Sweet Surrender Page 3

  That was one lesson he had learned.

  He caught up to Caty at the end of the walkway, standing in the sand, watching the waves roll in. “Got a minute?”

  She stepped forward and turned toward him. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, sure. My gram calls it paradise.”

  She watched him for a few moments, then turned back to the sea. “You don’t agree?”

  “You’ve seen one beach, you’ve seen them all.”

  “It’s more than sand and surf, O’Malley.” She rolled her eyes and walked away, Ian following. “It’s a way of life. Slower, satisfying, sweeter.”

  “Hopefully not to slow. We’ve both got businesses to run.” He stopped and looked around. This was no California beach. Here and there, couples, families, even a few singles lay out or played in the sand. A few souls swam in the ocean. What set it apart was the fact that he could see more sand than people. There was no tripping over bodies, no blaring music that drowned out your conversations and thoughts. If he were the type to seek peaceful solitude, then yeah, sure, Barefoot Bay was what he’d call paradise.

  “Don’t worry, O’Malley. Your business is firmly established. It’s me who has to worry about winning over a decent portion of the ten thousand residents of Mimosa Key so CatyCakes will survive.”

  “Did you just open?” he asked as he toed off his shoes, then bent down to roll up his pant legs. He was there, he might as well enjoy it. “Because before I bought the bakery, I looked to see if there were any others nearby, and there were none.”

  “Yep. Mandy was my first customer.” She waded into the waves, letting them lap at her tanned toes and sexy ankles. Man, he needed to watch his step. When had he ever noticed a woman’s feet before? “And, I don’t have a storefront—yet. I’m running CatyCakes from home.”

  Shit. There was no way he could do this bake off against her if she’d just started—it wasn’t fair. What was the statistic? Fifty percent of all new businesses fail in the first year? Not that he doubted her ability. She’d been a fierce competitor on the Clash, and based on the women’s reactions to her cupcakes she still had it. But he also didn’t doubt that his reputation—a baker to the stars—would draw most of the residents and tourists to The Sweet Shop. And once they tasted his goods, they’d be back.

  “Listen, about the bake off. I don’t know… I mean, I’m happy to help out a good cause, but–” He blew out a breath and stared at the waves rushing toward him.

  “Just spit it out, O’Malley.”

  Shit. Maybe he should just forget it and make one of his employees enter on behalf of the bakery?

  “O’Malley?”

  The air around him dropped a good fifteen degrees. Great, just what he didn’t need right now…Gramps.

  “Is she talking to me?” Finn asked. “Can she see me?”

  With a slight shake of his head—aimed at Gramps—Ian turned back to face Caty. “For the past five years, I’ve been working in a fast paced, high-end bakery catering to the pickiest—”

  Her hand came up, stopping him. “You don’t think I’m worthy to go up against you, do you?”

  “Is she your girlfriend?” Gramps asked. “What’d you do to get her so riled up?”

  Ian ignored the spirit.

  “No,” he said to Caty. Oh man, he should have kept his mouth shut. “It’s not that. You know, it’s—never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  Crap, he’d really stuck his foot in it this time.

  “Nope, can’t. You opened the can of worms. You can’t close it now with half of them hanging out over the edge. Obviously something’s on your mind, so let’s clear the air.”

  Something told him, he was going to regret this, but she’d asked. “Okay. After Clash of the Cupcakes, it seemed like you disappeared from the baking scene. If you’re just getting started again, maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  “I never stopped baking… Wait. How would you know I ‘disappeared’?”

  Great, she had to pick up on that comment.

  “You were a good, no, a fantastic baker. I figured even though you didn’t win, you’d land some great gig in South Beach. But you didn’t, according to the people I asked.”

  “Why would you ask about me?”

  Because she had looked crushed when they announced he had won and, for some unknown reason, he had wanted to turn it all down and give her the title and prize, but he couldn’t. Winning had been his ticket to success, and back then he’d needed the validation. He’d thrived on coming out on top. No way could he have known that what he’d felt at the moment, watching the light fade from her eyes and smile, had been the start of his downfall.

