6

Britta

Now…

“White is my enemy,” Darcy says, wiping her floured hands on the apron tied around her waist and neck. “Seriously. If it’s pristine and white, you can count on me getting it dirty. Probably not an ideal interior color for this place.”

I chuckle at my client. “Listen, white’s not my friend, either. But have no fear; we can make this space bright and bubbly without a stitch of white on the walls. In fact”—I turn toward the bakery’s largest wall and run a hand across its surface—“I feel like patterned wallpaper would look amazing on this side. Then we can hang some floating shelves, a couple of chalkboards with the specials, and voila!”

Darcy’s wide-eyed gaze roams over the space as if she’s envisioning my suggestion. “I think that could work.” Her gaze lowers to mine and she smiles. “I can’t thank you enough for being willing to bring this place to life. I’m a whiz at baked goods, but design is not my forte.”

“I’m happy to do it.” Reaching into my portfolio, I grab the swatches I brought for her to check out. “Why don’t you take a look at some of these wallpaper samples and color swatches, then let me know what you think. Hang onto them for a couple of days, maybe tape them to the wall and see which you prefer.”

Darcy’s expression lights up as she glances over the array of design options. “Wow, you came prepared.”

“I try to,” I say with a laugh. “It’s easier when the client is like you and trusts me to go with my gut on design choices.”

“Oh, absolutely!” She moves to touch one of the swatches, then catches herself. “Don’t worry, I won’t go all grabby hands with these until I wash my hands.” She holds up her floury fingers, wiggling them back and forth, as she skips over to the sink.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I slip it out to see who texted me, Liss’s name lights up the screen.

“All right, well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” I call to Darcy, then push the snap closed on my portfolio. “Let’s talk on Monday.”

“Wait! Don’t forget the cupcakes!”

Wincing, I make a quick turn and grab the special dessert for tonight, thanking her as I scoot out the door. I dial Liss back as soon as I’m walking toward my car.

“Hey, you,” she answers on the second ring.

“Hey, got your text.”

“So…” she croons, drawing out the o. “What do you think?”

“I think my little niece or nephew is going to be spoiled rotten by his or her daddy.”

Liss’s laugh echoes through phone. “It’s going to be a problem.”

“By the looks of his latest purchase, it already is.”

“Hey,” A.J.’s voice sounds in the background. “I heard that.”

I roll my eyes, just loving the way my bestie always lets her man listen in on our conversations…Not.

“I’m just saying,” I say, hopping off the curb when I reach my small, sensible hatchback. “You don’t even know if this kid will be musical yet, and you went and spent a buttload of money on a musical instrument he or she might not be interested in playing.”

I’m careful to keep my tone as neutral as possible so neither one of them picks up on the truth of their baby’s gender. It’s an honor to be trusted with such classified information as the designated party planner.

“Oh, come on, Britta,” A.J. says. “All toddlers love banging on a set of drums, most just start with their parents’ pots and pans.”

I chuckle, drop into the driver’s seat, and stick my key into the ignition. “While that may be true, I still think it’s a bit premature. Besides, who’s going to teach the little one how to play?” I pull out of the parking space and onto the street. “Are you a secret musical genius?”

“Cash plays the drums,” Liss pipes up.

Images of a head-banging Cash, his long, dark hair flipping back and forth as he bangs away on a drum set, fly through my mind. Why am I not surprised that he plays the drums? And why does this knowledge make him so much hotter?

I bite my lip as one particular mental picture of a hot and sweaty, shirtless version of Cash proves just how deft he is with a pair of drumsticks.

“Earth to Britta?”

I blink away the image and realize I’ve been sitting at a green light. A quick glance in my rearview tells me there aren’t any angry drivers waiting on me.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

Liss breathes an airy laugh. “I said that I took the phone off speaker, so A.J. is no longer eavesdropping. You went completely silent when I mentioned Cash. Figured maybe you were fighting off a few choice words. I made him leave before you tore his best friend to shreds.”

I sigh as I take a left turn toward Liss’s. She’d probably freak if she knew that I was fantasizing about A.J.’s friend instead of sending him silent threats.

“It’s not that,” I say, hoping she doesn’t somehow detect in my voice that there was more going on in my head. “I don’t hate Cash, I just…” At a loss for words as usual when it comes to him, I pause, thinking over how to phrase what I want to say so it doesn’t upset her.

“I wish I knew what it was that made you dislike him.” Liss’s soft-spoken statement sends a wave of guilt rolling over me. “I know he can be blunt and borderline rude sometimes, but Cash is sweet once you get to know him.”

I suppress another sigh. “I’m sure you’re right.”

If only Liss knew how well I actually do know him. I mean, we’ve never had a super long conversation or anything, but our lips have touched, which feels pretty flippin’ intimate to me. I know the way he smells, the way he kisses, even how perfect his hands feel on my body.

But how could I ever bring myself to tell her the truth of how we met? If Cash doesn’t remember our meet-and-greet, why would I want to draw attention to it? It’s just another example of how I always want the wrong guy. The guy who doesn’t want me back. If I told her, and she told A.J….

Nope. not doing it.

“So anyway, about tonight,” I say, hoping we can sweep all mentions of Cash right under the proverbial rug. “The cupcakes from Darcy’s look amazing. I’ve never seen a snowboard this tiny, but it’s adorable.”

