Imagine That (4 page)

****

As Emily finished ringing up the sale, she hoped she wouldn't do something stupid like trip and fall into the display case. She could picture cakes flying in the air and tart goo all over her face. Normally, she wasn't clumsy, but for some reason, putting her anywhere near a kitchen turned her into Calamity Jane. To top it off, Nate was standing across the room with Jessie. She wondered if they were having a good laugh while Jessie told him about the flour incident that morning — she'd managed to repeat her childhood mistake within minutes — or the great chocolate raspberry muffin disaster.

As she served her young customers, Emily covertly studied him. His pants were splattered in paint, and he had some kind of brown smear across his shirt. His hair could only be described as unkempt, and a faint shadow of a beard covered his jaw.

He looked scruffy. Scruffy and delicious.

Oh yeah, her mind had gone bye-bye. She didn't go for scruffy. At least not anymore. Her scruffy loser phase had gone out with the last of her post-teenage rebellion.

Emily finished up with her preadolescent fans, and they left the shop on a wave of excited chatter and laughter.

Jessie clomped over to the counter as soon as they'd left. “You do all right while I was gone?”

“Perfect.”

Coffee-colored eyes gleamed with silent laughter. “Nothing's been destroyed at least, right?”

Emily bit her lip and shook her head.

“I'll go start another batch of cookies,” Jessie said with a sigh of resignation.

“I could help—”

“Why don't you stick to the customers for now?” she tilted her head toward Nate. “Like our handsome painter over there? I've got a feeling he'd much rather have you serve him.”

Jessie disappeared into the kitchen, and Emily had no choice but to turn back to Nate. He was watching her with an
ain
'
t-she-cute
grin, which she was coming to recognize. She swallowed as he approached. The closer he got, the more she fought not to back up.

“What are you—”

“Why are you—”

They both sputtered to a halt.

“You first,” Emily said, waving him on.

A smile ghosted across his lips. “I thought you'd be halfway across the state by now.”

“Me too. I don't know what happened. I had to wait for Cletus to get Bessie out of the drink and—”

His head tilted like the old RCA dog. “Huh?”

Emily fought a shiver. Why was his every action so sexy? He'd only tilted his head.

To distract herself, she started rearranging the goodies in the display shelf. “The tow truck driver was out rescuing a stuck cow, so I went to the little diner up the street. I took a walk after lunch, and
t
hen
I saw the sign and ended up in here.”

“A sign?”

Her head bobbed as she lined up the key lime tarts in a neat row. “A
Help Wanted
sign. A baker's assistant seemed like fun, so I applied.”

“Just like that?” His brows furrowed. “Don't you have someplace you need to be?”

Mini-strawberry shortcakes spaced evenly. So far the task wasn't helping to distract her much. “I told you, I'm traveling, hoping to find something to spark my imagination so I can write again.”

“When did you tell me that?”

“Yesterday when you stopped to help me out. Although maybe you didn't understand me, since I wasn't exactly coherent. You made me so nervous.”

“Why would I make you nervous?”

“You know,” she said, hand fluttering. “Girl alone in the woods? Ted Bundy?”

“You weren't in the wood,” he pointed out.

“Close enough. Isolated roads are ripe for attracting monsters of all sorts. Scary human ones and big, bug-eyed creatures with tentacles and
better-to-eat-you
-with-
my-dear
teeth.”

Nate leaned against the counter. “Are you sure we're from the same planet? I don't understand half of what you just said.”

“Well, if you were up on your classic children's literature you'd know. Or Stephen King novels.”

“I'm not much of a reader.”

Something about his tone caught her attention, and she stopped arranging the shelves.

“So, you're looking for an idea for your next book?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, trying to understand the strange shift.

“You seem pretty popular.”

“An author is only as popular as his or her last book,” she said. “As it happens, my last book fell far short of popular and skated on the thin ice of obscurity.”

He shook his head in confusion.

Chest aching, Emily admitted the truth. “My first book was a huge success, but the second flopped. Then all my ideas seemed to dry up, and I haven't been able to get them back.”

“You think working in a bakery will help?”

She shrugged. “At this point I'll try anything. I doubt my namesake would be proud of how hard I've fallen, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Namesake?”

“I'm named after Emily Brontë,” she said with a grin. “Guess my parents hoped her literary talent would rub off on me. On all of us. My older sister is named Charlotte, and my poor brother got saddled with Virgil. Although it could have been worse. My mother wanted Homer, but Dad put his foot down.”

“Who are they?”

The effect of scruffy deliciousness disappeared as she regarded him in astonishment. “Haven't you ever heard of Emily and Charlotte Brontë?”

Nate shifted on his feet and coughed.

Amazement flooded through her. “
Wuthering Heights?
Jane Eyre
?”

