Bridesmaid For Hire. Marie Ferrarella
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for a quick spin around her, Gina grabbed the edge of the counter to keep herself steady. She refused to do something so incredibly hokey as to pass out even though she felt as if she could barely get her legs to support her.
“Shane?” she whispered.
His name slipped out before she could stop herself. It looked like Shane, except that it was a handsomer, upgraded version of the man who lived ten years, unchanged, in her past. His face appeared more gaunt now, and more rugged. Some of the boyishness had worn away, replaced, she noted, by an almost arousing manliness.
His hair was still blond, though, and his eyes, his eyes were still that piercing shade of blue that always seemed to go right through her. Time hadn’t changed that, she thought.
The corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly at the confusion that was on her face.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I look like,” he said in response to the questioning way she had said his name.
Oh God, no, Gina thought. Even if she had gotten amnesia, there was no way she could ever forget Shane’s face. Like it or not, it was and always would be permanently embossed on her brain.
Because she realized that she was staring at him as if he were an apparition, Gina cleared her throat and stumbled her way through an explanation.
“I’m sorry—” she began only to have him interrupt her.
“Nice to finally hear you say that,” Shane said.
Gina wasn’t able to read his expression, but she instantly pulled her shoulders back, prepared to engage in an unpleasant exchange. Not that, at least from his point of view, she could actually fault him. But in her own defense, she had tried to find him and apologize. But she wasn’t able to and that was his fault. He was the one who had taken off and disappeared, not her.
“—but I seem to be in the wrong place,” Gina continued tersely. “I’m looking for a cake designer named Cassidy—”
Shane inclined his head. For now, he stayed behind the counter. He didn’t trust himself to come any closer to Gina than he was at this moment. Despite the fact that he felt she had humiliated him, despite being angry at her, the woman had still managed to fill his head, not to mention his dreams, every waking minute for more than an entire year.
It had taken that much time for his longing to subside, and then another year for him to pull himself together. That was when he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to be a lawyer. That had once been his parents’ dream, not his, even though he’d tried to honor it. So one day he just walked away from it, had gone to work with his older brother halfway around the world and ultimately found something he felt he had a passion for. Something unique and unlike anything he had ever done before.
Myriad emotions pulsed through Shane right now as he looked at Gina, although he was able to keep any of that from registering on his face.
Instead, he told Gina in a very calm voice, “I’m Cassidy.”
Gina stared at him, her eyebrows coming together almost in an upside down V. What was he trying to put over on her?
“No, you’re not,” she contradicted, almost annoyed that he was trying to fool her. “You’re Shane.”
Just saying his name again after all this time sent ripples of warmth and longing undulating through her. Her brain was having trouble computing seeing him after all this time. At the very least, the man should have had the decency to look a little paunchy and worn around the edges, not like some rugged movie star stepping off the big screen.
And why was he smiling at her like that? Was he going to say something sarcastic?
“You don’t remember,” Shane guessed.
“Remember what?” she asked, feeling more and more confused, befuddled and exasperated.
This morning, she had been happily saving yet another anxious bride’s wedding, and now, less than a couple of hours later, she felt as if she was suddenly caught up in the center of a whirlpool, being tossed around and unable to figure out which way was up.
“That my middle name is Cassidy,” he went on to tell her. “Shane Cassidy Callaghan,” he said, giving her his full name as he watched her face.
Seeing Gina again without any warning just served to remind him how much he had missed looking at that face. How much he had missed the scent of her hair and the feel of her soft body pressed against his.
Get a grip, Callaghan. She did a number on you once, don’t leave yourself open for another assault. She’s even forgotten your middle name.
But that didn’t surprise him. She’d undoubtedly forgotten a great many things about him, Shane thought. And about the two of them.
Things that he couldn’t forget no matter how much he tried.
“Then Cakes Created by Cassidy is your company?” she asked him, not bothering to hide her disbelief.
Gina was having a great deal of trouble processing any of it. Not just seeing him again, but the rest of it, as well.
A cake designer? Really? Shane?
The Shane she’d known back in college had occasionally slipped her notes with drawings of the two of them at the bottom. She recalled that he liked to draw. But back then the only thing he was capable of doing in the kitchen was opening the refrigerator door.
How had he gone from kitchen illiterate to a master baker?
“It’s catchy, don’t you think?” Shane asked. There was a touch of pride in his voice that she found hard to miss now.
“More like incredible,” she admitted.
“That’s a word I usually hear after someone has sampled one of my cakes.” Before she could say anything, Shane changed the conversation’s direction. “When you walked in, you said something about coming here to order a wedding cake.”
She was almost grateful to him. It was as if he had snapped his fingers, getting her out of her mental haze and forcing her to focus on the reason she had come here in the first place. The sooner she stated it, the sooner she could get away.
“Right.” She took out the paper that Theresa had given her. The cake’s specifications were written in the woman’s rather striking handwriting. She focused on it now. “I need to have this cake made and delivered to the Blue Room at the Bedford Hilton Hotel by two o’clock.” Pointing to the line on the paper, she said, “I need it by that date. That’s in three weeks.”
He didn’t bother looking at the paper. “I know when it is—”
“Good then.” She left the paper on the counter for him. “You can send the bill to—”
“—and it’s not possible,” Shane said, completing his sentence.
Caught off guard, she stared at him, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“I said that it’s not possible,” Shane repeated in the same quiet, calm voice.
“What do you mean it’s not possible?” Gina demanded. “I’m giving you three weeks’ notice.”
“I know,” Shane responded, unfazed. “And I’m booked solid.”
Was he bragging? Okay, she’d let him have his moment. All things considered, he deserved it. She had never wished him ill. She looked around, noticing for the first time that there were framed photographs on the walls. None of him, she noted, but of some of the cakes he had created.
The one that caught her eye was amazingly constructed in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. How did someone even begin to do that? she wondered, stunned.
She looked at Shane, utterly impressed. “You’re doing well, I see.”
Shane