Liss squeals. “I can’t wait to see them! And the pink stilettos?”

“Also tiny and adorable.”

She squeals again, and I laugh, loving how excitable this pregnancy has made my usually stoic friend. Liss has never been overly emotional, but marriage and pregnancy look good on her.

“Can’t wait to see your faces when you finally know the baby’s gender,” I say, rubbing in the fact that I know, and they don’t. Auntie’s prerogative.

A shuffling sound comes through the line, like Liss is switching the phone to her other ear. “A.J. is convinced it’s a girl.”

“I know.” I take the exit that leads to the interstate. “You still thinking it’s a boy?”

She lets out a heavy sigh, and I imagine her sitting back to rub her growing bump like she’s done so much as of late. “I don’t know anymore…I used to think it was, but with all my cravings for sweets lately, I’m starting to rethink my original guess.”

“Well, either way, it’ll be a beautiful baby.” I pause a second to focus on merging. Drivers these days act like they have a personal vendetta against tiny cars trying to access the freeway.

“You and A.J. have movie star genes. Viv told me she’s already drafting a modeling agency contract for when someone approaches you about getting your baby into showbiz.”

Liss giggles, and I smile, insisting, “I’m serious, Viv says she’s going to be his or her manager someday.”

“You guys are nuts.”

“Nuts about you, my love. Be there in fifteen, okay?”

“See you then.” Liss ends the call, and I mentally run through the list of decorations, checking off each item as I go.

Once I’m satisfied that I didn’t forget something, I turn on my Still Single at Thirty but Kickin’ Butt Anyway playlist to get myself pumped up for yet another family gathering where “Uncle Cash” is present.

Even if I did have the guts to tell Vivian and Liss about the make out, they’d likely make some excuse for why he acted like he’d never met me before that day in the café.

But there is no excuse, no logical reason, that could convince me that Cash is worth my time. He either forgot about me or doesn’t want to acknowledge our true first meeting, so that’s that. He already took up enough of my headspace when I pined for him for months without really knowing who he was. There’s no reason for him to take up any more now that I do know him and want nothing to do with him. Or his deft, drum-playing hands.

So there.

I’ll just do what I always do when we’re forced to be together: Smile and act like my entire life is a party. Pretend I don’t want to crawl into a hole every time he looks my way. And ignore everything he says.

Easy peasy.

In minutes, I’m pulling up to A.J. and Liss’s new home, conveniently located right down the street from Cash’s house. His beautiful, too-big-for-a-guy-who-lives-alone house. I park my car in the driveway, along with the other few vehicles that are already there, and wince when I slam my car door a little too hard.

Get it together, Britt.

I pop the trunk and start piling the bags from the party store onto my arms, determined to get it all in one trip. Except there are probably at least twelve bags here and only one me. Plus, I have to get the cupcakes…

Throwing caution to the wind, I finagle four bags on one arm. So far, so good. I then try to do the same to my other arm, but the other bags are too bulky and full to allow for another to fit beside them.

Unwilling to admit defeat, I bend down into my trunk and try to scoop my head through the bag holes. If I could just get the handles around my neck…

“Need some help there?”

I freeze at the sound of that voice. His voice . The one I’ve tried to forget a thousand times since I found out who he was.

And then I realize he’s got a front-row seat to my too-round-to-say-I-do-spin class-three-times-a-week backside.

Straightening a little too quickly, I throw myself off balance. Lucky for me, Mr. Handsy is there to catch me.

“I’m good,” I say, spinning away from his touch.

“You sure?” Cash raises that one, pierced eyebrow of his, all judgy-like. I wish I was the kind of girl who hated piercings. Maybe if I convince myself that I loathe them enough times, my brain will start to believe it.

I hate this man’s piercings. I hate this man’s piercings. I hate—

“Because it looked like you were trying to fit that last bag onto your head.” Cash’s smooth voice cuts through my mental chant. I cut my gaze to his.

“I was trying to fit it around my neck , thank you very much.”

“Ah, I see.” His dark gaze flits to the last bag sitting in my trunk. “That makes…way more sense.”

I so badly want to huff and stomp away, but I refuse to look any more childish than I already do in front of him. Time to pull up my big girl panties and pretend the playlist I blared on the way here is the background music for this about to be epic moment.

“Listen,” I say with a the most smug grin I can offer. “I’m a master at carrying bags. I once carried twenty at a time.” That’s most definitely an exaggeration, but he doesn’t need to know it.

“I’m sure you are, but these look pretty full.” He taps one of the bigger bags draped over my arms and I nearly wobble as the weight shifts.

“It’s fine, really,” I insist. “I got this.”

He steps back and gives the lone bag one last look. “You look perfectly capable, but please let me be a gentleman and help you.”

“Whatever.” I scoff and roll my eyes. “Fine. There are cupcakes in the backseat. You can grab those.”

He does exactly that, then without waiting for me to accept his help, he grabs the bag from my trunk and gently shuts the lid.

“I could’ve gotten that,” I say, trekking up the front steps. “I’m a strong, independent wom- aaaah !” The toe of my shoe catches on the top step, and I go flying. With exactly eleven bags full of gender-reveal decorations.