2. Juliet

2

JULIET

U p until about two seconds ago, I thought I was doing the right thing. I had accepted the future that life had offered me. I'd made up my mind to be grateful for the wedding that I was going to have in two months—even if I wasn't in love.

Now, suddenly, my choice feels like a horrible mistake.

I know this doesn't make any sense. Feeling attracted to a man I just laid eyes on for the first time doesn't mean I should call off my engagement. But I've never felt like this before. Not toward my fiancé Eric, not toward anyone.

God, this feeling . It's like fireworks going off all over my skin.

The big, burly baker standing in front of me slowly nods in reply to my question about whether he bakes wedding cakes.

"I do," he says. "I don't have any cake samples available right now, but if you come back in a few days, I can give you a little bit of everything to try."

"Oh, you don't have to do all that for me," I insist.

The baker's smile makes him even more attractive. It's the kind of smile that also comes through in his gorgeously blue eyes. "I'm baking a fresh batch of cakes anyway. It's no trouble."

"Well, okay. Then…sure. That would be lovely."

"Can you come by on Thursday around four?"

I find myself nodding without thinking. Then, coming to my senses, I quickly shake my head. "I work until five."

"That works, too. Just come on over when you're done."

"Okay. Thank you." I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder, jittery with this brand new feeling I'm not used to. "I'm Juliet, by the way."

The warmth in his eyes deepens. "It's wonderful to meet you, Juliet. My name's Shaw."

I'm still in a daze as I walk away from the bakery. I don't know how to make sense of what just happened. I've always wanted to believe in love at first sight, but after almost thirty years of life experience, I had concluded that it didn't exist.

But now…well, I don't know what to think.

I sink into the driver's seat of my car and spread my hand out in front of me, staring at the diamond engagement ring on my finger. The ring is too much, too flashy. I told Eric that I would be more comfortable with something more subtle. But he just laughed and said I was the only girl in the world who would complain about a diamond being too big.

Eric isn't a bad guy. In fact, he's exactly the kind of person my parents always hoped I would marry. He's generous, good-looking, driven, and smart.

But there's no real attraction between us. That much has been blatantly clear from the moment I met him. Even holding hands with him feels forced, and the handful of kisses we've shared have been passionless, to say the least.

I was shocked when he asked me to marry him. I was bracing myself to be broken up with, not proposed to. But even though his proposal made my stomach clench, I said yes. With no other romantic options in sight, it felt like it was the best and only option.

As I drive over to my parents' house, I try my best to put all of the confusing thoughts about the gorgeous baker out of my head. By the time I arrive, I'm feeling…a little better. My mom's warm greeting when I walk into the house reminds me why the current direction of my life is for the best. Ever since Eric and I got engaged, she's been in a good mood.

"Hi, honey," she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek before returning to the pot roast she's preparing. "Any luck with the cake?"

"I'm going back in a few days to do a taste test," I tell her, helping myself to a glass of wine from the open bottle sitting on the counter.

"Wait! Don't drink that. It's only good for cooking. I'll open up a nicer bottle in a minute."

"It's okay, Mom. I'm good with this." I take a sip, and sure enough, I can't tell the difference between this wine and the more expensive bottles that she and my dad prefer. "Can I help with anything?"

"You can open the oven door for me in a minute, if you wouldn't mind."

After I help her get the pot roast into the oven, I notice my mom look anxiously at the clock on the kitchen wall.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"I just hope I didn't put it in too late," she says.

"It's not a big deal if we eat dinner a little late."

My mom shakes her head. "The Kristoffs are coming over."

"They are?" It shouldn't jar me to hear that my fiancé and his parents are joining us for dinner. But I thought tonight was going to be one of our usual family dinners, just my parents and myself. "Oh. Okay. I didn't know."

"We're all going to be family soon," my mom says, throwing a smile my way as she pulls out more ingredients from the fridge. "It's only right that we start spending more time together."

Eric and his parents arrive just as my mom is pulling the pot roast out of the oven. I greet my fiancé and future in-laws at the door. Eric kisses my cheek hello and then goes off to find my dad, saying something about a business deal that he wants to get my dad's opinion about.

I finish setting the dining table and help my mom bring out the food. When the guys come in, Eric looks pleased with how his conversation with my dad went. I'm glad to see that. My dad isn't always the easiest person to get along with. I take a seat and Eric sits beside me, with our parents filling in the rest of the chairs.

The meal that follows is perfectly pleasant, at first. Dishes are passed around; the conversation naturally flows from topic to topic. Eric's dad tells a funny story about a leadership retreat he just got back from, and everyone compliments my mom on the food.

But then my mom brings out the tiramisu she made especially for tonight, and because it's my favorite dessert, I help myself to a generous portion. And that's when I catch Eric's mom, Ellen, giving my plate a disapproving look.

