Home > Cupcakes and Christmas(5)

Cupcakes and Christmas(5)
Author: R.J. Scott

I was used to Marc commenting on what other men looked like, it never used to worry me. After all, we went through college together, married after graduation, and he worked for my dad. I killed time working for a local hotel on reception and baking in my spare time to the point where I’d begun to make more income from baking for birthdays and weddings than I did it my day job. The year I won season four I never thought I’d get past week one, but by the time I finished I was able to give up the hotel job, and actually consider opening my own place. So Bakes by Brody was born, and I’d even started thinking about Marc and I expanding our family. Maybe kids, maybe we’d start small with another cat or a dog.

Only I was kidding myself. It turned out that since the success of Bakes by Brody, Marc hadn’t been hankering for the picket fence with me and Pipkin. No. He’d been scouting for anonymous hookups and carrying on in a year-long affair behind my back. Dad told me about money that was missing from the business, but I hadn’t believed him. In fact, I’d only found out the true extent of my husband’s betrayal when he’d used the wrong credit card to pay for a hotel room. A simple mistake, but he’d broken like a glass vase hitting tile when all I’d asked was whether it was a business expense for his accounts.

He’d accused me of accusing him, and then the shit had hit the fan. Before I’d even known what hit me, dazed and confused, I was outside our apartment door, with Pipkin in his carrier, my battered leather bag, and a suitcase of crumpled and shoved-in clothes. Somehow, he’d made it my fault—I worked too hard. I didn’t pay enough attention to him. I was shit in bed. I believed every word of it because I had been working hard, I probably wasn’t home enough, and sometimes I was too tired to play the convoluted games he wanted in bed. He filed for divorce, and I didn’t argue. How could I love a man who fucked about on me then gaslighted me into thinking it was entirely my fault?

Dad had been right, and I’d pushed him away when he told me. That was the first damage. My siblings were the rock I clung to but now spent too much time worrying about me. And my mom was the one who held me when I cried. Marc had denied everything, and we were done. My dad didn’t press charges for my sake, and I put the money back into the dealership out of my own pocket, but since that day something had shifted between me and my father. He didn’t look at me the same way. He was probably disappointed in me for my choices.

All in all, it was a sad end to my childish hopes and dreams. Marc had lied to me, cheated on me, and once I signed the papers, it would be over for real.

My naïve but happy world ended and the phone call for this show couldn’t have come at a better time. I was financially stretched, and I needed to get more publicity so I could raise my profile and make money to invest back in my business. If I managed to get to the final, then the publicity would be great, too—and more importantly—I would have two weeks to work out what I wanted, to do, whether to say yes or no to a hundred different options that spun in my head. There was a hotel chain that wanted to buy into my brand, another bakery consortium that wanted to hire me as an advisor. I’d even been offered a spot on a breakfast show as God knows what. Every single one of these would take me away from baking, but I was lost for other ways to make everything right with my dad or myself.

I pressed my hands to my temples where a headache was forming and closed my eyes. I’d gone from being flustered about meeting my celebrity crush to right back down in Marc-land where only despair seemed to grow. My cell buzzed, and I answered it as soon as I saw my twin’s name.

“I can feel you freaking out from here! Stop it!” He was in big-brother-ordering-me-about mode and I bristled.

“Ads—”

“You’re brilliant. You’ll win. Marc is an asshole. Other people get divorced. You’re not a failure. Everyone wants a piece of you. Did I get it all?”

I had to laugh. My brother with that weird-ass twin-connection thing we had going on, had nailed most of what was stressing me. Good job he couldn’t see inside my head at the X-rated visions I had of Justin.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” He was an elementary school teacher and a damn good one. Although I was biased.

“I am, but Liam and Tom, the terrible twosome, told me I was sad, which incidentally I was because of you moping and me feeling it. They decided to put on an impromptu stunt show they’d learned over the weekend.”

“That’s cute.”

“Cute? They’re six, and they shouldn’t be trying to throw each other over tables.”

“Surely you can make them nap now,” I said, tongue in cheek.

“They’re six years, not months, whatever. I’m in the bathroom, hiding on my break, so I called your stressy ass.”

“I’m zen,” I lied.

“Yeah right.”

“I swear I’m better now that you called.” I could admit that to him, knowing it would put his mind to rest.

“Did you sign the papers yet?”

“I have them back at the Fairmont.” I patted my jacket pocket where the bulky envelope sat, not sure why I was carrying them around with me, or why I’d lied to my twin and best friend.

“Whatever. Just get it done soon so you can start again. Speaking of which, did you see the sexy Justin yet?”

I groaned inwardly. I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned my crush to the one person who wouldn’t forget.

“I’m surprised you didn’t feel it when I saw him too,” I snapped.

“Nah, I’ve learned to block when you get hot and heavy with a guy.”

“Fuck you,” I said, without heat.

“Fuck you too.” He laughed. “Do Justin, get it all out of your system, make your world happier. Love you, asshole.” He hung up before I could say it back.

I pulled out the envelope with my name and address neatly typed on it, with the logo of the lawyer’s office in the corner. All I had to do was sign, and I would be done.

So what was stopping me?

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Some of them need a good forking

 

 

Justin


When I’d finished my ticking the boxes chat with show management, I headed back out to the garden room and found Brody on a bench, clutching an envelope, his head tilted back, eyes closed, and his breathing even. He was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him, but they’d asked me to send him in next. He looked so peaceful and still as effortlessly sexy as he’d looked on the screen, and right now I was taking the time to stare. Then maybe lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. He might wake up and tilt his chin and his lips would part and I could kiss him properly.

“Brody?” I called from around six feet, but he muttered something and didn’t open his eyes. I stepped closer, touching his shoulder, expecting him to jump out of his skin, but he didn’t. Instead, he slowly opened his eyes and smiled up at me sleepily. Whatever dream I’d woken him from had to have been a good one because if I woke up next to him after we’d made love, then this was the expression I imagined.

Woooah, rein it in.

“Hey,” he said, his tone soft then appearing to realize where he was, he scrambled to stand and shoved the envelope into his coat that was next to him. “Secret cupcake recipe?” I deadpanned.

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