Every Kind of Heaven. Jillian Hart
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minute had ticked by. He shouldered through the club’s main door. “Where I am is none of your business. Is Mom giving you problems?”
“When isn’t she giving me problems? She means well. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself so I don’t flip out. She’s made two of my bridesmaids cry. She’s decided the wedding planner isn’t capable and is trying to take over.”
“Do you need me to come run interference?”
“Do you know what I need you to do?” Chloe sounded as if she was very glad he’d asked. “I’d love it if you could swing by the club and check on the cake.”
I know what you’re up to little sister, he thought. But he didn’t mind. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Ava since he’d left her shop yesterday.
It ate at him that she thought he was the groom. She was right—from her mistaken perspective he did look like a Mr. Yuck. Now, that was a misperception he had to change, even if he had to show her two forms of ID to do it.
Because he didn’t want to encourage his sister, he tried to sound indifferent. Not at all interested. “Tell me what you know about this baker you went with.”
“Ha! You like her. I know you do.”
“I don’t know her.” Yet. But he intended to change that.
As he began looking around the room, he spotted her through the closed French doors into the ballroom and he froze in place. Ava. Seeing her was like the first light of dawn rising, and that was something he’d never felt before. Ever.
“I met Ava when we were volunteering at the community church’s shelter kitchen.” Chloe sounded very far away, although the cell connection was crystal clear. “She’s sweet and kind and hysterical. We had a great time, until they asked her to leave.”
What had she said? Brice’s mind was spinning. He couldn’t seem to focus. All he could think of was Ava. Her thick, shiny hair was tied up into a haphazard ponytail, bouncing in time with her movements. She was busily going over the cake, checking each colorful flower and sparkling golden accent.
She hadn’t noticed him yet and seemed lost in her own world. She had a set of ear buds in, probably listening to a pocket-sized digital music player. She wore jeans and a yellow T-shirt that said on the back “Every Kind of Heaven” in white script.
Was the saying true? It had to be. She did look like everything sweet and good in the world.
“Brice? Are you listening to me?”
He felt dazed, as if he’d been run over by a bus. He couldn’t orient himself in place and time. Any minute Ava would look up, and when she saw him, she’d leap to the same conclusion as before—that he was Mr. Yuck. If he didn’t act quickly, would she start lobbing frosting at him?
He’d never quite had that affect on a woman before.
“Look, Chloe. I gotta go. Call if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure. You’ll make sure Ava doesn’t need any help, right? She’s just starting her business and she hasn’t hired anyone yet. She’ll need some assistance with all the favors we ordered. Remember, if you change your mind and decide to bring a date to my wedding, feel free.”
“Sure. Right,” he said vaguely.
Ava. He was having the toughest time concentrating on anything else. His thoughts kept drifting to the woman on the other side of the door.
When he opened it, he heard a lightly muttered, “Oops!”
Ava’s voice made his senses spin.
Think, Brice. He clicked off his phone and stepped into the ballroom.
Morning light spilled through the long row of closed French doors and onto her. She looked tinier than he remembered. Maybe it was that she had such a big personality that she gave the impression of stature. She was surprisingly petite with slender lines and almost skinny arms and legs. There was no one else helping. How she’d delivered that big cake by herself was a mystery. It had to be heavy.
He knew the moment she sensed his presence. The line of her slender shoulders stiffened. Every muscle went completely rigid. She pulled the ear buds out of her ears, turning toward him in one swift movement.
“You.” If looks could kill, he’d at least be bleeding. “What are you doing here? You’re just like Darrin Fullerton. He showed up when I was delivering the cake to beg me not to say anything to his bride. He’d been drunk, he’d said, and didn’t know what he was doing when he propositioned me. As if that’s any excuse!”
Quick, Brice, look innocent. He held up both hands in surrender. “Wait. I’m nothing like that Fullerton guy. I’m a completely innocent best man. Really.”
“Innocent? I don’t think so.”
Ava gave him her best squinty-eyed look. He was bigger than she remembered, a good six feet tall. When she’d shoved him out the door of her bakery, it had been like trying to move a bulldozer.
She went up on tiptoe so she could glare at him directly, not exactly eye to eye, but it was the best she could manage, being so short. “Are you ashamed of yourself? At all?”
He didn’t look unashamed. “Chloe’s going to love that cake. You did an amazing job.”
“Now if only I can control the urge to lob the top tier at you.”
“Do you think you can restrain that urge for a few seconds? I’ve got something to show you.” He reached into his back pocket.
Men were much more trouble than they were worth, she concluded. But why did he have to have such an amazing grin? That’s probably what Chloe saw in him; it obviously blinded her to all his multitude of faults. Poor Chloe. “You should be getting ready for your wedding, but what are you doing? Trying to get me not to tell—”
He flashed a card at her. “This ought to clear up the confusion.”
“I’m not the one who’s confused. You owe me an apology and your bride an enormous apology and—”
He waved the card in front of her. “Look closer.”
She squinted to bring the card into focus. Not a card. It was a driver’s license. Some of her fury sagged as she realized the picture, which was, of course, perfect, matched the man standing before her. The name to the left of the photo was Brice Donovan.
What? Her mind screeched to a sudden halt. She sank back onto her heels, staring, feeling her jaw drop. Brice Donovan. Chloe Donovan’s brother. Not the groom.
“I’m the best man,” he said, wagging the card. “Do you finally believe me?”
His eyes darkened with amusement, but they weren’t unkind. No, not at all. A strong warmth radiated from him as he leaned close, and then closer.
That thought spun around in her brain for a moment, like a car’s engine stuck in neutral. Then it hit her. She’d insulted, yelled at and accused a perfectly innocent man.
It was hard to know just what to say. Talk about being embarrassed. Had she really said all those things to him? She felt faint. Wasn’t he on the city’s most eligible bachelor’s list? It was just in last weekend’s paper. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him.
Why did these things always happen to her? She clipped her case closed. He was probably waiting for an apology. An apology for the accusations. The fact that she’d been beyond rude to him, one of the wealthiest men from one of the most prominent families in Montana.
Lovely. Her face heated from the humiliation starting to seep into her soul. “Oops. My bad.”
“You think?” He crooked one brow, amusement softening the impressive impact of all iron-solid six feet of him.
The effect was scrambling her brain cells, and that wasn’t helping her to think.