Chapter 2

Two

MARIA

L emons. There are so many lemons. For the last month, twenty pounds of lemons have been left daily on my doorstep. Today is no exception. The four yellow mesh bags of lemons stacked against the white door of my apartment have become a familiar sight. I know exactly who is responsible for them. Even if I only have myself to blame for his inspiration.

"I'll call you back," I tell Charlotte. "I have lemons to deal with."

She laughs. "Lou again?"

"Of course, it's him," I tell her.

She laughs again. "I'll see you soon, I'm leaving now to pick you up for book club."

I hang up and slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. Today's been a long enough day without having to deal with this. I should have known though really.

I let out a deep breath of frustration, and after shifting the bag of groceries I'd carried home to my other hip, unlocked my apartment door.

"Problem?" He says from behind me.

I don't even need to turn to look to know who it is, but I do anyway. I grip my bag of groceries tighter, so I'm not tempted to throw one of the apples I'd purchased earlier at him. He stands there in a plain black tee and dark-washed jeans. The shirt is just tight enough to emphasize the muscles on his arms and chest, but loose enough on his stomach I'm not sure how many abs he has. It's for the best really, this way I can pretend he has none. His jeans have to be custom, there's no way his thigh muscles could fit in normal jeans. Playing hockey has made him a formidable wall of muscle on the ice. Not that I watch him specifically when I watch hockey I remind myself. With two of my friends now in relationships with members of the team, I've been able to watch games live with them instead of listening or watching a replay online.

Lou Hoffman.

My next-door neighbor, my nemesis, and the reason Left Wing Lemon Bars sell so well at my bakery. The Glacier Bay hockey fans have been swarming my shop ever since they found out the players on the team will sometimes eat there. The lemons though...I'm running out of things to do with them.

Before the daily lemon drops, I'd use maybe ten or twelve lemons for my daily baked goods. Three batches of lemon bars, and a batch of lemon poppyseed muffins didn't require more than ten pounds. It all depended on the lemons and how much juice they had. While I was glad the expense of the lemons was no longer an issue, I hated to see food go to waste.

But customers only bought so many things with lemon. I'd added lemon tarts, lemon cake, and lemon sandwich cookies to my shelves just to try and use up all of the lemons. None of which counted the lemonade waiting for me in my apartment fridge. Because 'When life gives you lemons' that's what my grandmother always told me to make.

In my spare time I'd started trying to perfect the perfect lemonade recipe. I'd once had lemonade with Hannah at her place, and it had been the best-tasting lemonade I'd ever had. When I'd asked for the recipe, she'd smiled and told me Lou made it and I could ask him for the recipe. Then she'd had the audacity to smile behind her cup because she knew that I'd rather lift my shop ban on him than ask him for that.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Tipping my head back so he can see my glare at him. "I hear the competition for village idiot is starting downtown."

His stupidly handsome face remains unfazed. Not even his square jaw clenches, and there's not even a hint of a brow lifting. He's completely unbothered by my retort. Although there is a spark of something in his honey eyes.

"I don't have a membership for such things. Good to know you do."

My jaw drops at his implication. "I most certainly do not."

He lifts his broad shoulders in a casual shrug, "How else would you know where they're competing?"

"Why do you have to be so—" my brain struggles for a word to complete the insult, "just, ugh!"

He wins this round of insults and I hate him all the more for it. I turn my back to him and have to set down my bag of groceries in order to open my apartment door.

I'm careful as I step next to the lemons so I don't accidentally step on them. Grandmother would roll over in her grave if I wasted produce.

"Need a hand?" Lou asks me.

"Take all the lemons you want," I tell him.

"Oh, I couldn't." He places a hand on his muscled chest like a good Southern woman steadying herself from a shock. His eyes are wide as he says, "I wouldn't know the first thing to do with them."

"Well you buy them often enough you should," I told him.

He most certainly did know something to do with lemons, because there had been that infamous day we'd first met in the produce aisle, that he conveniently pretended didn't happen. I know though and I'm not going to forget about it anytime soon. He can ignore the incident all he wants, but he'll live to regret it. I'll make him as many lemon desserts as it takes to refresh his memory.

He drops the mockery of shock and barely hides his snicker as he says, "Just trying to ensure I get my lemon bars."

"I should ban you from those too," I mutter under my breath.

Lou is on my banned customer list. Unfortunately, my best friend Lia took pity on Lou and since she's engaged to his friend and teammate, she didn't enforce the ban. Lemon bars are the only thing I allow Lou to have now and even those were supposed to be an insult reminding him of the day we met. A day he pretends not to remember.

The day in the supermarket when we'd reached for the last bag of lemons at the same time, only his hockey reflexes were much faster and his arms much longer than mine. I'd been so startled by his hulking handsomeness I'd sputtered some half-coherent offer to split the bag. Then the store clerk threatened to call security on me.

I hang my purse on the hook next to the door and put my keys on the hook next to that. Turning back for the lemons, I find Lou has picked up all of them. He's holding two bags in each hand.

