Tempted in the Tropics (5 page)

Chapter Five

Paige pulled her Mini Cooper into a parking space about a block away from the dress shop where Liza insisted they’d find the perfect bridesmaid’s dress in no time. That would be a fantasy come true for Paige because she
hated
to shop. Her super-stereotypical female pastime was baking. But today she’d left Cyn whipping up magic at Sweet Bee’s. Cyn was happy to help out, and she was thrilled to pick up the extra hours while Paige would be in St. Lucia. The Queen had done them both a huge favor. Cyn got a break from her, and Paige got a dream vacation.

The wedding was less than two weeks away, so shopping had become urgent. Paige could hardly be a proper maid of honor without a proper dress. But Liza’s fashion sense was more like nonsense to Paige, so she braced herself for something kind of traditional and vowed to push for something hip.

No doubt by-the-book Lane would choose something traditional, too, but he had nothing to do with this, and she didn’t care what he’d choose. She wished she could say she’d had a hard time picturing him in all the tropical paradise scenes in her head, but he showed up in every one as if he had some Photoshop superpower. He looked casual and sexy, tan and lean, with a ripped six-pack, relaxed and ready for something spontaneous. But he wouldn’t be looking at her like that any time soon…if ever. Not after what had happened at Hawthorne Manor last night.

Paige had written the letter to get a reaction from Mrs. Hawthorne about Lane’s refusal to work with her—but not with him
there
. She’d had no idea he was on the guest list. Her stomach sank as she flashed back for about the fiftieth time to the glare he’d given her when Mrs. Hawthorne read the Sweet Bee’s letter.

He really had no reason to be angry. Sure, she’d called him an uptight jerk. But that was the truth, and really a minor detail considering she was just trying to help her customers—his patients!—and he wasn’t. When he’d explained his reasons after Mrs. Hawthorne called him out, it had sounded more like him being detached or covering his own ass, neither of which Paige understood.

“I’m determined not to interfere with Uncle Pete’s administrative processes or inconvenience patients by requiring them to fill out additional legal forms that might come under scrutiny,” he’d said, all official. “I’d also hate to confuse patients by interrupting their continuum of care.” That had sounded like a fancy medical excuse to Paige, but Sylvia seemed to buy it without question.

He’d argued professionally and convincingly, looking each person there in the eyes at some point—each person except Paige. She had gazed at him flatly during his entire speech, waiting for her opportunity to scald him with a glare. For his finale, he’d said, “It really shouldn’t affect too many patients, and things will revert to normal as soon as Uncle Pete gets back.”

Paige had heard that one before. At that point, she’d lost her appetite for pie, which literally might’ve been a first. Everyone at the table had agreed with Lane, while still commiserating with Paige, as they ate dessert.

“It’ll all work out,” Sylvia had said to Paige, who half expected the others to join hands and start singing “Kumbaya.”

None of them had any idea what the loss of
any
business would mean to her and the future of Sweet Bee’s. She’d chosen not to clue them in because Sylvia and Liza would’ve immediately offered financial help, and there was simply no way Paige would accept it.

Now, she’d had some time to make sense of the crazy that had gone on during that dinner, without the stress of sitting across from Lane, knowing he would be crashing her St. Lucian holiday. Clearly there’d been a conspiracy to set up the two of them, as ridiculous as that was in light of things. She wondered whose genius idea that had been—certainly not Lane’s—and she intended to find out.

She hurried up the busy block in downtown Baltimore, shivering in the cold despite her heavy coat. It was hard to believe she’d be in the tropics soon, wearing a bikini and soaking up the sun. The chilly wind practically pushed her down the sidewalk as she scurried toward the upscale dress shop, flung open the door, and found Liza waiting inside.

It had been a couple of months since Liza had gotten engaged, but she still had that drunk-with-happiness look on her face that Paige hoped never went away. After Liza’s former fiancé had died a couple of years ago, Paige worried that Liza’s grief might never allow her to fall in love again. Then she’d met Cole, her Prince Charming in a baseball uniform.

“Seven days and counting.” Paige hugged her tightly, catching a whiff of Liza’s signature wildflower scent. Every once in a while, Paige would spritz on perfume, but her signature scent was “kitchen.”

“Can you believe it?”

“No.” Paige couldn’t believe half the stuff that was going on in her life right now. “It’s so fast, but I like that. No time to get too stressed about anything.”
Except having Dr. Uptight on the trip.
She considered making it her personal mission to tempt him to loosen up.

“Exactly. And I’ve picked out a no-stress dress for you, too.”

Paige scrunched her nose. “Please say it’s not orange.” Liza was a die-hard Orioles fan, and most of her wardrobe was black and orange.

Liza shot her a determined look. “The one I want you to try on is actually burgundy. If it fits, we’ll order it for you in orange.”

