Christmas in Good Hope (A Good Hope Novel Book 1) (4 page)

Beck tilted his head ever so slightly as he studied her. “Is that bad?”

“Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.” Ami blew out a breath and came to an abrupt halt. “Anita was once married to my dad’s best friend. Richard died of a heart attack back when I was in middle school. She dated around and finally married Bernie Fishback, the Bagel King. They divorced several years ago.”

Ami pressed her lips together as if realizing she’d been rambling.

“Your father and Anita are both single,” Beck pointed out, wondering what he was missing.

“You don’t understand.” Exasperated, she flung her hands into the air. “She’s manipulative and sneaky. When I run into her and my father is with her, she acts like we’re buddies. But if I see her on the street and she’s alone, she barely acknowledges me. I know I’m protective when it comes to my dad, and I suppose that could be influencing my impression of her, but the truth is, she doesn’t think highly of me, either.”

Beck couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why not?”

Ami’s voice dropped to a whisper, though they were the only ones in the room. “It’s complicated.”

She looked so miserable he found himself moving close.

“Your father is lucky to have you looking out for him.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to comfort, wanting to soothe. He felt the tension ease out of her.

“I love him so much.” Her voice trembled with emotion.

Beck thought of his own parents and how long it had been since they’d spoken. They worried about him but were determined to give him the space he needed. He needed to remember that building a new life in Good Hope didn’t mean cutting off contact with those he loved.

She chewed on her lip. “I’m probably being silly.”

“I don’t think so.”

His quietly spoken words appeared to surprise her.

“You—you don’t?”

“You have good instincts.” Beck kept his tone matter-of-fact. “From what I’ve observed, you look for the best in everyone. If this woman sets off alarms, I’d trust my gut.”

Beck met her gaze, willing her to see he meant every word. In the court system he’d seen many instances in which the outcome might have been different if the individuals had paid attention to red flags instead of dismissing them.

“Thank you, Beck.”

He wasn’t certain what she was thanking him for, but he was glad her smile was back and the frown that had worried her brow had vanished.

Beck helped her on with her jacket, and with the subject of Anita Fishback apparently now off the table, they strolled to the parlor, leaning into one another like old friends. As they passed the front window, Beck saw snow had continued to fall. Though the street lamps were valiantly attempting to light the darkness, it appeared to be a losing battle.

When they reached the foyer, Beck rested his hand on the newel post, suddenly conscious of how close she stood and how good she smelled. Like cinnamon and sugar and everything sweet. “Appears the snow is picking up steam.”

“Welcome to Wisconsin.”

The teasing words drew his attention back to her mouth. To the lips that reminded him of plump, red strawberries. When he’d moved in last summer, Beck had located a berry patch in the far end of the yard. He wondered if Ami’s lips would taste as sweet.

A curious energy infused the silence. Her cheeks went a little pink, but she didn’t say a word. And neither did he . . .

Though Beck and Ami had shared coffee and pastries almost every morning for months, only recently had Beck begun to see Ami as more than the shop owner next door.

That didn’t mean he planned to act on the attraction. He wasn’t looking for a
relationship
. Nothing could replace what he’d had with Lisette. And Ami didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d be interested in a fling.

Slowly, Beck drew air into his lungs.

“Well, thanks again.” Ami paused, as if not sure what more to say. She lifted her hood, then began wrapping yards of a multicolored scarf around her neck as if preparing for the next ice age. “See you in the morning.”

Finally able to focus, he stepped between her and the door. “Not so fast. I’m driving you home.”

Surprise skittered across her face. “It’s only a few blocks.”

“It’s a blizzard out there.”

Ami laughed, a short, nervous burst of air. “Hardly a blizzard.”

“I’m driving you home,” he repeated in a gruff rasp, his tone brooking no argument.

“Okay, but on one condition.” Her eyes seemed to glitter. “Tomorrow morning we meet at my apartment instead of the café.”

Her request made no sense. Then again, nothing about this evening had followed a scripted path. Beck dropped his gaze from her warm green eyes with their flecks of gold to those full, plump lips that tantalized, and grinned. “Shall I bring the coffee?”

C
hapter
F
our

The snow continued through the night and into the early morning hours. Beck was covered in the white stuff by the time he reached the bakery.

He dusted the snow from his coat while he waited for Ami to unlock the door. After years of wearing a suit and tie every day, it felt strange to be dressed so casually on a workday. But casual was de rigueur in Good Hope.

Like him, Ami wore jeans. While he’d chosen a navy ski sweater he’d purchased on a trip to Aspen several years earlier for this snowy December morning, she’d gone ultracasual and donned a red-and-white-striped hoodie with a scowling badger on the front. He recognized the strutting animal with the arrogant attitude as the University of Wisconsin’s mascot, Bucky.

