Every Kind of Heaven

Could the morning get any worse?

“Oh no, I'm fine,” Ava said.

“Fine, huh? Aren't those your car keys inside the car?”

“I believe so.”

Brice studied her for a moment. “Hey, it's no big deal. This kind of thing happens, right?” Tender feelings came to life and he couldn't seem to stop them. Maybe Ava's keys getting locked inside the car was providential. Just like the fact that he was here to help at just the right moment.

“Let me help. It'll just take a minute, and then you can be on your way,” he added.

Why was her every sense attuned to this man? Ava felt his presence like the bright radiant sun on her back, almost as if she was interested in him. But of course, she couldn't be. And she especially couldn't be falling in love with Brice Donovan.

I consider that our present sufferings
are not worth comparing with the glory
that will be revealed in us.

—
Romans
8:18

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

B
aker Ava McKaslin stopped humming as she stepped back from the worktable to inspect the wedding cake. Her footsteps echoed in the industrial kitchen, nearly empty except for a few basics—the sink, countertops and the few pieces of equipment she'd managed to buy off the previous tenant. They'd considered it too cumbersome and expensive to move the industrial oven and fridge, which was just her luck.

She might not have the bakery of her dreams
yet,
God willing, but it was a start. Besides, her cake was spectacular, if she did say so herself.

But what was with all the silence? She cut a look to the long stretch of metal counter behind her. The CD had come to an end. She'd probably forgotten to hit Repeat again. Okay, she forgot most things most of the time. Since her hands were all frosting
coated, she hit the Play button with her elbow. The first beats of percussion got her right back into the creative mode. Although some people found it hard to think with bass blasting from her portable boom box, she thought it helped her brain cells to fire…or synapse…or do whatever brain cells did.

As the Christian music pulsed with an upbeat rhythm, she went back to work on the top tier. The delicate scrollwork took patience, not to mention stamina. Her wrist and arms were killing her, since she'd been at this for six hours straight. Ah, the price of being a baker. She ignored the burn in her exhausted muscles. Pain, that didn't matter. What mattered was
not
failing.

Before she'd bought this place, she'd been unofficially in business by using her oldest sister Katherine's snazzy kitchen off and on for a few months. This was her very first wedding cake in her own bakery. How great was that? And it was actually going well—a total shocker. So far there were no disasters. No kitchen fires. No last-minute cancellation of the wedding. It was almost as if this business venture of hers was meant to be.

Maybe she hadn't made a disastrous mistake by jumping into this entrepreneurial thing with both feet. And, best of all, the remodeling contractor would start work soon transforming this drab commercial space into a cheerful bakery shop in less than a couple of weeks. That was another reason why she was in such a great mood.

“Hello?” a man's voice—a stranger's voice—yelled over the booming music.

She screamed. The spatula slipped from her grip. What was a man doing in her kitchen? A man she'd never seen before. Her brain scrambled and her body refused to move. She could only gape at him in wide-eyed horror.

Oh, no. What if he was the backdoor burglar? The thief that had been breaking into the back doors of restaurants and assaulting and stealing? What if this dude was him?

It would be smart to call 9-1-1, but she had no idea where her cell was. There was no business phone installed yet. Even if she did have her cell or a working landline, it wouldn't matter since she was paralyzed in place.

“Uh…uh…” That was the best speech she could manage? Get it together, Ava. You're about to be robbed. “I've seen your face, so I can identify you in a lineup.”

The burglar stared at her. Wow, he was really handsome. And he looked startled. His strong, chiseled jaw was clenched tight in, perhaps, fury and his striking dark eyes glittered with viciousness…or maybe that was humor. The left corner of his mouth quirked up as if he were holding back a grin.

Great, she had to get an easily amused thief.

“I've got two bucks in my purse. That's it, buddy. There's not another cent on the premises. You've
picked the wrong place to rob. So t-t-turn around r-right now and go away. Go on. Shoo.”

There, that ought to scare him off
or
confuse him. She really didn't care which. Adrenaline—or maybe it was terror—started to spill like ice into her veins.

“Go ahead, call the cops.” He called her bluff, crossing his arms over his wide chest. He had the audacity to lean one big shoulder against the doorframe, as if he had all the time in the world. He looked more like a movie star than a criminal. “Explain to the police how you left the front door unlocked.”