Paige struggled to keep a straight face because clearly Liza was serious. She didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but orange? “For real?”

Liza nodded. “It’s bright and tropical. Perfect for an island wedding.”

Perfect if you want your maid of honor to look like a carrot stick.

“Cole’s down with me wearing Orioles orange at his wedding?” Paige asked.

“It’s kind of a consolation.” Liza pulled a cute yellow minidress from a nearby rack and studied it. “He feels a little bad about the Nats beating the Os in the World Series, so he said we could use Orioles colors for our wedding. Mom and Dad are so excited.”

“I’ll bet.” Paige forced a smile and tipped her head toward the yellow mini. “Cute for your honeymoon.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“You should see if they have it in orange.”

Liza browsed through the racks as they made their way back to the dressing room. “I hope the dress will fit, and we can make this quick and painless.”

“That’s more than I can say for that stunt you, Sylvia, and Mrs. Hawthorne pulled at dinner last night.”

“What stunt?” Liza’s eyes went all wide and innocent, but Paige didn’t buy her act.

“The little matchmaker game y’all are playing with me and Dr. Dread.”

Liza lowered her eyebrows. “Dr. Dread? That pink dye must’ve seeped into your brain. Lane’s a great guy—more like Dr. Dream with those eyes and that hair. He could resuscitate most women just by looking at them.”

“Whatever.” But Paige couldn’t stop imagining his eyes, focused on her. And his hands, with his long, ringless fingers, all over her, too. “The only thing that’s going to need resuscitating is my business if he doesn’t butt out of it.” She winced. When would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut? Next thing she knew, Liza would whip out a stack of hundreds and insist Paige take the money.

“His argument made sense,” Liza said. “But I understand where you’re coming from, too.”

Paige’s insides knotted. Was anyone totally on her side?

Liza must’ve seen the question on her face. She squeezed Paige’s hand. “I promise Sweet Bee’s will be okay. If you remember that, then maybe you can look at Lane and think about beef instead of muffins.”

Paige scrunched her nose. “You did not just say that.”

Liza grinned. “Okay, it was lame. But most women would practically die to get a thorough exam from a doctor like him.”

“I’m not most women.” Paige knew she was being stubborn, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Wait till you hear him play the guitar,” Liza said. “It’s totally swoony.”

“Yeah. I’m forever swooning over classical music.” Paige rolled her eyes. “Figures.”

They made it to the dressing rooms and Paige tried on the dress Liza had picked out, surprised that it was stylish, short, and strapless. It was a shame to ruin all that goodness by making it the color of a pumpkin. But it was Liza’s wedding, and Paige wanted every little detail to be exactly what Liza pictured. She put her winter clothes back on and headed to the checkout, where Liza had already taken care of ordering the dress to be rush shipped to St. Lucia.

They stepped away from the counter and Paige said, “You haven’t denied that you’re trying to set me up.”

“And I’m not going to.”

“Why not one of Cole’s friends? Lane Anderson and I aren’t the least bit compatible.”

“Sure you are.” Liza looked Paige in the eye. “My mom thinks so, too, and I kinda trust her with the matchmaking thing right about now. She managed to get Cole and me together.”

Paige hadn’t thought of that.

“And she believes Lane is perfect for you,” Liza said.

“That’s frightening. We couldn’t be more opposite,” Paige argued as she tried to hide the excitement swirling through her.
Sylvia thinks he’s perfect for me?

Liza frowned. “C’mon. You don’t have to marry the guy. You don’t even have to date him if you don’t want to. Just give him a chance to get to know you. What have you got to lose?”

…

Paige hurried back to Sweet Bee’s to relieve Cyn, who had to run some inane errand for the Queen.

“Everything’s done except the dishes,” Cyn said. “Since the day’s almost over, I took the pleasure of putting an
X
on the calendar.”

Paige stepped over to the bulletin board and smiled at the big red
X
. The day after Lane had come to the bakery and started trouble, she’d announced to Cyn that they’d mark the days, counting down until he got the heck out of town and things could go back to normal. “One more down, too many to go.”

What really got Paige was the empty space next to the calendar where she and Cyn used to post the notes from Dr. Hartley with a smiley-face tack. “How was business today?”

Cyn shook her head. “We had a few walk-ins, and Mrs. Kip came to pick up her last Special Recipe order and to say good-bye.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. She’d lost another customer—and a friend. It seemed to be happening faster and faster lately. “Aw, I’ll miss her. I loved her stories. Remember when she sprayed bathroom cleaner in her hair, thinking it was hair spray?”

“She had no idea until it puffed up like a giant marshmallow.” Cyn laughed, and Paige couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“She’s going to live with her daughter in Pennsylvania, right?”

