Page 43

Rhys

“ I f it isn’t my lucky day! There’s a Hott man in my shop!”

Rush Creek Bakery’s owner, Nan, bustles out from behind the counter in her apron with her white cotton-candy hair wrestling for escape from a hairnet.

Nan thinks our family name is hilarious and rarely misses an opportunity to tease us about it.

And we all love her, even if she’s a blabbing busybody, so we tolerate it.

She gives me a floury hug that leaves my T-shirt powdery, then holds me at arm’s length for examination. “I won’t tell you how much you’ve grown up since I saw you last,” she says fondly, patting one of my cheeks.

We all grew up cramming our faces with Nan’s breads and cookies, soaking up the comfort of the bakery, which is always warm and slightly steamy and smells like fresh-baked goods.

She registers the woman at my side and says, “Oh, Eden, I’m so sorry about your wedding. But you might have dodged a bullet. Better that he ran from the altar than from the first dirty diaper or toward the first short skirt.”

It sounds like Nan now has her story straight, but I still wince on Eden’s behalf. She bites her lip, smiling wryly. She seems to be taking Nan and her busted filter in stride. “Too true,” she says.

“And you’ve gotten yourself a Hott man to replace that old-and-busted one!”

Nan jumps to conclusions like a jackrabbit on speed—but she’s not wrong in this case. Eden does have herself a Hott man, and I’m happy to be had.

“I have him for as long as Rush Creek has him,” Eden says, beaming. “He has to go back to New York City permanently in a couple weeks.”

“Is that true?” Nan demands, turning back to me. “The other ones stayed!”

“It’s true,” I admit.

Nan crosses her arms and scowls. “That’s a tragedy for this town. You can never have too many Hott men.”

“Thanks, I think.”

She bustles back behind the counter. “What can I get you two? Is this breakfast …?” She lards the word up with so much innuendo that it sounds like she’s asking if we’re planning to have sex on one of her tables.

“Yes. And we’re very hungry, ” Eden says, winking at me when Nan’s not looking.

“Two ham-and-cheese croissants. Warmed,” I say.

“I don’t have to warm them!” Nan says delightedly. “They’re fresh out of the oven.” She sets them on plates and pushes them across the counter to me. “On the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

“In fact, don’t,” Eden says. “Because breakfast is supposed to be on Rhys.” She shoots me a teasing glance.

“Consider it a not-wedding gift,” Nan says. “I like to celebrate close calls avoided.”

We take a seat, and Eden releases a gust of nervous laughter. “She’s?—”

“A lot,” I finish. “You okay? I know you’ve still got a ton of feelings about what happened?—”

She bites her lip. “I mean, yes. Rejection sucks . He hurt me, my feelings, and my pride. But also, sometimes I’m really…okay.” She gives me a wry smile. “It’s hard to spend much time thinking about Paul being an asshole when…” She grins. “I’m thinking about that shower.”

Her eyes hold mine, pupils flaring, and she slides her hand across the table, fingers slipping between my own.

Ah, jeez, nothing like getting hard in the bakery.

The door bell tinkles. I look up, grateful for the distraction…

Except it’s Weggers.

Shit. This was not how I wanted this to go down.

“Well, well, well,” he says, approaching our table as Eden, too late, pulls her hand away. “This is interesting.”

Anything I say can and will be used against me, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Breakfast for two. Cozy. I believe you told me you did ‘everything in your power’ to make sure Eden and Paul’s wedding went forward as planned. Did that include pursuing a romantic relationship with the bride?”

All my plans to be cautious and careful and diplomatic fly out the window, along with the memory of Matias suggesting that kneeling and groveling might still be the best path to success.

“You—” I start, but before I can get out the rest of what I want to say, Nan swoops out from behind the bakery counter.

“You leave these people alone, Arthur Weggers. What kind of sick turkey picks on a woman who’s just been jilted and a man who’s come all the way from New York City to do everything he can to save his sister’s land? You’re high on your own power, and it’s time someone took you down a notch.”

Weggers pales.

“How do we even know you’re for real? Maybe you forged the will and this is all your lunatic fantasy of revenge because you’re Fox Hott’s bastard teenage son he never acknowledged.”

Wait, what? Eden and I stare at Weggers in disbelief.

“She made that up out of whole cloth!” he cries, pointing at Nan. “That’s not even remotely true! How dare you malign my parents like that?”

We turn back to Nan.

“Well,” she says. “It could have happened. It was a hypothetical.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Weggers says, throwing up his arms. “You,” he says to Nan, “need to more carefully consider your words, or someone is going to have you in court for slander. And as for you,” he says to me, “I did exactly what you asked. I took the situation under advisement. And what I have concluded is that there is no way you could possibly have applied yourself to the task before you objectively when you clearly have feelings for the bride. So I’m not remotely inclined to let you off the hook. ”

And with that, Wegger sweeps out of the bakery with not even a backward glance of contempt.

“Huh,” Eden says, biting her lip and looking like she’s torn between laughing and crying. “That went well.”