Win Me Over

 

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Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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To Tracy, thank goodness our husbands brought us together.

 

Acknowledgments

There are always so many people to thank. First, Sarah Younger, my agent, and Lizzie Poteet, my editor, for their patience and guidance of a fledgling author. The wonderful marketing team at St. Martin's Press, SMP Romance, and Heroes and Heartbreakers. Gina Conkle, Shannon Richard, and Heather Heyford, for that night in NOLA and everything since. My unfailing support team Tracy and Jennifer. My family, children, and amazing husband. And of course, to the bloggers, reviewers, and readers. I thank you from the bottom of my heart!

 

One

Some people had skeletons in their closet; Callie Daniels had tiaras. Literally. Big, tacky, blinged-out tiaras. The kind that graced over-teased heads of little pageant girls, took an entire package of bobby pins to hold secure, and were so tall it was amazing they didn't tip children ass over teakettle. Something she knew from experience because once upon a time she'd been one of those little girls, and if beauty pageant life had taught Callie anything, it was how to put a fake smile on your face. A skill that came in handy when your mother unexpectedly walked through the front door of your bakery on a Thursday afternoon.

“Mom, what a surprise,” Callie called over the display counter, hoping desperately that the tone of her words revealed more sincerity than dread. The light-turquoise walls of her beloved shop, Callie's Confections, clashed with her mother's unnatural shade of blond hair. Even still, the blond was better than the fire-engine red it had been a few months ago.

“Well, it seems the only way I can find out what's going on in your life is to make a trip up here. That is, unless I want to hear it from Joan Jenkins while I get my nails done.” There was no mistaking the hurt in her voice and instantly Callie's heart grew heavy with guilt. She vaguely remembered mentioning her new job to an old high school friend on Instagram. Word traveled fast. She should have known better.

“Oh, Mom, I'm so—”

“Do you want to know the worst part? I could tell that she loved telling me something I didn't know. You're my only daughter; I should know your gossip before anyone else in this world. Can you even imagine the embarrassment?”

Callie knew about embarrassment all too well, but she wouldn't list all the ways she could relate. It would break her mother's heart, and the truth was, Callie felt a little bad for not calling. But in her defense, her life was crazy at the moment. Today, for example, she'd spent the morning prepping cakes and cookies for the weekend orders. She'd been in the zone, the kind of baking Zen that almost made her want to spin around her ovens and sing like an animated movie princess. She was only missing the talking wildlife—and the Prince Charming. But that was no matter; she had no use or time for a man.

“I wasn't trying to keep secrets, Mom; I've just been busy,” Callie said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Of all the things …
dance coach
? You knew I'd be thrilled about that. I should have been the first person you'd want to tell that you've returned to performing.”

“I'm the coach, Mom. I won't be performing.”

Barbara shrugged. “Still you should have told me. I could help you.”

Which was exactly why Callie hadn't been excited to share. Her mother, Barbara, had the tendency to overstep her bounds in the “help” department. And that was putting it mildly. Callie could only imagine all the ideas her mother would have had when she told her she'd been hired to be the new Pantherettes Dance Team coach at Preston High.

“You're right: I should have called. I'm sorry, but I promise I've got everything under control,” Callie said, grabbing a to-go coffee cup and handing it across the counter. She hoped to move the conversation away from the dance team quickly. “Have some coffee.”

“Oh no, I can't do coffee after lunch. It dehydrates my skin.”

“Suit yourself.” Callie walked around the counter toward the coffee station set up in the small dining area of her bakery.

“Callie Jo,” her mother chided in a playful yet dead serious way. “Do you not care about your own skin? Maintaining your looks after thirty is a full-time job, might as well start now.”

Facing the wall, Callie rolled her eyes as she added a liberal amount of half-and-half and sugar to her cup. Barbara meant well—in fact, these small reprimands were always delivered with love and concern—but she was a teeny bit obsessed with physical appearances. Always had been, always would be. She was, in fact, an attractive woman under all that makeup—even with the skintight lime-green capris, sequined high-heeled sandals, and ruffled blouse. According to everyone who knew them both, Callie was a younger—and, she hoped, less flamboyant—version of her mother. Along with gratitude, that compliment always sent a tingle of horror down Callie's spine.