  “It’s not important,” Ian said.

  Caty stared at him for a long time before responding. Ian thought at first she was mad, until a smile lit up her whole face.

  “Don’t worry, Doughboy. I can hold my own against you or anyone else.”

  Without another word, she turned and headed back toward the resort, her hips gently swaying with each step. Not a bad view, even if she had put him in his place.

  “I believe she can,” Ian said aloud.

  “Reminds me of your grandma when I first met her. A real spitfire,” O’Malley said. “You should ask the girl out.”

  “Gramps, don’t you have someone else to haunt?” Ian turned toward the semitransparent man. O’Malley Sr. was dressed today in Levi’s and a white T-shirt, typical of what he’d worn in his youth. The clothes changed depending on his grandfather’s mood—yes, ghosts had moods—but the slicked-back hair always stayed the same.

  “Not really. Your Gram is cleaning and cooking and told me to scat. Shay and the Scotsman are off rescuing some animal. Not that they’re all that interesting, as neither can fully hear or see me.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Not really. Lucky would be if you asked that pretty blonde out and she said yes.”

  Ian let out a deep sigh, as Caty slipped around a corner of the building and out of his sight. “I’d have a better chance of finding a four-leaf clover on this beach.”

  Chapter Three

  “Vanilla, vanilla, where are you?” Caty mumbled to herself as she cruised up and down the aisles of Juliana’s Gourmet Market, the only store nearby that carried Rain’s Choice Madagascar Bourbon Vanilla Extract. Word had started to spread, thanks in large part to Mandy, and the cupcake orders were rolling in. At this rate, she might even be able to cut herself a break and eat something other than pasta this week.

  Scanning the shelves in front of her, Caty was just reaching for the bottle when movement in the corner of her eye had her stepping back. Ian O’Malley.

  The man was everywhere these days.

  The bank, post office, the Twisted Pelican, passing each other at the Fourway Intersection…and her nighttime fantasies. And all of that had been in just the first week since they’d met again. Seemed she couldn’t escape him.

  And, boy did he look yummy in shorts, a V-neck T-shirt, and boat shoes. Someone was falling into island life.

  “Ian, fancy meeting you here.” She glanced at his basket: raspberries, blueberries, strawberries—she’d heard that he’d added fresh fruit tarts to the menu. She’d been getting an earful all week long from Shelby. “How’s your week been?”

  Ian laughed, rich and dark, making her insides quiver. “Interesting is a good word. A lot of mixed reactions to the sale. Patience Vail ripped me up one side and down the other because I stripped the wallpaper. You?”

  Oh, she’d liked the pink-and-white-striped walls, but then Caty grinned. She couldn’t help it. The Vail sisters had a reputation and no one escaped their wrath. “Speaking of… I’m still trying to figure out if I should thank you or curse you. Charity Grambling.”

  “What is with that woman?” He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, about that. I wondered if she’d call you. Apparently, apple cinnamon muffins shouldn’t have chunks of apple in them.”

  “S
o I’ve heard. Loudly.”

  He looked around, and bent in close. “Are all the women in Mimosa as crazy as those two?”

  “Patience and Charity are special. They’re sisters. Evil, horrible, beings who take great pride in tormenting the residents of Mimosa Key and all who visit. Try to keep your distance from them, and from Patience’s daughter, Grace Hartgrove, who runs the Fourway Motel with her husband, Ron. That woman is a man-eater.”

  “Thanks for the warning. Any others in the family I should be worried about?”

  “No, believe it or not, Charity’s daughter, Glo—Gloria Garrison, who’s married to Sherriff Slade Garrison and works out at the resort spa—is actually a nice person.”

  “Doesn’t take after her mama?”

  “Thank goodness no, because Glo would never call me up at five a.m. on a Sunday and inform me that she refuses to do business with an unreliable and sketchy character—that would be you. Then demand that I had less than an hour to have two dozen muffins baked, boxed up, and delivered to the Super Min or she’d make sure I’d never work again.”

