In the Mood for Love (3 page)

So much for distraction.

Harper climbed on her indoor bike, wishing she were mounting Sam instead.

“Great.”

Why wouldn’t that man stay out of her brain, her blood? She’d been in town for a few days and she hadn’t texted him once. Texting—their only comfortable mode of communication. The strong silent type, Sam doled out casual conversation like a miser whereas Harper talked incessantly to keep from thinking too deeply. Dark things lurked in the depths of her mind. Shallow was safer.

She glanced at her phone, thought about Sam, then
nixed
the thought of Sam. “Not going there.”

She stepped up the pace, looked back to the screen. McDermott, who still reminded her of McCloud (except Dylan was laughing and Sam never laughed), was talking about his latest project. She’d never handled a big star like Dylan, but she’d handled Sam. Her fingers burned in memory. The faster she pedaled the more she craved the irritating man who’d worked wonders refurbishing her house. The more her heart raced, the greater her lust. The man was screaming alpha. Former military. Confident. Competent. A master carpenter and furniture maker who also painted and baked.

Baked!

He was also a widower with two little kids.

Harper had minimal experience with children and she didn’t want children—or rather the responsibility of children. The thought of failing them or losing them to some horrid end iced her blood. Which is why she’d ultimately cut off her secret affair with Sam. Even though it was just sex. Even though they only saw each other whenever she visited Sugar Creek which was hardly ever. They’d never work long term. Not that she wanted long term. Not that he wanted long term with her. Via gossip among the Cupcake Lovers, her newest clients, Sam wanted a mother for his children. Harper was
not
mother material.

So, yeah. No. She would not text Sam. There would be no racy exchanges. No amazing sex. No Sam.

No. Sam.

Heart pounding, sweat trickling, Harper pumped her stationary bike and stared out the same window Mary Rothwell had dogged for two long years. Mary had had blinding faith that her husband, a soldier gone missing in World War Two, would return. To her. She’d never lost faith in her beloved.

That’s where Harper and Mary differed.

“Not. Going.
There.
”

No dwelling on how she’d failed Andrew. Or how he’d wigged out. A public meltdown. A violent display. So like the spa shooting, although not really. Only in Harper’s wounded mind.

Chest hurting, she pedaled past the pain. She would make it to the lake. She’d make it to the end of the lane. She’d make it into Sugar Creek. She’d disappointed a lot of people recently, but she would not disappoint the Cupcake Lovers. And while she was there, maybe she’d say hi to Sam just to be sociable. It’s not that she didn’t like him. It’s that she liked him too much.

THREE

This isn’t easy for me … I’ve been thinking … Life’s funny …

Damn
.

None of the opening lines Sam rehearsed felt right. Bottom line, he was bailing on an important organization. On the women who’d freely accepted him as the first male member of the Cupcake Lovers. They’d welcomed him into their world and now he was leaving at a crucial time. He wasn’t arrogant but he was savvy. He didn’t need Harper, a professional publicist, to tell him he was a valuable asset to the club when it came to generating additional attention. He was former military. A marine who’d served multiple tours overseas. And now he was baking cupcakes for other marines and every other branch of the military.

He got why he was a perk to the club and he’d rolled with it. He was all about the cause although, granted, he’d joined the Cupcake Lovers as a way to shake up his morbid mind-set after Paula’s death. A selfish reason, but he’d honestly enjoyed the company of his fellow bakers. Then he’d fallen for Rae and there’d been that mess. He’d fooled around with Harper and now she was involved in the club. Another potential mess. In the last months, a few of the members had gotten engaged or married and three were expecting babies. The dynamics of the club were changing. The discussions more out of Sam’s realm. The “fame” factor was the tipping point. If he shared his reasoning, no one would blame him for quitting. Except Sam wasn’t one for baring his soul.
I’ve lost my cupcake mojo
was the best he could do. Hopefully they’d read into that and let him go without a fight.

“Would you mind lending me a hand, Sam?”

He’d been deep in thought. So deep that Rae’s soft voice startled him. Sam glanced at the woman he’d been enamored with for a good year, a woman he’d hoped to make his wife, a woman whose sweet disposition resembled that of his late wife. Like Paula, Rae would have been the perfect mother for Ben and Mina. Trouble was, she’d fallen for and married Luke. The match had been quick and seemingly written in the stars. Sam was happy for his cousin and for Rae, but damn, he was envious of their easy bliss.