"Where do you want these?" He asks.

"I'll take them." I move to take a bag out of his hand, my hands barely touch the closest bag.

"Maria."

The sound of him saying my name, makes me pause, and I stare at my hands.

"Where do you want me to put them?"

Of course, he'll only do what he wants to do. Why would he even care what I want?

Pulling my hands away, I straighten my shoulders and stand up straight. "The kitchen would be great."

I step aside, and he enters my apartment and strides past my couch for the kitchen. I close my apartment door quickly and follow behind him. He places the bags on the square table big enough for four normal-sized humans. Lou makes the oak table look like it was made for kids because he has to have all the muscles to skate around the ice. I can only imagine how much bigger he must look with all the pads on.

He looks around the room since it's the first and only time I'll be letting him in. I immediately wonder what he's thinking and second-guess my choice of decor when I notice him staring at the bright color accents. The lease didn't let me make more drastic changes or there would be more color on my walls. Instead, I'd settled for red hand towels, blue and green dishes, and a painting from my cousin leaned up against the wall waiting for when I'd get around to hanging it up. But the counters are clean, and the dishes are clean.

I point at my kitchen table. "You can put the lemons there."

The bags of lemons thud on the table as he drops them onto it.

"Careful!" I chastise him and hurry to put my groceries on the counter so I can save the lemons from his mistreatment.

"What are those?" Lou asks me.

Turning to look I see him pointing at the corner with an old wooden bookshelf I'd inherited from my grandmother. It's full of my homemade vanilla and cinnamon extracts as they wait to be used in my bakery. It's my secret weapon in my goal towards getting a blue ribbon. An award like that will finally show my parents that I'm not wasting my time and money.

"Nothing," I tell him.

His expression lets me know that he doesn't accept my answer, but that doesn't mean that I'll be giving him anything more. For a moment we're in a silent standoff, and I let it grow awkward as I wait for him to fold to the pressure. Instead, he simply continues looking around my kitchen, taking it all in, and then his focus zeros in on the plate of cookies in a clear container on the counter. The Mexican wedding cookies are covered in powdered sugar, and I watch his gorgeous honey-brown eyes as they transform from calculating to pleading.

With those puppy-dog eyes staring at me he asks, "Are those cookies?"

"Yes." I tell him. Steeling myself for the inevitable ask.

"May I have one?" he asks.

"They're for book club," I tell him as I smile sweetly up at him. "Sorry, members only."

"The same book club my sister is a part of?"

The calculating look is back in his eyes, and my curiosity wants to find out what he's thinking. Did he think I was making the book club up as an excuse to deny him cookies?

"Yes," I say hesitantly. "That's the one."

"Well since she's moved I volunteer to eat her portion. Wouldn't want you to have cookies go to waste."

"They don't go to waste." I protest. "Any extras I usually send home with someone."

"Well I'm someone, and they can go home with me. I promise to give them a good home and offer them the respect a cookie of their caliber deserves. I can even provide references to attest to my capability of appreciating good food."

"Oh no you don't." I plant my hands on my hips. "You are not going to use your trickery or flirtiness to get my cookies."

"Flirtiness?" His eyes go big and innocent, and then he leans in close.

He's so close that I can tell he smells of lemons and feel his breath on my ear, and my face starts to get hot. For all that I say against Lou, there's no denying that if I had to pick the hottest hockey player on the team, he'd be it. Hands down, no questions, Lou is one of the most handsome men I've ever seen, but his personality had to go and ruin it.

He whispers, "Is this how you flirt Maria? Because it could use some work. Although I'd be happy to discuss it over a plate of cookies."

I can feel steam ready to burst from my ears like a cartoon character. Stomping my foot, I point towards the front door. "Out."

He backs away slowly with his hands lifted in surrender, "I'm just trying to try some of the incredible food I know you make. It's not fair that all my friends and teammates get to have some and I don't."

"You know darn well that you are banned from my food." I'd feel bad for the ban, except that he totally earned it.

The calculating gleam is back in his intelligent eyes. "A ban you haven't enforced on my lemon bars so it doesn't make sense to ban me from everything else."

"An error I promise to correct," I tell him, adding extra emphasis to the word promise.

He sighs heavily, and if I thought the pleading puppy-dog eyes were difficult to resist, the hurt in his eyes almost makes me want to reconsider. Until I remind myself that he's the reason I didn't get the blue ribbon the day we met. I start looking for something to throw at him, and strongly consider picking up a bag of the lemons.

"I don't know why you hate me so much, Maria. I hardly deserve it."

My teeth are still grinding together by the time he's walked out my door and I hear the door to his apartment close. Of course, he doesn't think he deserves it. He's too self-absorbed to see the harm he leaves behind him. I open one of the bags of lemons to start checking for bruising. The fruit is an innocent victim of Lou's actions, just like me.

B ook club night is just what I need to take my mind off of the pile of lemons and the hot hockey player next door. Charlotte listens to me rant during the drive to the bookstore.

