The Baker's Bad Boy (Get Wilde Book 2) Read online

  Somehow, Adam has read my mind. The two layers are on two different rotating cake stands, ready to go.

  “I found them while you were mixing. I hope that’s okay that I moved the cake.”

  “Yeah, I just—” He’s even slipped on a pair of gloves, which he peels off and throws in the garbage. Then he heads back to the sink to wash his hands.

  I confront the cake.

  I’ll start with the lattice pattern on the third layer.

  The moment I start to pipe on the frosting, my nerves settle and my shoulders relax down into their sockets. This is what I’ve always loved—this detail, the tiny movements that create beauty.

  Down, down, down. The lines come easily now, after having done so many. One inch apart, even as can be, all the way around the cake.

  I reach the end and then start back in the opposite direction.

  “Hey.”

  His voice is warm and deep but rises slowly, like he’s trying his best not to startle me.

  “Yeah?”

  I don’t take my eyes off the cake, but I feel him standing close by.

  “This other layer—it’s got little dots on it. You have to put all those on once you’re done with this?”

  I can’t help the tiniest sigh.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “I can do that.”

  I pull the piping bag away from the cake and look him in the eyes. They glitter in the light of the kitchen but his mouth is set, serious.

  “You know cake decorating?”

  “I’m a fast learner.” The corner of his mouth quirks in a smile that makes me want to lean in and press my lips against his, the hell with this cake.

  I put my own piping bag down with a smile I can’t hide and go over to the widest, longest drawer in the kitchen, pulling out a smaller piping bag with a connector and a number one decorating tip with a round end.

  I fill the bag, connect it, and present it to Adam with both hands.

  He takes it into his big hands and tests it on a scrap of cardboard I was using earlier to get some cupcake decorations just right.

  “And these are just…dots where the line intersects?”

  “Yes, but—”

  His laugh is a low rumble, but he lets me put my hands over his, demonstrating the right size for the dots, the right pressure, the right motion.

  Where our skin touches is like a pleasant fire, and I can feel him pressing his hand against mine just a little more than absolutely necessary. Something deep in my core goes to liquid heat, and I bite my lip.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What?”

  I jerk my hand away from his, then bring it to my face, stopping just inches before I touch my skin.

  “You stopped moving.”

  “Oh—you’ve got it.” My cheeks go bright red again, and I snatch my own piping bag up from the table and turn my body toward the cake.

  Then Adam is next to me, closer than before, and it takes me three steadying breaths before I can go back to drawing the lattices.

  I can feel the heat radiating off his body—or is it mine?—as he reaches toward the cake with his piping bag, then starts making the Swiss dots where the lines intersect.

  He follows along behind me, the only sound in the kitchen our breathing. Mine is shallower. His is deep and steady.

  I finish before him and move across to the second layer, but before I refill the piping bag I take another look at him. His head is bowed. He’s concentrating hard on every single dot, his arms flexing beneath his black t-shirt.

  God, I want him so much.

  I just have one question that I can’t bring myself to speak out loud: why is he here?

  5

  The flower pattern is more intricate, but there are no Swiss dots to follow it with and so I throw myself into the work.

  I have less than an hour to go before this cake has to be at the country club, and who knows how long before Adam walks back out the door and I never see him again?

  Do I even want to see him again?

  The laughter of his friends, even from nine years ago, still echoes in my ears when I breathe in his scent.

  I’m halfway done with the smallest layer.

  Fifty minutes to go.

  It’s a fifteen minute drive to the country club if there’s no traffic.

  All of it comes back to me in waves. The day our eyes locked over the last oversized cookie, baked fresh by a jovial lunch lady. Adam Walker and I existed on different planes the social spectrum—he played basketball, for God’s sake, and I was in just about every club you could imagine. I ran cross country. There wasn’t much prestige.

  But that day, he saw me.

  He didn’t have as many tattoos then, but he had some, just beginning to snake down his arm. Was it true that his parents took him to get them? Was it true he had the best dad in the whole school, who didn’t mind a little recklessness out of his son? I never knew.

  All I knew was that when he looked at me like that, my heart went crazy.

  We stood there in that crystalline moment until he shattered it by speaking in that smooth voice of his.

  “It’s yours, Val.”

  Nobody called me Val except my best friends and my parents. The intimacy of it took my breath away.

  My instincts took over. “You sure? I’m more than willing to share.” Then I gave him a grin like I’ve never felt on my face before or since.

  “We’d have to be together to share this.”

  I’d scanned the cafeteria, alive with people stuffing their faces. “Two empty seats. Right there.”

  Then, before he’d had the chance to change his mind I scooped up the plate from the table and moved toward the register to pay for it, not looking back, my heart in my throat. If he didn’t follow me…

  But he did. He did follow me, and he took more than his half, and he laughed at my jokes.

  Everything was like that, surging with a wild energy that grew more powerful by the day. I met him after practice and he’d take me to Lookout Point and kiss me hard, hold my hand tight in his grip, but we never ever talked about being together.

