Blissed (Misfit Brides #1) (12 page)

Coke-bottle glasses lady let out a small gasp. “Oh, dearie me. CJ Blue! How nice to meet you!”

She pumped his hand while Natalie stood and put her arm around her son’s tiny shoulders. “Let’s go home, sweetie.”

The kid patted the dinosaur’s back, still shivering, still sniffling. “It’ll be okay, Cindy. Mommy will fix you.” His hands weren’t visible for the length of the sleeves of Natalie’s jacket, but he kept patting the dinosaur’s back anyway.

While they walked away, an affection for the boy launched so thick and fast in CJ’s chest, it practically gave him the Heimlich.

He could’ve had an adorable kid like this if Serena were still around. Maybe a couple. If he hadn’t pushed her so hard to give up her career. If he’d tried to fit into the role of a military husband. If he’d taken the time to appreciate her commitment instead of putting his desires for his own career ahead of hers.

If he hadn’t come home with a job offer in Atlanta and told her to pick.

The lady was still pumping CJ’s hand as if he weren’t standing in fifty-five-degree weather, soaking wet.

“We’re right honored to have you with us here in Bliss, we are. I’m Vi. You come right on up here and we’ll get you all dried off.”

“Not far to get back to my brother’s place. I’m good.” He gestured up the road, but his gaze snagged on Natalie and how she bundled the little boy up into a charcoal Mazda 3 at the edge of the street.

“Those two,” Vi said. “Doing the best they can, aren’t they?”

CJ cocked his head at the older lady. She had a wedding ring on her stocky finger, some kind of ornate bird pin peeking out from beneath her gaping white cardigan, and she smelled like a pile of flowers two days past their prime.

“Ain’t easy, what she’s doing, but she’s doing it,” Vi said.

There was definite respect there.

Interesting.

But not as interesting as getting back to the rectory. Out of the cold and back to the safety of somewhere he could suppress both old and new guilt. He squeezed Vi’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Gotta get going.”

“You sure I can’t help you dry off, hon?”

Was it his imagination, or was she ogling his chest through his T-shirt?

“My Gilbert was built like you back in the day,” she said. “Mm-mm, good memories. You stop on by again sometime, you can meet him. Wouldn’t mind watching the two of you arm wrestle, though you’ll have to go easy on him on account of his bursitis.”

“Ah, I’ll remember that.” And he would. Unfortunately.

He cast one last glance back at Natalie and her son.

He’d remember that too. Among too many other things.

N
OAH WAS UP bright and early Tuesday with no sign of lasting trauma from his accidental soaking in the wedding cake splash pad yesterday afternoon. Natalie wished she could say the same about herself.

She was used to her brain pinging with to-do lists she’d never get done for the Husband Games, problems she couldn’t solve at the shop, worries over whether Noah was getting enough vegetables or watching too much television. But since they’d left the wedding cake last night, she was fixated on replaying the image of a tall, broad, Highland warrior marching into battle against the evil waterfalls of doom to rescue a stuffed dinosaur.

He’d saved Cindy.

For Noah.

CJ Blue was making it very difficult for Natalie to continue to dislike him. And she suspected disliking him was the only thing saving her from liking him entirely too much. First he helped Dad, then Noah. She was willfully repressing the memory of talking to him in the confessional before she knew who he was. When he’d asked if she needed him to kick his own ass.

She’d never gotten many offers like that, and the sweetness of it had gotten buried beneath her mortification and horror.

Plus she’d be lying if she said he was a bad kisser. Not that she’d admit to anyone—herself included—how many times she’d found herself remembering
that
.

Noah was still bouncing around, happy as only a four-year-old could be when she dropped him at Mrs. Tanner’s home day care. Nat was trying to focus on the positive—it was dark and rainy today, but Nat had gotten word that the sunflower field was planted yesterday, and Bliss Bridal had a full schedule of brides today. When Mrs. Tanner called before Nat made it to work with news that Noah had already spilled his juice and his spare clothes didn’t fit anymore, she told herself this was also an excellent distraction from thinking about CJ.

So was running late.

Nat whipped around the corner to the alley behind Bliss Bridal three minutes before opening, then came to a screeching halt at the chain roping it off.