Though the oversize sweatshirt gave no clue to the womanly figure beneath, the jeans clung to her toned legs like a glove. She opened the door with a broad, welcoming smile. He noticed the tips of her hair were still wet. Instead of smelling like cakes and cookies today, the faint floral scent from her shampoo teased his nostrils.

He must have been staring, because she laughed and grabbed his hand. “You’ll freeze if you stand out there much longer.”

She ushered him inside and quickly shut the door behind him.

After hanging his jacket on the downstairs coat tree, he followed her to the stairwell at the back of the shop. The journey up the steep steps to her second-floor apartment was made more pleasant by the enticing view of her backside.

“This morning I have an extra-special treat for you,” she promised, her voice a husky caress.

His gaze returned to the sway of her hips as she took another step. His mouth went dry. Was there something more than pastries on the menu this morning?

For a second he let himself fantasize what it would be like to hold her, taste her, touch her. When the urge to do just that threatened to overwhelm Beck, he shifted his gaze to the lavender walls of the stairwell.

“Aren’t you curious?” she asked, sounding perturbed.

Beck struggled to remember the conversation. “As to what pastry you’re serving?”

“What else?”

His gaze returned briefly to her derriere.
What else indeed?

“It’s called kouign amann,” she continued. “It’s a traditional French pastry.”

“I’ve never met a French pastry I didn’t like.” A lifetime ago, Paris had been a favorite destination when he and Lisette had needed to relax and recharge.

“Just wait until you taste this one.” Ami chuckled as they reached the landing. “It’s
sinfully
delicious. It resembles a puff pastry with its layers of buttery, sugary dough. But, in my opinion, it’s the caramelized crust that makes it
très magnifique
.”

Beck’s mouth began to water in anticipation. He had no doubt the pastry would be every bit as good as she promised. He’d never been around a woman with such an aptitude for baking.

Ami flung open the door to her apartment and stepped inside, glancing back at him over her shoulder. “Watch where you put your feet.”

The warning came in the nick of time. Beck’s boot missed an iPad box encased in bubble wrap by a centimeter. Deciding to play it safe, he paused to survey the apartment from where he stood.

An unusual wall clock with framed photos instead of numbers drew his gaze. If the floor hadn’t been so cluttered, he might have moved closer to see if Ami was in any of the pictures.

He shifted his focus straight ahead to the galley kitchen with a small dinette table. Off to the right was a hallway that he assumed would lead to a bathroom and bedroom.

Though the living room was small, because of the relatively open floor plan, it looked more spacious. Or, Beck qualified, it would have appeared larger if almost every available surface, including the floor, weren’t covered with gifts. Some of the items were already wrapped and tagged, while others were still in original packaging.

Beck had expected the toys and electronics, but not the household items, blankets, and clothing. He even spotted a power saw in one corner.

“As you can see, there’s still a lot of wrapping to be done.” Ami smiled at him from across the room. “If you don’t have a spare table, I’ll bring one. That way I can finish wrapping these and the new gifts as they arrive.”

Beck cocked his head. Had she mentioned she’d also be stopping over to wrap? No, she’d definitely left that part off of her “I need your spare room” spiel.

Before he could mention the oversight, Beck caught a whiff of fresh coffee. Unless his nose was mistaken, she’d brewed the dark chicory blend they both preferred.

Beck carefully picked his way through the chaos of the living room to the kitchen. The wall behind Ami was a bright, cheery yellow. The white lacquered dinette table had multicolored flowers painted across the top.

It was the curtains that had him looking twice. His first impulse was to label the holdbacks as ridiculous. He went with his second. “I like the forks.”

Ami grinned. “I think of them as both clever and unique.”

The white curtains with their border of sewn-on flowers were held back on each side of the window by an oversize bent fork.

“Very unique hardware.” Beck couldn’t recall ever seeing anything remotely like it. His parents’ home in Fairview, Tennessee, as well as his prior home in Bogart, Georgia, had been professionally decorated. Not a single bent fork in sight. Still, he liked the novelty. The bright colors suited the small space. The vibrancy of it fit Ami’s personality.

“Have a seat.” She gestured to the table, where two bright purple plates each boasted a pastry so perfectly formed it could qualify as a work of art.

Turning from him, Ami moved to the counter and poured coffee into two red mugs from a vintage silver percolator.

“Where did you get the coffeepot?” The last time Beck had seen one like it had been years ago at his grandmother’s house.

“My dad is hooked on his Keurig and didn’t want it anymore. I was the lucky recipient of his castoff.” After placing the steaming mugs on the table, she sat across from him. “Try the pastry. Let me know what you think.”

Beck bit into the round, crusty cake. The sweet, buttery layers and caramelized crust came together in his mouth in an almost orgasmic explosion. He groaned.

Ami had been right.

Anita Fishback was no competition when it came to baking skills.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Her lighthearted laugh brought a smile to his lips even as his mouth closed over the pastry for another bite.