  That night outside the gym….

  I’d texted him. It was thirty minutes before the big game but he sensed the urgency in my tone and came out the back, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

  That was when I said it. “I want to be with you.”

  “Val?” His voice was soft, wondering.

  “I want to be with you. Not sneaking around like this. With you. A couple.”

  He’d given me that wicked grin and pulled me close to him, whispering into my hair: “I want that too. I want that too.”

  At the time, I’d taken it to be a promise.

  And then the door opened.

  The last line on the cake connects with the first part of the pattern and I’m jolted out of the memories. Shit, what time is it?

  Thirty minutes to go.

  Adam gently puts his piping bag onto the table and steps back, holding his hands out toward the cake. “For your approval.”

  I let out a laugh that sounds more hollow than I planned and lean in, spinning the cake slowly around.

  Every single Swiss dot is perfection.

  “Wow.”

  “You didn’t think I could do it?”

  I lift one shoulder an inch and turn back toward him with a little smile. “You never know.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Seems pretty risky to take a chance like this on a cake like that.”

  “I don’t see anyone else here to help.”

  He peers behind me, toward the empty storefront. “On Christmas Eve? Unlikely.”

  “Very unlikely.”

  That’s when it tumbles out of me before I can stuff the words back into my mouth.

  “So what are you doing here? On Christmas Eve? In my bakery?”

  His tone is lighthearted, but there’s something underneath that tugs at my heart. “What, a guy can’t visit a bakery on Christmas Eve?”

&n
bsp; “A guy who hasn’t spoken to me in nine years? Like you said…it’s unlikely.”

  Adam runs a hand through his hair. His eyes are locked on mine. I want to look away, look back toward the floor, but I don’t. This time, I’m not running away. I’m not that girl anymore.

  “About that.”

  6

  He takes in a breath, but the second he opens his mouth again I glance over his shoulder at the clock.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Adam whips around, looking for whatever it is that’s made my face go pale. “What is it?”

  “I have to leave. Right now.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “I’ll take it in the bakery truck. It’s around back.”

  “Okay.” He turns again. “Shouldn’t it go—”

  “The boxes are right here. Each tier goes in—”

  “I got it.”

  I whip my apron off and run to the sink, washing off the last of the excess frosting, and then move back toward the table. Adam is settling the top layer of the cake gently into one of the boxes emblazoned with my bakery’s logo on it like he’s done this a million times.

  I rush to his side and, with infinite care, separate the two largest layers. Inside a minute, we have them safely packed into the boxes, and I gather up the stands that will hold it all together once we get to the country club and shove them into a paper bag, slinging the handles onto the crook of my elbow.

  We. Like he’s going with me.

  This has been strange enough. I’m not going to let him—

  “Are you ready? Where’s your coat?”

  “I don’t need it.”

  I turn on my heel and head toward the kitchen door, the two heaviest boxes cradled in my arms. I don’t turn around until I get to the exit. Adam comes close behind, my black coat draped over his arm, the other two boxes held firmly in his hand.

  “In case you get cold.”

  There’s something so sweet in his voice that it brings me up short. Who is this man? It’s not the asshole who pushed me away in front of his friends nine years ago.

  My heart beats a little faster, but I’m not ready to let go of that yet. The wound is still pulsing just under the surface, and more words catch in my throat—but there’s no time.

  I pull open the door with the crook of my finger and Adam slips out, me a step behind.

  “Damn.”

  His whisper brings my gaze to the street, which is covered in a fine dusting of silent snow. It’s gorgeous—but I need it to stop, just for a few more minutes.

  I breathe in the cold, crisp air and get another hint of his scent and I nearly throw everything to the ground and run to him. Instead, I put the cake boxes carefully on the sidewalk, where there’s no snow, just under the awning, and pull my keys out, locking up tight.

  The van is down a narrow alley, parked in the single spot behind the bakery, and I open the back doors with my second pinky and load in the boxes. There are little slots in the custom floor I had made that are just the right size to hold them steady while I drive. Adam puts his in, and I throw the bag on top of it all, slamming the door shut.

  I have fourteen minutes to get to the country club. Shit, shit, shit.

  Whipping my keys out of my pocket, I head toward the driver’s side door and get in, starting the car with a bit more violence than I’d intended. The engine roars to life and I throw it into drive.

  There’s a tapping on the window.

  Adam stands outside, his sweatshirt abandoned inside the bakery, looking at me, his blue eyes endless, his grin as delicious as I’ve ever seen. He’s asking me a question without words.

  “Get in,” I call through the window, and now my heart does stop. It was one thing when he was in the bakery, but sitting next to me in the van—

  Soon we’ll have nothing in common again, just like the last nine years. Once this cake is delivered, it’s all over.

  I feel every second pass with every heartbeat thundering in my chest as I pull out onto Main Street. The country club is a couple of miles out of town. Adam reaches forward for the dials and heat pours over us. I’m glad I’m not wearing the jacket that Adam holds in his lap.