She muttered a cuss worth a dollar, but gave herself a fifty percent discount on what she owed Noah’s college fund since she didn’t have a whole dollar on her. Plus she would’ve stuck to a couple of quarter words anyway, were it not for the slick roads. She carefully backed out of the alley entryway, made a half circle around the block and drew up short—again—when she found the parking lot beside Bliss Bridal also chained off.

Damn
it.

She was so friggin’ tired of Marilyn Elias punishing her for things that weren’t her fault.

Don’t talk to CJ Blue, you divorced hussy.

Natalie eyed the rain splatters on her windshield.

Watched her wipers swish back and forth.

Peered up at the ominous clouds.

Oh, God.

The Queen General had heard Natalie had been spotted with the Exalted Widower again. She was going to bring back the flood.

A low grumble of thunder rolled in the distance.

No. The Queen General
could not
cause a flood. Again.

Natalie left her car angled between the chain and the street, blocking the sidewalk, and dashed through the rain on her heeled boots past Bliss Bridal and into Heaven’s Bakery.

And promptly blinked against the pain of the blinding white
everything
inside.

“Um, Nat?” Kimmie Elias said softly.

Natalie shielded her eyes against the harsh lights. Kimmie, a dishwater blonde with bright blue eyes, a smile for everyone, and a coping mechanism that Freud probably would’ve had a field day with, straightened behind one of the glass display cases of cupcakes. Her covert head-bob toward the kitchen fired Natalie’s blood.

Kimmie hustled out from behind the counter and nudged Natalie toward the door. “I got a fortune cookie Monday night that said my workplace would be the epicenter of a new adventure,” she whispered, “and nothing catastrophic has happened yet, so you should probably go before an earthquake or an asteroid hits.”

Natalie shook her off. Had customers been present, she would’ve walked away. She
was
, after all, a representative of Bliss Bridal, and still a member of The Aisle. But the bakery was empty. “It’s going to be the epicenter of tornado Natalie if your mother doesn’t unchain my parking lot.”

“I’m not kidding,” Kimmie said. “It said
epicenter
. Fortune cookies don’t say
epicenter
. I’ll talk—”

“Miss Castellano,” the QG interrupted, “may I help you?”

Her voice was soft enough, but the utter lack of disapproval and animosity in her was abnormal enough for Natalie to wonder if Kimmie was right about that asteroid.

There was a reason Natalie didn’t visit Heaven’s Bakery.

The QG did a freakishly scary
I’m-pretending-I’m-happy-to-see-you-but-I’m-actually-plotting-your-demise
face.

Another grumble of thunder rattled the windows.

Natalie matched the QG’s ramrod posture and pleasant tone. “Do you know anything about the alley and my parking lot being chained off?” They were both city property, maintained and kept by Bliss so there would be ample parking for all out-of-town brides without arguments among the business owners.

And they were both items that Marilyn Elias could manipulate with a simple call to City Hall.

“I believe the public works department is repaving them,” Marilyn said. “There was an announcement in the paper.”

Natalie’s jaw popped from the effort of unclenching it. “It was repaved last summer.”

“The city deemed it a subpar job.”

Nat bit her tongue until it hurt. She’d lost her temper with Dad, and look how that had turned out. She couldn’t afford to give the Queen General any more motivation to speed up her campaign to destroy Bliss Bridal. “And how long will it take?” Natalie asked.

“I’m afraid the power of that knowledge has not been vested in me.” Marilyn drummed a finger against her lips. “Although I may have heard speculation that it’s usually only a week.”

“
Only
?” Natalie squeaked.

“Once the weather clears,” the Queen General said. “I have work to do. I’m sure the mayor or the public works department will be able to answer your questions.”

Screw the mayor and the public works department. Natalie needed a place for her customers to park and a reason to lure them into the store.

The Queen General gave a regal nod toward the door. Natalie was dismissed.

Like hell. She sucked in a lungful of courage, but two things stopped her.

The first was the QG’s
don’t do it
glare, tossed over her shoulder with the practiced ease of a woman with a lifetime of experience in ruling the town her ancestors had founded.

