Page 3 of Pretty Desperate (Pine Village #6)

JILLIAN

Present Day

I almost have this recipe perfect.

As soon as I have it where I want, I’ll add it to my digital cookbook.

Then, I’ll be one step closer to fulfilling my dream.

Not that owning my own bakery and coffee shop isn’t living my dream, but I’ve always wanted to produce my own cookbook.

Maybe even have my own cooking blog or YouTube channel, like Ryan.

Someday, I’ll be brave enough to talk to her about it.

I haven’t known her that long, but she’s become a great friend in a short amount of time.

I’m certain she’d offer me any tips or tricks she can to get me started.

I slip the pan of pastries into the oven and set the timer.

I have thirteen minutes until I need to pull my latest creation from the oven, and usually I’d use the time to start cleaning up my workspace.

Of course, my workspace tonight is my kitchen counter at home.

Usually, I do all my creating in my bakery kitchen, having plenty of supplies and oven space to play.

However, tonight was a rash decision to bake.

I had just returned home from having dinner with my parents, and that always goes about as well as you’d expect.

Not that I don’t love my parents—I do—but they’re ready for grandbabies, and I’m their only hope.

The problem is I’m thirty-seven and don’t even have a boyfriend.

I’ve spent every waking hour over the last decade, pouring myself into my business.

Sure, having a boyfriend sounds nice—more than nice, actually—but the reality of it isn’t so easy.

I work a lot and the only men I meet on a daily basis want me for my cinnamon swirl bread and banana chocolate chip muffins.

Oh, and the caffeine. They definitely want that too.

So those grandbabies my parents want? They’re starting to get real restless and vocal in their disappointment.

Tonight’s dinner wasn’t any different, except this time they took it a step further.

Tonight, while enjoying honey-glazed pork chops, roasted brussels sprouts, and creamy mashed potatoes, they offered up a list of available, single men in Pine Village.

A list!

Typed up and printed out on my dad’s company letterhead.

I almost threw up my food right then and there. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

That’s the reason I’m baking on a Sunday night instead of relaxing and preparing for the busy week ahead of me. I glance at the timer on the oven. Five minutes left. Just as I grab the container of sugar to place in the cabinet, there’s a firm knock at my door.

Hesitantly, I move toward the entryway. I’m not expecting anyone, especially at this point in the evening. All my friends would have texted or called first, so chances of the visitor being one of them are slim to none.

As I reach the door, I go up on my tiptoes and peek through the security hole. My mouth falls open when the individual on the opposite side comes into view. “Kameron?” I find myself asking, reaching down and releasing the lock.

“Hey, yeah, sorry to just drop by like this,” he says, glancing over my shoulder into my house.

“Are you all right?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “No, not really. I need your help.”

Worry fills my chest. I’ve known Kameron practically my whole life. He’s a few years older than me, but we grew up down the road from each other. He may not be one of my closest friends, but if he needs something, I’d readily help. “Okay, what’s up?”

He levels me with an intense look, his blue eyes full of anxiety as he drops a bomb straight in my lap. “I need you to be my girlfriend…”

I stare back at him for one, two, three seconds before bursting into laughter. “Right,” I say between fits of giggles. “Okay,” I add with a playful eye roll. Of all the years I’ve known Kameron, I’ve never really known him to be so funny. Serious and inquisitive, sure, but never one to joke.

Kameron sighs and closes his eyes. “I’m dead serious, Jillian. Can I come in?”

The smile I wear slowly falls from my face when I don’t see a flicker of humor in his gaze. “Uhh, yeah, sure,” I mumble, stepping back so there’s room for him to pass through the doorway.

He steps inside my small home for the first time ever and glances around.

There isn’t much to it, not that I need a lot of space.

I live in an eight-hundred square foot, one-bedroom home.

The majority of my time is spent at my bakery.

Here, I eat a little, sleep some, and shower before heading back to the business I pour my heart and soul into.

With a strong exhale, Kameron turns and faces me. “I need you to be my girlfriend.”

“You keep saying that,” I grumble, trying to wrap my head around his words. He’s not asking me out. No, this is way more…businesslike.