“No, I—” Wait, she
did
forget to lock stuff. And if he'd come in the
front
door, then he wasn't the backdoor thief. Maybe. Unless he'd changed his M.O. and was that very likely? She didn't think so. “I did leave the door unlocked, didn't I?”

“Anyone could walk right in. Even the backdoor burglar. That's who you thought I was, right?”

Okay, her mind was starting to unscramble. He didn't look like any criminal she'd seen on TV. To make matters worse, he looked
better
than any man she'd seen on TV. He was handsome to a fault. His thick black hair fell with disregard for convention over his collar. He wore a short-sleeve polo shirt—black—with the little expensive insignia. His clothes—including his baggy khaki shorts and exclusive manly leather sandals—were top of the line. Expensive.

It was likely that the backdoor thief didn't dress like that or have such a perfect smile. She hit Pause
on the boom box. “Okay, I feel dumb now. What were you doing surprising me like that? You just can't go walking into any place you want.”

“I'm looking for you, Ava McKaslin.” His grin broadened enough to show off a double set of dimples.

Oops. This must be about business, and mistaking a potential customer for a burglar was so not professional. “You've come with a cake order, haven't you, and after meeting me, you've changed your mind.”

“No, but it's tempting.” The sets of dimples dug deeper as his grin widened. “I've been sent to check on the cake.”

“Chloe's cake?” Oh, no. That can't be good. Suddenly her great mood tumbled. “Has she called off her wedding?”

“Nope.”

“Changed her mind and eloped?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Has she gone with another baker and forgot to tell me? Has she postponed the wedding?”

“Let me guess. You're more of a glass-is-half-empty kind of girl, aren't you?”

“Hey, disasters happen. I'm a realist.”

Ava knelt to retrieve the spatula. She tossed it into the sink and washed her hands, turning her back to the guy. He wasn't a burglar. She'd leapt to a wrong conclusion, but his being a thief might be better because he'd come with bad news. She knew, although he had yet to admit it, that he'd come to cancel the first cake she'd made in her bakery.

Total doom.

She grabbed a paper towel to dry her hands. “Tell Chloe I appreciate that she went with me, even if it didn't work out. Is she all right?”

“I hope so, since she's getting married tomorrow.”

“The wedding's still on?”

“Sure it is.”

She was as cute as he remembered. Brice Donovan took a step closer, trying to act like he wasn't stunned. He'd never met any woman who looked so funny and gorgeous all in the same moment. It was the eyes. Those big violet-blue eyes filled with one hundred percent vibrant emotion. They radiated such heart and spirit that he was sucked right in, like being caught in the vortex of a black hole.

It ought to be terrifying, but he didn't mind it so much. He was glad to see her again. She didn't seem to remember seeing him at Chloe's wedding shower, considering she'd mistaken him for a burglar. But he sure remembered her. How could he not? She was unforgettable.

And absolutely adorable. Not that he could see much of her; she was standing behind the most unusual cake he'd ever seen. One large heart-shaped layer was stacked off-center on another, and another over that. Satin-textured, smooth ivory frosting adorned with amazing gold lace and ribbons of some kind of frosting, and colorful sugar flowers everywhere.

Unlike her cake, the designer wasn't as perfectly arranged. She had globs of icing all over her. A streak on her cheek, a dried crown of it in her light blond hair, which was neatly tied back, and a blob just above the tip of her cute little nose.

When he'd agreed to check on the cake's progress for his sister, he'd thought the address was familiar. He knew why the instant he'd pulled into the lot. His construction company had won the bid for renovation—starting next week. The moment he'd spotted the shop's proprietor hard at work, he'd known why Chloe had sent him. She was meddlesome, but then a guy had to tolerate that from his baby sister. Not that he wasn't grateful.

Over the past year, he'd noticed Ava McKaslin around town a couple of times. They didn't belong to the same social circle or church, and didn't live in the same parts of town, so he'd never had an opportunity to talk to her before. There was something about her that always made him smile. Just like he was doing now.

“I've been sent to make sure the cake is on schedule.” He stalked forward, wanting to get closer to that smile of hers. “It looks on schedule to me.”

“I'll need thirty minutes tops, and then it's done. Chloe doesn't have to worry about a thing. I'll deliver it bright and early at the country club, just as I promised, no sweat.”

