The dress was designed to be noticed, and deep down Harper wanted to be noticed. But what if she put herself out there for the world to see, stepping directly into the glare of the spotlight, and was still overlooked?
Telling herself that it didn’t matter, that being recognized for who she was and how she cared for others was more important, Harper dug deep for confidence and pushed through the door. Immediately she felt her nerves settle as she was greeted by a warm blast of vanilla, fresh baked pastries, and home. The smell of baking cookies reminded her of summers with Clovis in the kitchen. Safe, cherished, loved.
Helping herself to a sample of peach scone, which sat on a tray held by a cardboard cutout of David Hasselhoff in board shorts—a leftover from before the renovation—she bypassed the usual suspects in breakfast pastries and went right for the cookies.
Face pressed against the glass display window, she considered her options carefully. A friendly lemon scratch cookie was calling her name, and nothing said breakfast like fruit, but somehow she knew her day needed a buttered-rum blondie.
After her talk with Emerson last night at the game, Harper realized she was being selfish. Counting on Adam as the quick fix to her problems, when it could land him in trouble with his boss, wasn’t a friendly thing to do. And Harper was, above all else, a good friend.
Who always did the right thing.
So why did her stomach hurt? It wasn’t just thinking about the dress or the evening that was causing it, but thinking about Adam. Before she could really process that, an instant smile appeared on her face as if on automatic.
As if a small part of her thrilled at the thought of doing the wrong thing—with the Five-Alarm Casanova. He’d opened up to her, showed her a part of the real Adam, a guy who wanted to become more than people’s perceptions, and she couldn’t look past that.
“You’re early today,” Lexi DeLuca said, coming out of the kitchen. Lexi balanced a tray of éclairs in one hand, a rolling pin in the other, and had matching toddlers with blonde pigtails and freckles hanging on to each of her legs like monkeys. Both baker and daughters were speckled with chocolate.
As owner and mastermind behind the most popular French bakery on the West Coast, Lexi was the local sugar supplier. She had three daughters, one of the hottest husbands in town, and a way with buttercream frosting that could only come from divine intervention.
“I actually counted to ten after you flipped the sign to OPEN before I came in. I didn’t want to look desperate.”
Lexi laughed and grabbed a paper bag. “Inventory time at the shop?”
“Among other things,” Harper said, nibbling her fingers because choosing was impossible.
“Sounds like a half-dozen kind of day.” Lexi traded in the bag for a pink box, then reached for a confetti cake batter cookie. “The usual?”
Harper shook her head. “I’m trying to live outside the lines and try new things.”
“So I’ve heard,” Lexi said with a mischievous grin, and Harper blew out a breath.
“You heard wrong,” Harper said. Lexi smothered a laugh behind her hand.
“If you say so, but new things is a good look on you.” Lexi took inventory of Harper’s zigzag lime-green backpack with little lemons on it and smiled. “In fact, I have a key lime kringle that would match your backpack.”
Although that sounded delicious, Harper wanted something decadent. Something flirty and bold. Something that told her she was more than the town’s #1 Sitter—she was a sexually attuned woman who could handle her world on her own.
Just look at her hair, she thought, leaning forward and letting it slide over her shoulder. Thanks to some nuclear-grade straightening gel and a YouTube tutorial, it was now straight, sophisticated, and so full of allure she couldn’t help but run her fingers through it. Or swish it back and forth as she walked.
“I’ll try a black velvet whoopie pie with cherry-cream frosting.” Then she looked at the bright orange frosted cookies on the next tray. “And since I would hate for that bad boy to get lonely, throw in two of those sangria sunrise minis.”
After all, it was morning, and she did love sunrises. And the last two were minis, which everyone knew meant calorie-free. Plus, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt.
“You got it.” Lexi loaded up the order in a box that could hold another three goodies at least. “How about a few firecracker fudge bars to match that glow?”
“I’m not glowing,” Harper said.
“It’s a firehouse favorite,” Lexi said, all singsongy.
Not even a bite of cookie and already the inquisition had begun. “Contrary to the current gossip, Adam and I are just friends.”