“I'm willing to take my chances, Mom, and I'm not thirty for two more years.” Callie took a long sip. Damn, her shop served good coffee.

“You'll be sorry, sweetheart. You only have one face; I taught you better than that.”

Before Callie had time to be highly annoyed with that comment, her employee and unapologetically gay best friend burst through the kitchen door into the front of the bakery.

“Barb, what a surprise.” His eyes met Callie's, and unbeknownst to Barbara the two of them exchanged an entire silent conversation in a fraction of a second with that one look. It went something like this:

Holy shit, what's she doing here?

I know, right?

Does she know?

Yep, she knows.

Shit. You okay?

I will be.

What the hell is she wearing?

Oh my God, I know!

Eric grinned and pulled Callie's mother into a hug.

“At least someone's happy to see me,” Barbara said over his shoulder.

“I'm always happy to see you, Mom.” Although Callie was certain her words went unnoticed as she watched Eric gush over the woman. He always handled her like a pro, saying just the right things, but not too much, for which Callie was grateful.

“I swear every time I see you, you look a year younger, and those shoes are perfection.”

Barbara laughed and feigned embarrassment. Callie knew her mother was eating his comments up and she couldn't help but smile because she knew that Eric genuinely loved Barbara. So did Callie, but her mother was a woman best taken in small doses … and, Callie hoped, not unexpectedly. It was best to have all your wits about you when Barbara was around, because she sniffed out weakness and secrets like a bloodhound, desperate for a way into your life. She wanted to be needed and in on the action. That was all well and good, but Callie liked to do things her own way, which usually turned out to be the exact opposite of her mother's way. They were just … different people.

“Now, Eric, why didn't you make Callie call me right away when she got the dance coach job?”

“Barb, please. You know how our girl is. Go, go, go, all the time. I'm sure it just slipped her mind.”

Barbara turned to Callie, looking stricken. “Oh, honey, you're working way too hard here. You have to join me for a spa day. I insist.”

“Thanks, Mom. But I'm good. Promise.”

Her mother reached around to Callie's ponytail and grabbed the end of one of her riotous curls. “Are you sure, baby girl? These ends are fried. You haven't had a cut in weeks, have you? Amazing hair like yours cannot be neglected.”

Callie hadn't had a cut in months, and she couldn't help the fact that she'd been born with unruly curls. “It's fine, Mom. I'll schedule a haircut soon.”

“You can't be the dance coach with split ends, sweetie. You must put your best face forward. How will you find the man of your dreams? If you're lucky you won't have to work at any job after that.”

“Mom, I can assure you that the state of my hair has no effect on my ability to do this job, because it's not about my looks. It's not about me at all. It's about the girls on the team. And I've told you a thousand times, I like what I do. Even if I met the guy of my dreams—which is unlikely—I would still be running this bakery.”

Barbara gave a pouty lip. “Goodness, you don't have to get excited. You're so much like your father. What am I gonna do with you?” She turned to Eric. “When was the last time she had a date? Or a haircut?”

“Don't get me involved, Barbara. You know I love you, but I'm always Team Callie, and if she wants to rock inch-long split ends and a cold bed, that's her business.”

Callie shot Eric a dirty look. Her love life was a constant source of contention between her and her mother. Callie was happy to be single and Barbara didn't seem to understand that. She loved being a wife; in fact, Callie was certain her mother's entire identity was wrapped up in being Mrs. Daniels. She saw herself as adornment to her successful husband. At least that was the way Callie viewed it, and that was not her style. At all.

Callie never wanted to adorn anything; she'd been that girl before when she was young and trying to find her way with boys, and it did not suit her. She wasn't an ornament or a trophy; she was a human being who just happened to have breasts and could take care of herself, thank you very damn much. Callie liked to have her share of fun once in a while, but that was enough.

She needed to steer the conversation into safer waters before she said something to her mother that she'd regret. They'd had those conversations enough for Callie to know that they didn't end well and she just felt horrible afterward.

“Mom, I'm so grateful you came to see me. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner about my new job. Like I said, it's just been a hectic time, but I'll be sure to let you know when the first performance is so you can come and watch.”

“Well, are you sure you won't need help with costumes or hair? You know performance and presentation is my specialty.”