very long, round-about way. In fact, the route took him right through downtown Harbor Falls, and while he was there, he figured he might as well take one last look at the bakery across the street.

He parked in the parking lot beside the library and for a while, just watched the morning coffee-goers go in, and out, with satisfied looks on their faces. At least she had customers today, even though the new coffee shop down the street seemed to be hopping too. He was happy about that for Sydney. Maybe today was an orange scone day.

A boy of about thirteen crept by on his bicycle. Stone rolled down the window. “Hey kid!”

he called out.

The boy looked back over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Wanna earn five bucks?”

His eyes lit up. “Sure!”

Stone reached a ten-dollar bill out of the window.

“I’m in kind of a hurry here. Can you go into Sydney’s over there and get me an orange scone and a cup of coffee to go? You can keep all the change. I’ll be right here.”

The boy nodded, eagerly.

“Sure thing!”

He grasped the bill and parked his bike, then after looking both ways, crossed the street and entered the bakery.

****

About ten minutes later, Stone sipped at his coffee while cruising down the highway toward Atlanta. He had Hawaiian coffee in his cup and an orange scone in a little white bag on his seat that according to the boy was half-price today. He smiled at that, thinking evidently Sydney was fighting the competition with some slick marketing of her own. Good for her. But while he should be contemplating enjoying the confection and brew, he felt a little empty. In the place where his heart usually beat strong and happy, he felt a little hollow.

It was not how he expected to feel leaving Harbor Falls. He had expected to feel elated, after having romanced the winning scone recipe from Ms. Sydney Hart. But no recipe, and obviously, no romance either, since she flat out fled from his hotel room the day before.

He sure had mucked this idea up to hell and back. How honorable was it anyway, trying to steal another baker’s recipe? What the hell was wrong with him?

No matter. He would be back home in Atlanta soon and working on next year’s recipe for the competition. He had some serious soul-searching to do though, about this entire incident. When had winning become so important to him? That wasn’t him. Never had he stooped so low to consider wining and dining information out of a woman, in the name of winning a competition. Hell, he should have come up here and congratulated her on her accomplishment, rather than trying to romance the recipe from her.

“But you really wouldn’t have done that, Kellerman,”

he muttered aloud. He thought about that for a moment and realized that he would never have gone so far with Sydney romantically had he not felt something for her.

Revelation. He had feelings for her. Strong feelings. Somehow, his mission had gotten all jumbled up with the fact that he liked her, and cared about her, no matter how impossible that seemed at this early phase of the dating game.

He didn’t know whether to feel like a heel or what.

Yes. A serious bout of soul-searching was on his agenda and very soon.

Thing was though, with every turn of his rental car’s wheels, taking him further away from Harbor Falls, an unwelcome and undistinguishable emotion rolled up into his gut and spilled into a void that he wasn’t sure he knew how to fill. He was feeling things he hadn’t expected to feel—like sadness and loss and uncertainty—and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.