“You okay?” Rae asked, and Sam realized he was probably staring like a moonstruck teen. Uncomfortable, since he’d put that infatuation to rest. Like his cousin Rocky had pointed out, Sam hadn’t been in love with Rae as much as the
idea
of Rae. Unfortunately, it had taken him a while to get that, involving some pretty ass-wipe behavior on his part. Thankfully, all had been forgiven, all friendships intact. Still, there were times when Sam thought it best to walk on eggshells.

“I’m good.” Pushing off the doorjamb, Sam smiled down at the mild-tempered philanthropist. Transforming the town’s defunct day-care center into a thriving preschool with latchkey educational and sports programs for children up to ten was just one of Rae’s good deeds. “What do you need?”

“Help in the kitchen.”

Every member of the club took turns hosting the weekly meeting. Tonight they’d gathered at Rae and Luke’s home, a charming single-family house that sat on several acres of land. Rae was worth a fortune. She could afford a mansion. She preferred a simple life with Luke. A grounded life for their soon-to-be child. Sam’s heart jerked with affection. Or maybe it was simple respect. Man, he was off his game tonight.

The animated chatter of the Cupcake Lovers faded as Sam followed Rae from the living room to the kitchen. Along the way he noted the changes she’d made since the last time he’d been here. Rae had Paula’s flair for whimsical warmth. He ignored the pang of melancholy. Paula was in the past. Rae was Luke’s. Sam had to fricking move on.

“What’s going on with you?” Rae asked as they breached the kitchen, a cheerful room recently painted in shades of lemon and lime.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone else is bouncing off the wall thrilled about the exposure and sales thus far for
Cupcake Lover’s Delectable Delights
. Instead of joining in the excitement, you were holding up the wall in a brooding funk.”

“I don’t brood.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“I was thinking.”

“Broody thoughts.”

Sam’s lip twitched. “Why am I here?”

“To help me with the teakettle.”

Yeah, boy,
that
was fishy. Rae was one of the most capable and self-reliant women he knew. “You can’t carry a teakettle?”

“If you ask Luke, I shouldn’t even carry a cup of sugar. I’m only five and a half months pregnant and he treats me like an invalid.”

“He loves you. He worries.”

“I know. And that makes me the luckiest and happiest woman in the world. It’s just…” She smiled and shrugged as she dialed down the burner. “He’s driving me crazy. I think we’re spending too much time together. Every couple should have breathing space, individual hobbies, right? I feel awful saying it, but I’m glad he quit the Cupcake Lovers.”

“Luke was never a natural fit. His baking sucked.”

She shot him a chastising look. “Not for lack of trying.”

When it came to friends, family, and worthy causes, the usually demure redhead was quick to rile. “Don’t get bent,” Sam said kindly. “Just stating facts. Ask Daisy or Rocky or—”

“I’m not bent. I’m…” She narrowed her eyes. “How did the spotlight turn to me? I hate that.”

He knew that. He loved that. Harper, on the other hand, glommed onto anything that put her in the forefront of a celebration or crisis.

Rae set the kettle on a heating pad and reached for a canister of tea bags. “Seriously, what’s troubling you, Sam?”

He preferred to break it to the club as a whole—a surprise attack. He knew, one-on-one, Rae would do her best to talk him out of quitting the CLs. “Nothing.”

“I know Ben’s been taking some heat from his classmates—”

“Ben’s fine.”

“There’s been talk among some of the single women regarding your recent dates.”

“I know.”

“Luke says—”

“There’s a betting pool. I know.”

“I think it’s awful.”

Sam hadn’t given it a second thought but he was touched that Rae cared. Then again, Rae cared about everyone.

“You can’t force love,” she said.

“I know.” Sam tucked his hands in his jeans instead of touching her arm. He didn’t want her to misconstrue his attentions. Months back, before he’d known about the attraction between Luke and Rae and even
after
he’d known, Sam had told Rae he was okay with being just friends. He’d lied. And then he’d pushed. He’d been unfair to her and a bastard to Luke. But he’d been desperate to move beyond Paula. The wonder of Paula. The grief of Paula. Why couldn’t he be attracted to Jane Dunlap or Laura Payne? Interesting,
hot
women with stable, meaningful careers. Desperate to change the subject, Sam gestured to the stocked three-tiered cupcake holder standing on the opposite counter. The featured cupcake of the evening. All part of the weekly meeting tradition. “What’s on the agenda?”