The second, though, was inspiration.

The QG wanted to play dirty?

Nat could play dirty.

She spun on her heel and marched out the door—more confidently than petulantly, Nat liked to think—then got back in her car, drove to the parking lot across the street, and held her head high all the way back to Bliss Bridal, through the rain, across the shop floor, and back to the office.

The phone number was easy enough to find. And that drumming of her heart—that was satisfaction.

Satisfaction at not taking that woman’s shit anymore.

The phone rang once. Twice. Halfway through the third ring, a pleasant voice answered. “Deppert County Health Department, where may I direct your call?”

“I have a complaint about a food establishment,” Natalie said.

“One moment.”

Nat crossed her legs, her foot jiggling, listening to Michael Bolton on the hold music. Her pulse surged until her arms tingled. She could hang up.

Forget revenge.

Keep to the shadows, let the QG walk all over her.

There were two months to Knot Fest, and then she’d never have to see the QG again.

But being divorced didn’t make Natalie a
thing
. She was still a person. And Marilyn had pushed too far.

Michael Bolton went silent. “Deppert County Health Department. This is Susan. How may I help you?”

Natalie sat straighter.
War,
she reminded herself. This was
war
. 

Still, she dropped her voice. And added a country twang to it. Because she never could shake the feeling that Marilyn had eyes and ears inside Bliss Bridal. “Hi, I was just in Heaven’s Bakery in Bliss, and I heard one of the girls ask the scary older lady if they should toss the frosting that was out overnight, and she told them no, that they should use it as samples today. Is that sanitary?”

The silence on the other end of the line was so loud, Natalie could hear her own pulse.

“Susan?” she said after a minute.

“Heaven’s Bakery?” Susan repeated.

“Yes, ma’am.”

So Natalie hadn’t
technically
heard that conversation. Today. Or
exactly
like that. But Kimmie had mentioned once over drinks at Suckers that Heaven’s Bakery didn’t always refrigerate their frosting—something about its safety because of the chemistry that was over Natalie’s head—and Kimmie had also let it slip that not refrigerating the frosting was against health department code.

“Heaven’s Bakery in Bliss?” Susan repeated again.

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was another long pause, and then Susan’s sigh echoed through the phone. “Your name?”

“I’d prefer to remain anonymous,” Natalie said.

“Yeah, me too,” Susan grumbled.

Natalie’s conscience gave a kick. She kicked it right back. There were always casualties in war. Marilyn didn’t hesitate. Natalie couldn’t either.

“Tell me again exactly what you heard,” Susan said.

Natalie repeated the story—it wasn’t
exactly
a lie. She answered a few more questions—maybe adding that she’d sampled the frosting before hearing the conversation and that her stomach hurt now, to completely sell the story—then hung up.

Take
that
, Queen General.

So Nat’s heart was still pounding, and her conscience still warbling out a feeble protest, but for the first time in weeks, she had something to smile about at work.

Smile?

Make that
laugh
.

Outright glee trickled out of her body. She tossed her short hair back and shoved up out of the desk chair, then turned to the door.

Her father stood there.

His lips were parted, his eyes pained, bewilderment making the wrinkles around his eyes stand out. “Dad,” she stammered.

He cut a pointed glance to the phone on the desk.

The tidal wave of
shit, shit, shit
s rolling through her head were too many for her to count. A chill pebbled goose bumps down her arms.

His shoulders drooped. He blinked a couple times, shook his head. 

As though he couldn’t believe how low Natalie had sunk.

“Guess you’re right after all,” he said sadly. “New owners are probably the best thing that could happen to the old shop.”

He turned and walked out the door, leaving her alone. Alone, and miserable with her utter incompetence.

Chapter Seven

CJ
HAD WORKED a variety of bars—from a rooftop joint in Brazil to a polished study in an Irish castle hotel, to holes in the wall in a variety of holes—and Suckers sat in the middle of the spectrum. It smelled faintly like latex and stale beer, but the floors were clean and, despite the funky music and the pimpin’ purple, red, and silver décor, the clientele—heavy on the ladies tonight—was the dependable Midwestern stock that didn’t cause a lot of problems.