Page 2 of Sugar and Spice (Glitter and Sparkle #3)

CHAPTER TWO

With a wee bit too much exuberance, I stab a cupcake with a toothpick to check if it’s done. It is, of course. It’s perfect. They’re always perfect. That’s the thing about baking—you follow the recipe, and everything turns out exactly as it should.

You know how men say women should come with instructions? Well, men should come with a recipe. And if it doesn’t work out, at least you get to stab them with a toothpick.

“Riley, I swear this is the third time we’ve heard this song in an hour,” I gripe as I slide the second cupcake tin on the cooling rack.

My eighteen-year-old sister bops her head to a single off a new Christmas album that our local radio station insists on playing constantly.

She has her long, blond hair loosely braided today, and she wears her genius boyfriend’s Colorado School of Mines sweatshirt.

Riley’s best friend, Lauren, sits next to her, looking like she stepped out of a winter clothing advertisement.

“It’s catchy,” Riley argues, and she has the audacity to turn up the volume.

“Mason Knight could start singing alternative grunge, and you’d still fawn over him.”

Riley shakes her head, vehemently disagreeing. “I like his music—not him.”

Considering she had no less than four Forever Now posters in her room when she was thirteen, I have to disagree.

Now the boy band has broken up, and Mason’s gone solo.

He released a Christmas album that came out the day after Thanksgiving.

And this particular song is everywhere—it’s the official holiday tune for a major teen clothing store commercial, it’s blaring from speakers in our local mall, and the radio plays it at least twenty times a day.

It doesn’t help that Mason Knight, Mr. Forever Now, the teen heartthrob himself, is from our Montana town. In fact, he and I were in the same grade. If we’d gone to the same school, we might have had classes together.

Of course, that was before he was discovered at fourteen and whisked into the rosy glow of national tours and multi-platinum albums. Still, for at least a year, fourteen-year-old Riley bemoaned the fact that we lived five minutes north of the school division line.

But me? I couldn’t care less. Not then, not now. I don’t have to meet him to know his type—entitled, rich-boy snob. And can he change a tire? Throw a football? Start a fire? Basically do half the things Brandon can with his eyes closed? I think not, and therefore, he holds none of my interest.

And yes, I do know it’s not healthy to continue to compare every guy I meet to Brandon, but old habits die hard.

Especially when that habit comes waltzing into the kitchen. Granted, it’s his kitchen, but that’s not the point. Brandon’s supposed to be out with Sadie—Lauren swore it.

But he’s here, with a bead of sweat dripping from his brow, his T-shirt damp from whatever game he got all sweaty playing.

As if he doesn’t see the three of us, he opens the fridge and takes a swallow of milk straight from the carton.

Then he turns, casual as you please, and leans against the counter.

His eyes are the darkest blue—the kind of eyes you can get lost in, and they’re trained right on me.

I fumble an entire container of cocoa powder into the whipped butter I was prepping for the frosting. Almost cursing, I rip my gaze from his and try to save the recipe.

“Hey, Harper,” he says with a wicked smile. “Lauren didn’t say you were coming over this afternoon.”

I can feel his gaze on me, making me all hot and tingly.

“Cupcakes,” I say as if that’s any kind of answer. Playing all casual and nonchalant, I turn on the mixer…only to have it puff the powdered sugar and newly added cocoa powder in my face. I yip and turn it off, feeling like an idiot.

Like two wide-eyed chihuahuas, Riley and Lauren sit on the barstools by the counter, their eyes shining with humor. They watch the two of us in complete silence, like we’re the afternoon’s entertainment. I manage to shoot Lauren a glare. She knew her brother would be here—I can see it in her eyes.

And he looks good. His espresso hair is perfectly trimmed—not because he’s fashionable, but because he’s a creature of habit, and he’s had it cut on the first Saturday of every month since he was twelve.

He looks carefree, and if I hadn’t waited so long, he might have been mine. And then this would have been easy.

Instead of shooting confectioner’s sugar about the kitchen, I would have teased him not to drink from the carton, told him to go take a shower because he’s a sweaty mess and his mother wouldn’t want him lounging in her kitchen in that state.

He would laugh and pull me against him, kissing me as a distraction.

Lauren and Riley would have protested, but I wouldn’t have cared, because… Brandon.

Because Brandon.

Ugh, I’m a mess. An emotional and literal mess.

I have cocoa powder and sugar in my hair and all over my shirt.

Lauren’s cat, Penelope, eyes me from what she’s dubbed as her barstool, giving me a condescending feline look that could be interpreted as, “Poor clumsy human. She’s going to end up a spinster. ”

And cats know these things. How do you think they find the right women to cozy up to? Some of us carry the crazy cat lady stamp only they can see. I’m only twenty-one, and they’re already eying me.

“You’re off your game today,” Brandon says, laughing.

He grabs a handful of paper towels from the holder, leaving half a ripped-off piece behind.

Normally, it would drive me insane, but now I focus on it, trying not to think about the fact that Brandon is right here, in my space, handing me the wadded paper towels and brushing his hands over my hair.

I mumble something—who knows what—and wipe the cocoa and confectioner’s sugar off my shirt…

while I stare at his chest. Which is also right there .

It’s a nice chest, especially up close—the defined kind you want to step into…

lean against…fall asleep next to while you’re watching movies on the couch.

My nose comes to his shoulder. I could brush my lips against the side of his neck without even standing on my tiptoes. But I don’t do that for two reasons. One, he has a girlfriend. Two, said girlfriend just stepped into the kitchen.