“Yep.”

Paige sighed. How were she and her dad ever going to make it with so many people leaving and so few moving to Maple Creek? And with Lane interfering with the Secret Recipe program, she probably wouldn’t get a new customer to offset the business she’d lost from Mrs. Kip.

Her only hope right now hinged on the annual Maple Creek Valentine’s banquet coming up next month. “Did you hear they’re going all out for the Valentine’s banquet this year?”

Cyn scrunched her face. “I’m afraid to ask what ‘all out’ means.”

“Just that they’re giving everyone a take-home favor.”

“Man,” Cyn said. “Think we can handle all that excitement?”

“Mrs. Barker suggested a box of conversation hearts.”

“What’s the difference between those and sidewalk chalk?”

Paige shook her head. “They’re the same thing, just shaped differently. Maybe I should put in a bid to bake petits fours for everyone.”

Cyn’s eyebrows jumped up near her hairline. “That’s a heck of a leap from sidewalk chalk to petits fours. Their budget’s pretty near nonexistent. Think they’d spring for something like that?”

“I doubt it.” But Paige couldn’t help imagining how much money they’d make selling hundreds of petits fours. She wasn’t going to tell Cyn that getting that Valentine’s banquet order might be the one thing that would save her business. She believed in her mom’s magic, but right now, she needed a miracle.

Chapter Six

Lane decided to take a brisk walk on his lunch break and head over to the Ruritan Hall where the Red Cross was doing a blood drive. At least half of his patients this morning had mentioned they were planning to donate, and he’d decided to join them. No one needed to convince him how important it was to have a sufficient supply of blood on hand—especially in emergencies.

It was only about a half mile walk, but it was so freakin’ cold out he decided to go to Sweet Bee’s for a cup of coffee to drink on the way. The bells on the door jingled as he stepped inside, wondering if he wanted the coffee or if he really wanted to see Paige? And what kind of sense did that make, considering what she’d written in her letter to Mrs. Hawthorne? Maybe he felt a little guilty that he might be negatively affecting Paige’s business and figured he should contribute to it somehow. He walked up to the counter, eyeballing the doorway to the kitchen as a tall brunette whisked out and came to the counter.

Not Paige.
He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

“Help you, sir?” She wiped her hands on her apron as if she’d just washed them.

“Small coffee, please.”

“Comin’ up.” She ducked back into the kitchen and quickly returned with his drink. “You’re the new doctor, right?”

“Lane Anderson.”

“I’m Cynthia, but most people call me Cyn.”

Lane nodded. “Cyn, huh?”

“It suits me better.”

“Got it.” Lane paid for the coffee and gave her a tip. “Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, man,” Cyn said. “Guess we’ll see you around, considering you’re right next door.”

“Sure thing.” He headed outside, not the least bit surprised that Paige employed a girl named Cyn.

Lane walked to the Ruritan Hall, braving the cold with his coffee, and thinking warm thoughts about being in St. Lucia over the weekend—with Paige.

He’d started to second-guess his theory that he was being set up with her, because he hadn’t even seen her since the fateful dinner at Hawthorne Manor several days ago. If she were the least bit interested in him, wouldn’t she have…what? Apologized? He hadn’t made any moves, either. Maybe part of him was just hoping—and he was certain which part. But the invitation from Sylvia and Liza might truly have only been about him playing his guitar at the wedding.

Lane entered the Ruritan Hall to the liveliest scene he’d ever encountered at a blood drive. He’d never witnessed so many enthusiastic people—most of them older—except at his former voting precinct in his parents’ hometown of Richmond, Virginia. The Red Cross would never have to beg for blood if the turnout for all of its drives was as good as this one.

Heads turned as people realized the new doctor was there, those who recognized him likely cluing in the others who hadn’t seen him yet. Lane smiled and nodded, unused to all the attention. Red Cross volunteers staffed the registration table where he checked in, then a pleasant middle-aged woman settled him in to a lounge, took his vitals, then cleaned his arm and pricked it.

“I’m a friendly vampire,” she said, smiling.

“Too bad it’s not Halloween; your timing would be perfect.”

An older lady who sat on the next lounger over wearing flip-flops in January grinned and said, “She’s gentle, too. She was my vampire last year. Didn’t hurt a bit.”

“Back by popular demand?” Lane asked the phlebotomist.

She smiled. “I’m here every year. Best blood drive I’ve staffed. The people in this town are so… I don’t know how to explain it. Kind. Giving. Eager to help. You don’t find that as much anymore.”

“We’re a crazy old bunch,” the flip-flop lady said.

Lane couldn’t argue. At least she hadn’t mentioned magic.

After Lane was relieved of about a pint of blood, the gentle, friendly vampire put a bandage on his arm. After he’d sat quietly a while, she asked, “See you next year?”