“She'll be thrilled.” He splayed both hands on
the table and leaned toward her, drawn by those eyes, by everything.

Up close, there was nothing artificial about her. She was radiant. She had a fresh-faced complexion and dazzling beauty, sure, but she was unique. She was like the light refracting off a flawless diamond. Hers was a brilliance that was impossible to touch or to capture.

He'd really like to get to know her. “You said you've got thirty minutes until you're done?”

“I promise. You and Chloe have nothing to worry about. Your wedding cake will be perfect.” Ava crossed her heart like a girl scout, as cute as a button.

Captivated, Brice felt blinded in a way he'd never been before. He definitely would like to see what this violet-eyed, flawless Ava was really like. He took in the little gold cross at her throat and the sweet way she looked. What was such a good, amazing woman doing single?

She scooped a short spatula into a stainless steel bowl, fluffy with snow-white frosting. “Did you want to come back when I'm done?”

“I'd rather stay, if you don't mind.”

“Stay? You don't want to do that. You'd be bored.”

“I doubt that. I could watch you work. I've never seen anything like this. It's beautiful, the work you do.” He took a breath. Gathered his courage. “If you don't mind, when you're done, we could talk, just you and me.”

Ava stared over the top frills of the cake. She
blinked hard, as if she were trying to bring him into focus. Or make sense of what he was saying. “Talk?”

“Sure. We've met before, don't you remember? Maybe we can go down the street for a cup of coffee. Get to know each other better.”

“What?”
The spatula dropped from her supple artist's fingers and clattered on the metal tabletop. “You want to get to know me
better?
”

Uh-oh. She didn't look happy about that. He'd never had that reaction from a woman before. Okay, maybe he'd jumped the gun. “Do you have a boyfriend? I should have asked first. I noticed you weren't wearing a wedding ring and I assumed—”

She cut him off, circling around the table like a five-star army general. “You
assumed?
What's wrong with you?”

He couldn't believe how mad she looked. “Hey, what did I do? I just wanted to talk.”

“Talk? Oh, is that what men like you call it? You need to get some morals.”

Well, at least she was a lady with serious principles. He liked that. He respected Ava's inner fiber. It was a little passionate, but he liked that, too. He held up both hands, a show of surrender. “Hey, I didn't know you were attached. Why wouldn't you be? Look at you. Of course you have a boyfriend. He probably worships at your feet.”

“No I don't have a boyfriend, but what about you and Chloe? You're getting married! You should leave. Go.”

Normally, he might take offense at her dismissal, but he didn't seem to mind.

No boyfriend, huh? Okay, call him interested. No, call him dazzled, that's what he was. She fascinated him, all pure inner fire and feeling. But this wasn't going well. Usually he got a better response than this.

“What am I going to have to tell your bride?” Her sweetheart-shaped face turned pink with fury. “The poor woman thinks she's getting married to Mr. Right. Little does she know you're Mr. Yuck, wanting to get to know me the evening before your wedding. I don't think you want to chat, either!”

So, that was it. Whew. For a minute there, he was afraid she really didn't like him. “You misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood? Oh, I don't think so.”

Men,
Ava fumed. What was wrong with the species?
This
was why she wasn't married. Too many of the gender were just like this guy, and nothing made her madder. Spitting mad. “I'm a good Christian girl. Get a clue, buddy. Are you misunderstanding me now?”

“Uh, no. I noticed the gold cross. You look like a very nice Christian girl to me.”

He was being agreeable now, but it didn't matter. “Poor Chloe. Now what do I do? Do I tell her? Or do I make you do it? A man like you doesn't deserve a nice wife like her. What kind of man
would do that to the woman he was about to marry?”

He chuckled. Actually chuckled, the sound rich as cream. His dimples deepened. Tiny, attractive laugh lines crinkled around his kind, warm brown eyes.

That was the problem. He didn't look like a cheater. He looked like a nice guy. What did a girl do in a world where icky men could look as good as the nice ones?

She'd had this problem before. This is why she had a newly instated policy of staying away from every last one of them, unless they needed to buy a cake from her, of course. She intended to stick to her current no-man policy one hundred percent. “This is the last time I'm telling you to leave.”