Sadie’s eyes widen with surprise, but she quickly schools the expression. Like the sweet little Wonderland runaway she is, she waves at us all, as shy as a kitten, and gives us a soft smile. “Hi, everyone.”

Her hair-of-many-golden-colors falls far past her shoulders, as sleek as a waterfall. She even has a thin black headband holding it in place, finishing off her Alice-esque look. Could she be any more perfect?

And Sadie? What kind of name is that? Brandon and Sadie…

Actually, it’s pretty adorable. That irks me as well.

Utterly oblivious to the thoughts I was having about him two seconds ago, Brandon steps away from me and pulls Sadie into a tight hug. This, of course, makes her giggle. Finally, Brandon releases her, looping his arm around her shoulders.

Lauren’s eyes dart to me before she smiles at Brandon’s ever-so-lovely girlfriend. “Hey, Sadie. Brandon said you were going to do some shopping this afternoon.”

Sadie clasps her hands at her waist. “I finished up early and wanted to spend as much time with Brandon as possible, so I headed back here.”

Oh, gag.

Remembering I’m still covered in cocoa, I turn away from the group to clean up.

“What are you making?” Sadie asks.

“Harper’s chocolate cupcakes,” Riley says, and I shoot her a subtle glare over my shoulder. No reason to draw me into the conversation. My sister ignores me. “They’re the best.”

“Sadie likes to bake too,” Brandon feels the need to add. “Maybe she can help?—”

Sadie laughs, spooked. “Oh, gosh—no. I don’t want to intrude.”

I make the mistake of glancing at Brandon. He gives me a stern look, the kind that tells me I must be nice. I grit my teeth and force a smile.

“No, please, we’d love you to join us.” I am proud to say the words sound sincere. Sort of. “Take a seat.”

“Oh…well, okay,” Sadie says, though she throws me an uncertain look. “Let me just wash my hands.”

She makes her way to the sink, and I give Brandon a tight smile.

He narrows his eyes. Because there’s a strange expression ghosting across his face, one that makes me uncomfortable, I walk out of the kitchen.

“I’m going to clean up. Sadie, the frosting recipe is on the counter if you want to start over. ”

I escape to the privacy of the Alderman’s hall bathroom and gasp as soon as I look in the mirror. The damage is worse than I thought. My face is smudged with dark brown cocoa powder and splotches of confectioner’s sugar. I look like a little kid pretending to be a train-jumping hobo for Halloween.

“Good job, Harper,” I mutter to myself.

Because Brandon’s mom always has her favorite guest towels on display, I dig through the basket under the cupboard until I find an old (as old as they get in this house) washcloth.

After several minutes of damage control, I’m clean.

My makeup, however, didn’t fare so well.

I study my reflection for several long minutes, silently comparing myself to Sadie even though I know it’s not healthy.

I’m blond like she is, but that’s where the similarities end.

Where her hair is a carefully crafted collection of highlights and lowlights, mine’s one solid shade of wheat.

Her eyes are huge and blue; mine are dark hazel—not quite green, not quite brown.

I’m taller than she is—only six inches shorter than Brandon, who stands at six-foot-two.

And where I do have a nice figure, hers is fuller in areas that tend to appeal to guys.

I glance at my chest and frown. Am I really comparing bra size? That’s insane.

Growling, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and prepare myself for the rest of the afternoon. Sadie’s lovely—she really is. I can do this.

Full of faux confidence, I swing the door open and walk right into the hall. And then I yelp because Brandon’s standing by the wall, arms crossed, eyes trained on me.

“ What are you doing?” I demand, breathless from the scare.

“We need to talk.”

I raise an eyebrow. “About?”

“You said you’d be nice.”

“I am being nice!” I hiss.

He takes a step closer—and, oh , I wish he wouldn’t. “What happened to you while you were away this fall? The Harper I know includes everyone. She’s bossy, a know-it-all, a little obnoxious at times?—”

“Hey—”

“But she’s always— always —kind.” He lowers his voice. “One of the nicest girls I know, in fact. Someone I usually admire very much.”

And, help me, my eyes begin to sting. I cross my arms and refuse to look at him.

“But since you came home at Thanksgiving, you’ve been surly, quiet, and downright venomous at times.” He bumps my shoulder. “Help me understand why, so I can fix it. What’s wrong? ”

I look back at him, ready to show him how venomous I can be. “You can’t fix it, Brandon.”

“Lauren says some idiot guy broke your heart. Is that true?”

The irony. It’s almost funny.

“Did she actually say idiot?”

Brandon grins. “I’m paraphrasing.”

“I’m fine, okay? I’ll try harder with Sadie.”

“Why won’t you tell me what happened?” He looks hurt enough it makes my heart ache. “We used to talk.”

He wants to talk about it? Fine.

“I fell for a guy, and he didn’t want me,” I say, stomping my emotions down and threatening them to stay put. “There’s nothing more to it. It happens.”

Brandon mutters a word that’s a lot more colorful than idiot . “How could anyone not want you? You’re perfect and beautiful and smart…” he trails off, perhaps realizing just like I have that we’ve drifted a little too close together.

My heart races, and my brain starts screaming. What’s happening?

“He picked some other girl,” I whisper, as close to admitting the truth as I am able. “And…I’m finding it difficult…to be nice to her.”

Brandon’s eyes dart down the hall, toward the voices in the kitchen. His face is shadowed with questions—or rather, one question. One very important question.

“Harper—”

And I’ll never know what he was going to say because my dear, darling sister starts shrieking like a banshee from across the house.