  “That feels good.”

  Something about his words breaks something loose inside of me. I keep my eyes glued to the road, but I can’t keep my mouth closed. He’s just too close, his body overwhelming me, and I have to…I have to—

  “You know what doesn’t feel good?”

  “What I did to you nine years ago?”

  This should take the wind out of my sails, but instead my heart hammers against my rib cage.

  “That felt like shit.” My voice rises, a little out of control, along with the stress of this razor-thin timeline. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, Adam. I don’t know why you came back. I don’t know why you came to my store. But if you’re going to explain yourself, this is your one chance, because I’ve spent nine years—”

  “I have too, Val. Nine years of nothing but regret.”

  7

  “Regret.” I force the word out, but my voice is barely louder than a whisper.

  “Regret!” His is loud, too loud for the van, and I press my foot down on the accelerator, only to have to slam on the brakes at the last stoplight before we’re on the outskirts of Forestview. “Sorry,” he says, and out of the corner of my eye I see his sheepish expression.

  “I never should have done that to you.”

  My throat is instantly tight, tears pricking the corners of my eyes, and I set my jaw. I’m not going to burst into tears, not like this, not on the way to a job.

  “Yeah, well…” I keep my voice as level as possible. “We were young and stupid.”

  “No, I was an asshole. And you were too important for that kind of shit.”

  I cut my eyes over to him and his blues are locked on my face. But I can’t keep looking. The light turns green and I press down gently on the accelerator, taking us out of Forestview proper.

  “It broke my heart.”

  “I know. And I am so, so sorry. I’m so sorry, Val. I’ve thought about you every day since then.”

  I want to say something cutting, like “I could tell by all the phone calls,” but I’d blocked him on every channel I could, including my phone, so he couldn’t have apologized even if he wanted to.

  “I tried calling.”

  “I bet you did. That was…that was on purpose.”

  “I know. I asked around and found out you had the same number, so eventually I gave up.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “But something happened last week that made me think—” Adam’s voice trails off.

  “Made you think of me?”

  “You, and the fact that life if short, and if I never apologized to you it would haunt me for the rest of my days.”

  My chest goes painfully hot. “So this is just a pity mission? That’s why you came here?”

  “No.” Adam reaches over and tugs one hand from the steering wheel, threading our fingers together. My entire body sighs with relief, though I can’t let it show. It feels just like when— “No, Val, it’s not out of pity. It’s out of sorrow. It’s out of hope.”

  “Hope for what? You broke my heart, Adam. You humiliated me. And we were so close—”

  “So close to what I hope we can have now. I’ve never been able to get you out of my head. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  I’ve never stopped loving you. His words hit my ears with unbelievable force.

  “Loving me?” I can’t help but crack a smile. I can’t stop it, not even for a second. “You love me? You don’t even know me.”

  “I love you anyway.”

  My heart swells against my rib cage, fingertips tingling. “I don’t want to believe this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, Adam. I’ve wanted you every day. And I—I thought it was all over.”

  “It’s never going to be over between us.”


  I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but smile.

  We’ve arrived at the country club, and I pull up next to the curb, right in front of the entrance. “I—I have a cake to deliver.”

  Adam grins at me, his eyes shining. “Let’s do it.”

  The next few minutes are a blur of walking, unboxing, setting up the cake, and then Penelope Chadbourne is sweeping into the room, a vision in lace, and her eyes light up when she sees the cake. “Oh, Valerie, this is so classy.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Then her eyes dart from me to Adam and something flickers there. It hits me all at once—she used to be really, really into him. My heart thunders in my chest. I want to stand here and let Penny see us, see me with the man she always wanted, but I have to get out of here—I have to get my hands on his.

  “Congratulations on your big day,” I say, and then I take Adam’s hand and tug him toward the door. I don’t care about her dress anymore. I don’t care about anything but him.

  We move toward the exit at a jog and when we’re back in the cold I sprint toward the van, desperate to get somewhere where we can be alone, but Adam catches my elbow right there on the sidewalk and tugs me back, folds me into his muscular, tattooed arms and kisses me.

  His mouth on mine feels as familiar as it ever did, crushed against mine, and I gasp as he envelops me in pure wintry warmth, and it all comes rushing back, the nights in the back of his car, the passionate kisses behind the gym, only he’s stronger now, more solid, and god, I want him more than anything. Anything. I will never let him go again. I will never—

  The kiss deepens, becomes longer and softer, then harder, and I’m lost in him. I’m lost, and I never want to be found. I bury my fists in his shirt, then let go and run my fingertips down the muscles of his arms, then throw my arms around his neck. God, I can’t stop, I don’t want to stop, I won’t stop—

  He finally breaks the kiss, cheeks pink. “Let’s get out of here.”

  8

  I drive like a madwoman back toward Forestview, holding Adam’s hand so tightly my fingers turn white.