He levels me with a serious look that has my heart hammering in my chest. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. Can we sit?”

Just as I nod, the timer on my oven dings. “I’ll be right back,” I reply, practically running into the kitchen to retrieve my latest creation. Slipping oven mitts onto my hands, I open the oven door and inhale the sweet aroma of the salted caramel treat and remove the pan, setting it on the trivet.

“What’s that?” Kameron pokes his head over my shoulder, taking a whiff.

“Salted Caramel Blondies.” I can’t hide the pride in my voice, even though I have yet to taste them.

His dark eyes fill with excitement. “Can I have one?”

“They’re too hot right now,” I insist, turning to face him.

Of course, he’s still standing directly in front of me, our chests practically touching.

I catch another scent heavy in the air, and that’s his cologne or soap or aftershave.

Something. It’s woodsy and intoxicating, and it takes all my self-control not to lean forward, press my nose to his neck, and inhale.

Maybe diving into those blondies now isn’t such a bad idea…

Meeting his stormy eyes, I add, “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to like what you have to say, so I reserve the right to share my blondies until later.”

The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Deal.” Kameron walks over to my little dinette table and has a seat. “Though, I’m sure you won’t like what I have to say either.” He takes a deep breath and adds, “Just promise me you’ll hear me out completely.”

I don’t want to agree to that at all, but it seems fair. “All right,” I reply, taking a seat across from him.

He takes a deep breath and starts, “It’s been my dream since moving back to town and opening my restaurant to expand.

I’d love a bigger space for more patrons, but when I purchased my building, I made do with what was available.

Ever since, I’ve made contact and inquired about purchasing the empty building to the south of my restaurant.

Yesterday, the owner finally agreed to meet with me. ”

“Mrs. Krokus, right?”

He nods. “Yes, that’s right. She decided it was finally time to sell the building.

However…” He pauses and glances around. For what, I’m not sure.

He leans forward, lowers his voice, and drops the bomb.

“She will only sell to someone who is family-oriented, which means I need a girlfriend for the next few months, until the deal is done.”

I lean back in my chair and stare back at Kameron. He’s a gorgeous man. Like standing on the surface of the sun hot. I’ve crushed on him off and on for the last couple of years but never told a soul about it. Now? Well, he’s still hot but with a side of crazy. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.”

“Did you fall and hit your head?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, shaking his head.

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to be your pretend girlfriend, so you can scam some sweet little old lady out of her building.” My face surely shows the horror which I feel.

“No!” he insists but then pauses to think. “Well, sort of. But it’s not like that.”

“How is it?” I ask gently, trying to understand.

He exhales and shakes his head. “I really, really want this. I’ve worked my ass off since culinary school for this.

I’ve paid my dues, worked my way up to what I have now.

It’s not easy, as I’m sure you know. It’s hard fucking work, day in and day out.

I don’t sleep, I don’t leave my restaurant.

I live, breathe, and eat Prime Steak House. It’s all I want, all I know.”

My throat gets a little tight at the determination and passion pouring from his words.

Why? Because I do understand. Probably better than most. I’ve paid my dues too, worked at a variety of places since graduating high school.

Some good, some not so much. I pushed myself to take some online business classes at night, earning an associate’s degree in business to help prepare me for one day owning my own bakery.

I’d always loved to bake. It was my stress reliever.

In high school, I’d make rolls and muffins and sell them out of my parents’ kitchen for fifty cents each.

I never really knew what I wanted to do in the future, so instead of paying for schooling, I entered the workforce.

I have worked a variety of jobs over the years.

Secretary, server, cook, and advertising sales for the local newspaper.

Hell, I even cleaned houses for a short time.

But it was always baking I came back to.

I’d make cakes for birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries, trays of cookies, bars, and brownies for office parties.

I had my food service license and was registered with the county to sell baked goods from my home, but it wasn’t enough.

In the back of my mind, I saw something bigger for myself.

I had a dream, and that picture was starting to take shape.

So if anyone understands what it takes to live a dream, it’s me. I’ve been there too.

But I didn’t need a fake boyfriend to get it.