“I heard about Janey leaving.”

The abrupt change of topic barely registered. Beck had grown used to her jumping from one subject to another. He took a sip of coffee before responding. “Only for a month. She’ll be back after the holidays.”

Ami’s gaze was now firmly focused on him. “She left you in the lurch.”

“Her mother had a stroke.” Beck had seen the fear on Janey’s face. He knew all too well how it felt to have an unexpected phone call rock your world. “I hope, faced with the same situation, I’d do what was necessary to help my mother.”

“Are you and your mom close?”

“We used to be.” Beck leaned back in his seat and studied her. He noticed the tight grip her hands had on the mug. She hadn’t yet touched her pastry.

Unable to resist, Beck took another bite of his own.

“I want you to hire me as your cook.” The request burst from Ami’s lips, and the abrupt delivery appeared to startle her almost as much as it did him.

With the entire building imbued with the aroma of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon, one fact was indisputable. “You’re a baker.”

“I cook every bit as good as I bake.” Ami placed her cup on the table and leaned forward. “I’d be a terrific asset to the café.”

“I don’t doubt that in the least.” Beck warmed his hands around his mug and considered her request. “You already have a job. Why work two?”

“Ralph.” The word came out on a sigh.

Something that felt an awful lot like jealousy flashed. “Who’s Ralph?”

The edge to his voice had Ami blinking.

“Ralph is the furnace, or rather, the boiler. It’s failing, and I’ve discovered the cost of replacing it is superexpensive. Since I can’t let the pipes freeze, I had to schedule the work. They’re coming tomorrow.”

“Is that why it’s so cold in here?”

A dimple in Ami’s left cheek winked. “You noticed?”

“I can see my breath.”

Ami grinned. “I thought I could work the days I’m not at the bakery, which would be Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Depending on what you pay me, the money I earned could make a big dent in my furnace bill.”

The fact that she was willing to work a second job told him she must be desperate. Beck wished he could help her out. He admired her work ethic, the way she identified a problem and attacked it head-on. Unfortunately, the days she proposed to help weren’t when he needed someone.

“I’d love to help you.” When he paused, Beck saw the light in her eyes fade.

She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, then let out a long breath. “I hear
but
in your voice.”

“I can handle the middle of the week with the current staff.” He held up his hands when he saw her mouth open. “What I need is a cook for the Twelve Nights celebrations. But those Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays are the same days your bakery will be swamped.”

“Are you saying you won’t hire me?”

The look of despair on her face was quickly masked, but not before he’d seen it. Beck would willingly lend her the money, but he sensed she wouldn’t accept if he offered. His short time on the peninsula had taught him the people here were a proud lot. So far, in their short acquaintance, Ami appeared to be no exception.

As Beck gazed into those worried green eyes, something inside him stirred.
Sympathy
, he told himself,
for her plight
.

But even Beck had trouble believing the heat radiating through his body was a surge of sympathy. Before he could do anything foolish, or even fully contemplate doing anything foolish, he surged to his feet.

To his surprise, she jumped up and took his hands in hers. “Don’t go, Beck.”

He gently disengaged his hands from hers, the movement at odds with the strong desire to pull her into his arms.

It could have been a perfect match. He needed an accomplished cook and was prepared to pay well for the right person. It was easy to visualize Ami in his kitchen. The staff would love having her there. And so, Beck realized, would he.

Not meant to be.

“Beckett, please.”

The soft plea in her voice wrapped around his heart.

“I don’t know what else to say.” But when her eyes remained fixed on his and she didn’t step aside, he softened the refusal. “If you can find a way to work Twelve Nights, the job is yours.”

Her entire face brightened. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, Beck.” She flung her arms around him. “I’ll figure something out. Just you wait and see.”

Ami waved to Beck from the doorway of the shop and watched him disappear into the wintery whiteness. She pulled the door shut against the cold and slowly climbed the steps.

Hugging him had definitely been a mistake. Though her arms had only been around him for a heartbeat, it had jumbled her head so much she’d found it impossible to think, much less come up with a solution to their dilemma. Her impulsive action had also made him uncomfortable, as evidenced by his hasty retreat.

Ami glanced at the clock as she reentered her apartment. As it took up most of the wall, it was difficult to miss. The words “Time Spent With Family . . . Is Worth Every Second” were stenciled on the navy paint in silver letters above and below the clockworks. Instead of numbers, there were framed pictures.

Just looking at the faces of her loved ones eased the tightness in her chest. A picture of her father’s parents taken on their fiftieth wedding anniversary four years ago was on top. They’d moved to Arizona last year because the cold winter air made her grandmother’s arthritis worse.

A portrait of her mother’s parents held the six o’clock spot. The smiling couple had been killed in a car accident when her mother was away at college. Ami had never fully understood how hard getting that news by phone had been for her mom until her parents had been called to the hospital for her.