His mouth pulled back in a tight line. “Oh, right. I remember my mom watching them on the classic movie channel.”

“The movie channel?”

Nate rubbed the back of his neck. “I told you, I don't read much. No time.”

“Yeah, but those are classic pieces of literature. How'd you get through school without reading some of them?”

Nate muttered something about not having much use for school, either.

For once Emily didn't know what to say. No wonder he thought she was from a different planet. His feet shuffled again, and she sensed his embarrassment.

“So, why did you come in here?” she asked, trying to get back on even footing. “I'm sure you had a plan in mind.”

“Cookies,” Nate said, careful to avoid any real eye contact. “I messed up the recipe this afternoon.”

“Ah, so you're a disaster in the kitchen, too. Nice to know we have something in common.”

The self-deprecating humor worked. His head came up, and a small smile formed. “I guess so.”

Emily gestured to the display case she'd just finished organizing. “What's your poison?”

“My mom loves chocolate chip. Half a dozen of those. And throw in a dozen peanut butter crunch for my brother.”

She hesitated. “You tried to make cookies for your mother? Aren't you a good son?”

He grimaced. “I think I got distracted trying to get the pot roast in the slow cooker for dinner.”

“You make dinner, too?”

“Some nights.”

“You must be close to your mother,” Emily said, fighting back a bolt of envy. Her relationship with Professor Vanessa Sinclair could best be described as brittle. Fragile. She'd always had the fear one wrong tap could send everything shattering into pieces.

“We are,” Nate said.

“You're lucky you get along so well.”

“I'd better,” Nate said, with a chuckle. “I live with her.”

The warm fuzzies evaporated. “Oh. Must be nice.”

Emily packaged the cookies and rang up his purchase, managing to maintain a stream of meaningless small talk the entire time

“I guess I'll see you around,” he said, looking down at the bag in his hand.

“I'll be here… unless I manage to burn the place down, of course.”

He chuckled and headed for the door. At the threshold he paused and glanced back. Emily summoned a smile and waggled her fingers. She stared at the empty doorway long after he'd disappeared.

He still lives with his mother.

The news shouldn't matter. It wasn't like he went around torturing kittens. So he still lived at home. Big deal.

She shouldn't even be thinking about his living arrangements. She had work to do. Like figuring out how to unlock the mysteries of her mind so she could resuscitate a dying career. If she failed in her quest, she could wind up living with
her
parents, which would be like shoving bamboo under her fingernails and then dunking her hands in a bucket of peroxide.

She could not let herself be distracted from her goal. Certainly not by a rumpled, small-town house painter. Even if he did look like Heathcliff. Even if he took some of the oxygen with him when he left the room.

Nate Cooper could not get in the way.

Baker's assistant. Day Two. So far Emily hadn't dropped anything. At least nothing she felt the need to reimburse anyone over. She'd only been in the shop for an hour, but avoiding a major disaster signaled progress as far as she was concerned. Unfortunately, Emily had a sinking feeling the law of averages was about to bite her in the rear. Jessie had come out of the kitchen with a tray of crème brulée cups a few minutes before. From her multi-pocketed apron, she'd produced a tiny torch, which she expected Emily to use.

A torch. An instrument for producing fire. Oh yeah, no danger here at all.

Jessie had demonstrated how to use the device to brown the tops of the desserts. Then she'd left Emily with the pithy instruction, “Don't kill yourself… or me” before retreating to the kitchen to start on a batch of chocolate macadamia nut cookies.

Emily picked up the torch and stared at it with trepidation. Her heart kicked into overdrive as she clicked the switch on the handle. Fire leapt from the nozzle in a steady stream. She released the breath she'd been holding and smiled. Maybe she could conquer baking after all. She slowly fanned the blaze over the crème brulée and watched in amazement as the tops turned golden brown. Almost like magic.

The bell above the door jangled as someone entered the shop.

“Be right with you,” Emily called out, not daring to take her eyes off the delicate treats.

“Take your time.”

Her senses recognized the deep male voice, and her head swiveled. Nate stood in front of the counter. A teenaged boy loitered in the background.

Emily smiled. “Hi. Did you eat all the cookies already?”

Nate jerked his head toward the teenager by the door. “He did.”

In the next instant, Nate's expression transformed to something close to horror. “Emily… watch out!”

She gasped. Flames licked up the sleeve of her baking smock like an angry snake. Before she could think what to do, Nate charged around the counter and grabbed her. He pulled her to the sink, flipped on the water, and shoved her arm under the faucet.

Emily blew out a breath as the fire extinguished. “Oh.”

“Are you all right?” Nate asked, shoving up her sleeve to examine her arm. “Did you burn yourself?”

“No, I don't think so.”