"My flirtiness Charlotte. He said I needed to work on my flirtiness."

She's smirking as she checks her rearview mirror and pulls out into traffic. "And how, pray tell, were you flirting with him?"

"I wasn't." I throw my hands up in the air and almost knock the container of cookies off my lap.

"Easy there. I want to try those."

"They'll taste just fine. Focus."

"Oh I'm focusing on the fact that you got into it with your hot neighbor again. Tell me again why the two of you haven't just given into the crazy chemistry you have?"

"There is no chemistry. Just pure hatred."

"Which is why you make him special lemon bars every day."

"What else am I supposed to do with the lemons?"

She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. "Maria, really?"

The car behind us honks, and I look up to see the light we'd stopped at has turned green.

"Eyes on the road!" I yell at her. "I don't even have a license and even I know that."

She shakes her head and with a wave to the car behind us and continues driving.

"He's just so aggravating," I tell her. "He gets lemon bars because he sucks."

"At what point does the Shakespeare quote about protesting apply?" Charlotte asks.

"Oh, shush."

"I'm just saying if you really hated him, you'd really cut him off from your bakery. As long as you keep making him those lemon bars, no one is going to believe you really hate him. If anything it makes it look like you have a huge crush on him."

My mouth falls open. "I so do not."

"It's like when I was in high school and would happen to have an extra grape pop on me during prep because I knew that Xavier O'Reilly liked it."

"This is nothing like that."

"Well if you two end up together I want the credit."

"I'll put it on a cake."

"Deal." She pulls her car into the bookstore's parking lot. "Just think about it. If you really don't like him and really don't want to sell to him, don't make him special."

She's completely right, and I tell her so, "You're right. It's about time I ban him from the bakery for real."

By the time we step inside The Book Garden, I leave thoughts of Lou behind. Instead, I set out the plate of Mexican wedding cookies I'd made.

Sofie comes over with cups to put by a pitcher of ice water on the table. "Oh are those in honor of the book we read?"

"That obvious?" I ask her.

"Well, it was a marriage of convenience book. The wedding was a big part of the story."

Lia snags one of the cookies off the plate. "But that would never happen in real life."

I can't help but lift an eyebrow as I stare at her. "Just a fake engagement?" I ask her.

"That was different." Lia's cheeks turn red, and she turns to Charlotte for saving. "You don't think someone would get married for an outrageous inheritance do you?"

Charlotte's eyes go big. "Why would you think I know what the rich do?"

Kim lets out a laugh as she sits down in one of the plush chairs arranged for the book club. A mixture of coffee tables and new end tables are within reach for us to put our snacks and drinks on, and we set up a laptop for Hannah to video call in. She joins in person whenever she can, but living in a different state makes it harder.

Kim sweeps her brown hair over her shoulder without a second thought. "If my mother could have, she would have married me off in some business deal. Brad too, if he hadn't fallen for Beth."

I stare at them in wonder. "But the inheritance clause thing. Surely that's not real."

"Maybe not on the technicalities," Charlotte answers. "But if there's a legal way to, there are people out there that do."

Sofie's expression turns sad. "It's so depressing. To think that people would rather their kids be miserable than to let them marry for love and happiness. It should be happy."

"Well life isn't a fairytale," Charlotte says. "So I think I'll keep trying to make my own dreams come true."

"As we all should," I agree.

"I have some news," Sofie says when Hannah is on the screen. "My bookstore is expanding to include a full cafe. My husband bought out the business next door so we'll have an official book club space and I won't need to rearrange chairs. He's even invested in the most comfortable chairs for reading and there will be room for more shelves too."

"How long will the store be closed for renovations?" I ask. Renovations for when I'd been opening my bakery had taken forever and almost put my bakery under before it even began.

"Oh, the biggest change is combining with the cafe next door, and the contractor said they'd put up a temporary wall so they can get everything done without the bookstore needing to be closed for more than a couple of days. He'll save the noisy stuff for when the store isn't busy so customers aren't too disturbed."

"Does that mean the store will be closed during book club?" Beth asks. "Or is the book club space going to be a private space?"

"I haven't finalized all the details with the contractor yet. Just that I wanted it to be easy for someone to walk between the cafe and bookstore. I'm hoping I can put a room in just for book club."

Sofie turns to me. "I also want to put in a display for baked goods, and I'm hoping you'll agree to make it."

"Of course!" I tell her. "When you're ready we can discuss the specifics."

Sofie relaxed visibly. "Good. It's a lot of change, but I'm excited to be able to offer a space for other book lovers to gather."

We dive into the story after that. Love and honor, wealth and happiness. The women in the room with me are powerhouses and I'm amazed by each and every one of them. Beth works for a billionaire and practically runs his business. Kim built a life for herself after being widowed young, Sofie owns the best bookstore, and I could go on as I look at Lia, Hannah, and Charlotte. I'll get there someday, and once my business is secure, and I'll reach my goals, then I'll worry about a love life and a family of my own.