It only lasts a second, but it's undeniable. Especially when I see how small of a portion she takes for herself.

"Oh, take more, Ellen!" my mom insists.

"No, no. This is plenty," Ellen says, smiling. "I need to watch my weight if I'm going to fit into the dress I bought for the wedding."

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but that comment sure feels aimed at me.

"I'm sure you'll look beautiful no matter what," my mom says.

Ellen picks up her coffee cup and takes a small sip. "Speaking of dresses, I can't wait to see you in yours, Juliet."

I'm in the middle of taking a bite of tiramisu when she says that. I swallow too quickly, have a brief coughing fit, and then awkwardly say, "I'm looking forward to wearing it."

"What an exciting time," Ellen says with a happy sigh. "Our babies are getting married. Before we know it, they'll be having babies of their own."

A disconcerting feeling rushes through me. I do want to have kids. I've always known that. But now that I know who I'm going to have them with…I don't know. I guess I don't feel as excited about it anymore. Is that terrible?

I glance over at my fiancé, who also looks ready for a change in the topic of conversation.

"This is wonderful tiramisu, Mrs. Carson," he says.

My mom beams. "Thank you, Eric."

Later, as the Kristoffs are leaving, I tell Eric about the taste test I have scheduled at the bakery on Thursday, and ask if he's interested in joining me. Eric has been pretty hands-off with the wedding planning so far, so I'm not surprised when he shakes his head no.

"That's all right, I don't think I need to be there," he says. "I'll be happy with whatever you choose."

"Are you sure? What if I end up choosing confetti cake?" I joke.

He laughs. "Like I said, I trust your decision. You have good taste."

And then he gives me a quick peck on the cheek goodbye, a kiss that's so quick I'm not even sure if it comes in contact with my cheek.

I spend my entire shift at the bookstore on Thursday waiting for five o'clock to roll around. One of my co-workers, Heather, even teases me about how often I keep checking the time.

"It's nice to see you so excited about your wedding, Juliet," she says, grinning at me as we set up a new book display in the shop's front window. "I was starting to wonder if you even wanted to get married."

Her words send guilt coursing through me, but I laugh it off. "Of course I want to get married."

"You should tell your fiancé to come by sometime. I'd love to meet him."

"I'll try."

"He's not much of a reader, huh?"

I shrug. "Not really."

"I get it. My boyfriend doesn't even read instructions." Heather laughs, glances around, then leans closer to me. "At least tell me your fiancé is good in bed."

"Uh…to be determined, actually."

Heather gapes at me. "What? Oh, are you saving yourself for marriage?"

"No. It just hasn't happened yet."

"Wait. Let me get this straight. You're not saving yourself, but you're also about to commit to a lifetime with a man and you don't even know if you're compatible in bed?"

"I'm sure it will be fine."

" What ? No, no, no. Juliet. Listen to me. This is not something you want to gamble on."

"Heather, I appreciate your concern, but it's not a big deal."

She shakes her head vehemently. "No, it is. Look, I realize that it's none of my business, it's your sex life, but—" She cuts herself off to smile at a passing customer, waiting for the other woman to walk away before her attention snaps back to me. "Trust me about this. Sex is about so much more than just sex. If the two of you don't connect on that level, you're really going to be missing out."

I rearrange the books I've been fussing with for too long. "Yeah. I know."

"Sorry," she says, frowning. "No, of course you do. I don't need to tell you that."

"It's okay."

"Well, I hope for your sake that he's a wonder between the sheets," she says, winking as she hands me a fresh stack of books.

At last, five o'clock arrives. I'm immediately out the door and on my way to see Shaw. My feet don't slow until I'm a block away from the bakery, when I stop to check my reflection and make sure my hair and makeup looks okay.

I should have worn a different outfit, I think, tugging at a spot that's too tight on me. No. Stop it, Juliet. It doesn't matter what you're wearing. Cut it out.

Taking a calming breath, I walk up to the bakery door, where a Closed sign hangs. I knock on the glass pane and feel my heartbeat pick up as Shaw's large figure approaches from the other side.

"Hi, Juliet," he says, greeting me with a warm smile as he opens the door. "Come on in."

Part of me has been hoping that I'll no longer find Shaw attractive. It would be so much easier that way. But when I look at him, all those feelings of desire that I felt the first time we met immediately rush through me again. I'm helplessly attracted to his big muscular build, his strong flour-dusted hands, his thick caramel-colored hair, his striking blue eyes—but, more than anything, the way he's smiling at me is what really weakens my knees.

It feels like a smile that's meant only for me.

Clearly, I'm out of my mind. I'm sure this is how Shaw smiles at everyone. He's just a sweet guy.

But as I step into his bakery, it sure doesn't feel like I'm just another customer.