A gust of air burst from his lungs, and he grabbed her again, pulling her to his chest. Emily felt as if she'd been invaded. By his scent, by the hands smoothing along her back and the play of muscles in the chest where her cheek rested. By the heartbeat pulsing beneath his shirt. Her knees about gave out.

“Hey, good save, bro.”

Nate released her so fast she almost fell over, but caught herself against the counter in time. She watched as he lifted a hand to massage his chest. The other hand raked through his hair, making it stand up on end. He kept his eyes averted, as if he didn't trust himself to look at her.

“What's all the commotion out here?” Jessie asked as she barreled through the doorway.

She stopped when she saw Nate standing behind the counter. She took in the abandoned torch on the floor, Emily's wet sleeve, and Nate's shellshocked expression, and nodded. “Right. Just tell me you don't need Workman's Comp.”

Emily's cheeks burned as hot as the flame from the torch. “No.”

Jessie shook her head and ducked back into the kitchen, muttering something about not asking.

“Thank you,” Emily said the minute Jessie disappeared. “I don't know where my mind went to forget I was holding a lit torch.”

“We distracted you,” Nate mumbled.

“You're quite the hero. You moved so fast I didn't even have time to panic.”

The teenaged boy chuckled. “I'll say. He almost jumped over the counter. Like he was in an action movie.”

A quick study told Emily the two were related. They shared the same chocolate brown hair and gray eyes. The boy had yet to reach Nate's height, and he was lanky rather than muscular, but a few years from now he'd be just as devastating.

Hmm. Seemed there was another Heathcliff in town. She felt sorry for all the teenaged girls.

Nate cleared his throat. “Emily, this is my little brother, Zach. He's read your book and wanted to meet you.”

“Hi, Zach,” Emily said, holding out her hand.

Zach took it and shook up and down like he was pumping for water. “I still have
Kingdom of Dreams
on my shelf. Must have read it a hundred times.”

Emily's heart fluttered. Didn't matter how many people complimented her work, praise still made her giddy. “I'm so glad you liked it.”

“So, why'd you stop writing? You were hot, but after
Sword of the Dark
you like disappeared.”

The fluttering stopped. “Oh… well… publishing business. It can be so slow. Takes forever to get a new book out. You know.”

Yeah,
it
t
ook
forever when
she couldn
'
t
think of a word to say.

Zach didn't hear the biting comment reverberating through Emily's head, and he nodded like the explanation made perfect sense. “Grisela is like the coolest character ever.”

Emily chuckled. “I think so.”

“Who's Grisela?” Nate asked.

Zach sent him a bug-eyed stare. “From E.J.'s first book. Grisela is the fairy princess.”

The corners of Nate's mouth lifted. “A fairy princess?”

Emily bristled. “She's a warrior.”

“A
warrior
fairy princess.”

She could clobber him. Instead, her hands clenched into fists. “That's right.”

Zach was too excited to notice the sudden tension. “Grisela is awesome. She has a sword and a magic satchel filled with these fire missiles. She rocks.”

“I'm sure she's great,” Nate said, his mouth twitching as he tried not to laugh.

Zach shifted on his feet, and a faint hint of blush stained his cheeks, as if he'd realized getting excited about any kind of fairy was totally not cool. “You'd have to read the book to understand.”

“Your brother doesn't appreciate literature like we do, Zach,” Emily said with a huff of irritation.

“Yeah, Zach here got all the brains in the family,” Nate said, not at all insulted. In fact, he grinned. “I'm just a dumb shmuck.”

Zach frowned. “You're not dumb, you're—”

“Emily isn't interested in my problems,” Nate cut in. “Mom's waiting for us at home. Let's stock up and get going.”

The two picked out a variety of cookies and several brownies. Emily bagged the treats while she pondered what had just happened. Some kind of message had been passed between the brothers. Like Nate didn't want Zach to reveal something he shouldn't.

She rang up the order and handed the bag to Nate. Zach snatched it up and filched a cookie.

“Dinner, Zach,” Nate said, cuffing his brother in the arm for emphasis.

The teenager rolled his eyes as he stuffed a second cookie in his mouth. “Like I won't eat at home, too.”

“Right,” Nate said with an ironic sigh. Then he aimed a stern glance at Emily. “Keep away from those torches.”

“I doubt Jessie will let me touch anything flammable again.” Meanwhile, Emily would probably have to put ice on her cheeks to douse the heat.

Nate laughed outright. “Not a bad idea.”

“I'm usually pretty coordinated. You make me—” She gulped and zipped her lips.

His stilled. “I make you what?”

Emily shook her head. No way could she answer with anything resembling the truth. Talk about a disastrous mistake.

Another long, heated look sizzled across the counter, and then Nate hustled his brother out of the shop. Emily didn't breathe again until the door shut behind them.

Remember, Em, you have a goal
,
and he is not part of it.