  “Wow. I am sorry.” Ian’s head shook, as his mouth opened and closed. “Does Charity really have that kind of power in this town?”

  “No, she likes to think she does. Mostly, folks just tolerate her because the Super Min is our only option without going to Naples. I’ve learned to ignore her helpful suggestions and am thankful for the standing order…for now. I think.” Caty laughed because she had to be losing her mind to be thankful for Charity Grambling.

  “That’s good to know. She showed up in the bakery five minutes before closing last Saturday. When she found out Pete had sold the place to me, she made it clear she was, quote, most displeased, that he hadn’t ran it by the town council first. I was advised not to get too comfortable in Mimosa Key.”

  “Oh jeez, ignore her. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Sam Lennox, the mayor, was raving about your raspberry cinnamon rolls the other day.”

  They talked some more, with Caty telling him stories of growing up on Mimosa Key, Charity and Patience or, as the locals called her, Patti, tormenting the kids, and how the place had changed when Lacey Armstrong built Casa Blanca Resort and Spa, bringing in new businesses and more jobs.

  “Sounds like all good changes,” Ian said.

  “Trust me, if not for Lacey, you wouldn’t have had a business to buy. Mimosa was a sleepy little town with a few B&Bs, a couple of shops, and not much else to attract the outsider or keep the residents. I couldn’t wait to escape this place after graduation.”

  “And yet, you’re back.”

  “I am.” She looked down at her bare ring finger and smiled before looking up into his crystal clear blue eyes. “It’s funny how you think you have it all figured out and life kind of slaps you upside the head and tells you nope, you’re all wrong, and hands you another option.”

  “A better option?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  She couldn’t believe how easy and natural it felt talking to Ian. Nothing like she’d imagined all those years ago. Well, to be honest, she’d kind of put him on a pedestal even before he’d won the Clash. The man just had that something special that rolled off in waves and charmed everyone around him.

  “Tell me about this minor league baseball team,” Ian said.

  “The Barefoot Bay Bucks? They’re pretty good. A few of us are going to go to the game on Sunday. You’re welcome to join us.” Holy smokes. Did she just invite Ian out? No, not really. Well, sort of, in a roundabout way. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Please don’t let him notice.

  “Thanks, that sounds like fun. I don’t really know a lot of people here yet, except my sister and her fiancé, and of course, my gram.”

  “Great. I’ll introduce you to everyone I know. We’re going to tailgate beforehand and I hear you make a mean salted turtle cream cheese pie. Feel free to bring one or ten with you.” She had to laugh at his stunned expression.

  “Hey, I’m not the only one who will be eating. Plus, I’m trying to figure it out.”

  “Figure what out?” he asked slowly.

  “Your secret ingredient. There’s something different in the pie, but I can’t put my finger on it. No worries. I will.”

  Uh-oh, the chef did not look happy. He’d taken a step back, as his body tensed up, brows drawn down tight to match the thin line that used to be his lush mouth. “Why?”

  “Why am I trying to figure out what’s in the pie? Because I’m a baker. It’s what we do. If you’d rather bring something else or nothing at all, that’s fine too.” She’d sensed she’d crossed a line, but she wasn’t about to lie to the man. He was a good baker, but so was she and while she was curious about his recipe, she wasn’t trying to steal it, if that’s what he thought. “Anyway, I’d better finish my shopping. I’ve got a birthday cake to make. So, we’ll see you Sunday at one.”

  She stepped forward and reached for the bottle—the last bottle—of Rain’s Choice Vanilla Extract at the same time as Ian. Their hands wrapped around the box together.

  “Oops,” she said. “Maybe they have more in the back?”

  He let go, his fingers sliding off of hers sending little sparks of electricity down her skin. “I suppose you absolutely need this right now?”

  “Vanilla pound cake. The birthday boy’s favorite. You?”

  “Vanilla wedding cake.”

  “Oh.” She held the box out to him. “Weddings trump birthdays. I’ll run to the grocery store and pick up a bottle of extract from there.”