“A new recipe I’ve been dying to share with everyone.” Rae grinned. “I call them Kick-in-the-Pants Kupcakes.
Cupcakes
spelled with a
k.
”

Intrigued, Sam folded his arms, angled his head. “What’s the kick?”

“Cinnamon and cayenne pepper in
both
the dark chocolate cupcake and the cream cheese icing.”

“Feeling adventurous, huh?”

“I admit to some recent odd cravings, but I swear, Sam, these are the shiz.”

“The what?”

“The
shiz
. The shit. The coolest.”

“Got it.” Sam, who was not the coolest, filed
shiz
away with all the other jargon he’d been hearing lately from his nine-year-old son. Harper was another one who tossed around the latest slang and acronyms. Sam couldn’t decide if he was an old fart or just old-fashioned. His fortieth was around the corner. Hell, maybe he was both. He gestured to the tea bags. “And the beverage to counter the kick? Chamomile? Green tea?”

“Raspberry Zinger. Although I’ll be adding hazelnut creamer to mine.”

Sam laughed. “How’s Luke holding up with your cravings?”

“He’s particularly fond of anything having to do with ice cream and cookies. Pickles and radishes, not so much. I’ll come back for the cupcakes. Mugs are already out there. Let’s serve tea.”

Sam had hoped to resign and leave before tea, but, with two kids, he was also used to adjusting his plans on the fly. “I’ll take the kettle. You tote the bags. I assume my cousin won’t have a gripe about one lightweight jar,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve met Luke, right?”

Yeah. A man who, although in his past had been a major skirt-chaser, was always, and above all, devoted to family. “He’ll get over it.”

“Just know that you can confide in me or Luke or both of us anytime, Sam. We’re here for you. Just tell us—”

“You’re a good woman, Rae.”

“There are lots of good women, Sam, but, like great cupcakes, not all of them are sugary sweet.
Your
perfect cupcake could be the one with kick. And if you sink in deep enough, long enough, maybe you’ll taste the sweet among the spice. My advice? Get adventurous.”

Armed with the canister and a stack of napkins, Rae breezed out of the kitchen leaving Sam to ponder her words.

Then it hit.
With the force of a fricking sledgehammer
.

In that moment, Sam realized the reason none of the women he’d dated over the last weeks had won his interest was because they’d failed to match up to his first wife in the first ten minutes. Just as he’d done with Rae, he’d been looking for a clone of Paula. And then, yeah, if he was being totally honest, Harper, who wasn’t anything like Paula, had him twisted up—sexually, if not emotionally.

Head spinning, Sam hurried after Rae, catching up just as she entered the crowded living room.

“Tea’s ready,” she announced in a gleeful voice.

“Perfect timing,” Rocky called over the excited chatter. “Take a seat, everyone. Let’s get down to business.”

Rocky was one of Sam’s many cousins and, lately, one of his closest friends. President of the Cupcake Lovers. Sister to Luke and Dev Monroe. Granddaughter of Daisy Monroe, a senior Cupcake Lover (and a bit of a wack job). Rocky was the glue that held the club together as they encountered more attention and responsibility.

“What’s the beverage of the evening?” she asked as everyone vied for a seat and Sam and Rae served.

“Raspberry Zinger,” Rae said.

“Spiked with vodka?” Daisy asked.

Rocky snorted. “It’s not cocktail hour, Gram.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere!”

The other senior members, all in their seventies, and still kicking cupcake ass, snickered.

Sam smiled, scanning every face as he set aside the kettle and sat on the vacant leather ottoman. His sweeping gaze stuttered on Joey. She looked out of place. Mostly because this was only her second meeting and Sam wasn’t used to her presence. Partly because she favored what Chloe called “cyberpunk” fashion. She also sported combat boots and a diamond stud in her nose. Not exactly how he envisioned a girl from Nebraska.

Every other woman in the room, aside from Daisy, had a more conventional look. Ethel, Helen, Judy, Monica, Chloe, Rae, Rocky, Casey … Every member involved in the Cupcake Lover recipe/memoir book, except for their past president, Tasha Pain-in-the-Ass Burke, who had since moved to Arizona—thank God.