“Not likely. I’m just passing through.”

“Too bad.” She smiled. “This place could use some young blood.” She gestured toward the back corner of the hall. “If you’re not feeling dizzy, head on over to the refreshment area and have a snack before you leave.”

Lane made his way to the snack table, where a group of Red Hat ladies sat at a large round table, drinking orange juice from plastic martini glasses and eating cookies served on china plates. Nothing like making a party out of a blood drive.

“Dr. Anderson!” one of the ladies exclaimed.

Lane remembered seeing her as a patient a few days ago. Good thing she hadn’t had on the hat she was wearing now—a red cloche with a confetti of purple feathers randomly attached, presumably from the pair of purple birds precariously perched on top. He would’ve felt compelled to perform a thorough mental assessment of anyone who would willingly wear a hat like that, he thought with a smile. But in this context, it made more sense—if only just a little. Another woman wore a red boa, and a tiny white-haired lady wore a pair of purple-sequined suspenders and a red baseball cap with a curly
W
on the front.

“Have a cookie.” Bird Hat Lady offered up a platter of cookies that looked like a picture from a recipe book.

Lane picked an oatmeal-pecan-chocolate-chip concoction and took a big bite. “Wow,” he said before he even swallowed his first chunky-chocolaty-cinnamon bite. His Miss Manners mom would kill him if she were here. “These are awesome.”

“Did you make a wish?” Nats Lady asked.

He shook his head, eyebrows lowered. “Should I have?”

The ladies looked knowingly at one another.

“They’re magic,” Bird Hat Lady said. “Paige made them. All her mama’s recipes have a little magic in them. I had a brownie at Sweet Bee’s one day, then went over to the drugstore and won fifty dollars on a scratch-off.”

Lane winced.

“I lost five pounds eating fat-free muffins,” another woman said. “That’s magic enough for me.”

“I’ve got you all beat,” Nats Lady said. “I bought one of those Nats pies before the World Series. Ate a slice during every game—and they won!”

Lane caught her eye. “Go Nats!”

“World Series champs.” She raised her orange-juice martini and took a sip. She’d probably freak out if she knew Lane was going to play his guitar for Cole Collins’s wedding.

A lady sitting next to her said, “I hear you don’t believe in Paige’s Special Recipes.”

Here we go.

“You can ask her about it yourself,” said one of the women who hadn’t yet spoken. She pointed at something behind Lane and he turned.

In the corner, Paige stood behind a table, serving cookies and happily chatting with her dad and a bald man wearing overalls. Lane’s heart leaped at the sight of her wearing snug jeans and a long-sleeved pink T-shirt with a yellow Sweet Bee’s logo on the front, her hair all long and loose. Her dad whispered something to her and she tipped up her chin and laughed out loud, not seeming the least bit self-conscious. Had he ever seen Stephanie that relaxed and comfortable with herself? Or any of the prim-and-proper girls he’d dated over the years?

He turned back to the Red Hat ladies. “You all enjoy yourselves. Thanks for the cookie.”

“Cheers,” they said, nearly in unison, and lifted their glasses to him. He had a sneaking suspicion they’d done that plenty of times before, and not necessarily with orange juice.

He debated whether to sneak by Paige and leave, or grab another cookie and sit for a few minutes as he knew he should after donating blood. The last thing he was in the mood for was a rehashing of the dinner at Hawthorne Manor or an argument about freakin’ magic. He’d gotten his travel information from the agent handling the wedding arrangements, so maybe that was something they could talk about that wouldn’t be contentious.

Paige was restocking some of the cookie varieties when he walked over, so she hadn’t seemed to see him coming. “Would you like a cookie?” she asked pleasantly without looking up, then she lifted her head. “Oh.” She gazed at him flatly, all signs of the carefree, happy girl he’d seen a minute ago gone.

Lane swallowed hard. “The Red Hat ladies gave me an oatmeal-chocolate-cinnamon-pecan-awesome one.”

Paige glanced over at the group of women who appeared more than casually curious about their conversation. She shook her head and flashed them a genuine there’s-nothing-to-see-here smile. By the time she faced him again, her smile was gone.

Suddenly Lane felt a little light-headed. Had giving blood made him feel faint, or was he dizzy from trying to keep up with her changing expressions?

“Have another one if you want,” she said. “Or a different kind.” She shrugged. “Whatever.”

For some masochistic reason, he was determined to have a conversation with her. “Did you get your travel information for St. Lucia?”

“Sure did.”

“I’ve got an early flight out of BWI.” He picked up a half-chocolate, half-vanilla cookie. “You?”

She treated him to a slow, sexy grin. “I’ve got an early one, too…out of Dulles.”

Hearing she didn’t have to travel with him had finally made her smile.