  “Won’t taste the same.” The corners of his lips lifted in a sad smile.

  She blew out a breath. “You and I know that, but I doubt if Sheriff Garrison can tell the difference. Take the bottle, Ian.”

  He did as she ordered but, unlike what she’d expected, he hadn’t walked away. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we share it? Stop by the bakery and I’ll split it in half.”

  It was way more than she needed right then. She could argue the point with him, even hang on to old hurts and anger about the competition and the disappointment over The Sweet Spot, but she took one look at those hopeful baby blues of his and the anger slipped away. It wasn’t his fault she’d lost the Clash. And it wasn’t his fault Pete sold him the bakery instead of to her. Not to mention she’d sort of just asked him out. Yeah it was a group thing, but it’d be a little weird if she didn’t shut up and accept the olive branch he was extending. “Deal, Doughboy.”

  ~*~

  Sunday morning he’d woken up with every intention of going to the game until he’d gotten an offer he couldn’t refuse: lunch at Gram’s. He’d tried to call Caty, but the phone had gone to voice mail. To be on the safe side, and because he didn’t want to be a douchebags—his Gram would box his ears for that—he’d sent a follow-up text.

  Sorry, I can’t make it. Family thing came up.

  The response came in right as he entered his Gram’s backyard. No worries. Next time?

  You bet. How’d the b-day cake come out?

  Pretty sure as long as Slade Garrison is sheriff, I’ll never get a speeding ticket in Mimosa Key. How did the wedding cake turn out?

  Happy bride.

  Score. Your salted turtle cream cheese pie will be missed today ;-)

  Not as much as he’d miss her smile. I’ll try to save you a slice.

  Don’t be a tease, Doughboy.

  He laughed. Only promises, Sunshine. Only promises.

  That remains to be seen. Oops, got to go, time to play ball.

  “Hey, big brother. What’s got you smiling so big?” Shay wrapped her arms around Ian’s waist and squeezed tight before stepping away. “Missed you.”

  “You too, brat.” If someone had told him how much he was going to miss his family when he moved out west, he would have laughed in his face. He’d been so ready to be on his own. So ready to be away from all of them. His pesky little sister’s teasing him about his belief in ghosts. His mom’s constant asking about his love li
fe. His dad’s digs about how he’d never make enough to support himself as a baker. And even his vivacious grandmother, who never doubted him, because deep down, he was afraid he would let her down.

  Shay tugged him toward the matching Adirondack chairs next to Gram’s pool and sat. The yard wasn’t huge, but it suited his grandmother’s needs and personality, full of flowers of every color, along with some crazy gnomes and flamingos.

  “I heard you’ve landed the Barefoot Brides account. I thought you were tired of baking wedding cakes and dealing with demanding brides?”

  “Got staff and bills to pay, so for now, I bake wedding cakes.”

  “You should hire Caty Kennedy and let her make the cakes. She’s really good. The resort staff has been raving about her baked goods.”

  “You should ask her out,” O’Malley said.

  Shay looked around. “Did Gramps say something? I felt a cool breeze across my shoulders.”

  “It was nothing. Just a bunch of hot air.” Ian shook his head at the spirit, but focused on his sister. “Caty doesn’t want to work for me. She just opened her own business.”

  “What about subcontracting the work to her?” Shay waved to her fiancé as he came through the back door carrying the plate of chicken for the grill. Colin had drawn the short straw and was Gram’s assistant tonight. “That would be a win-win, right?”

  Ian thought about the idea. It would free him up from dealing with an area he didn’t particularly like, and let him focus on the changes he wanted to make to the bakery. It’d also bring income into both the bakery and Caty’s business, but he wasn’t sure the woman in question would go for it. When she’d stopped by for her share of the vanilla extract she’d argued with him for well over ten minutes about paying him for a quarter of a bottle and that was after she’d refused to take the half they’d agreed upon at the store. She didn’t strike Ian as the type to take a handout and somehow he felt it all the way to his bones, that she’d see this as just that.