Apparently Gerard wasn’t the only one to bring out the aggression in Bri. He held back his grin. The guy was a complete tool, though, to ignore her the way he did. It seemed like their war for the bakery went deeper than Bri had initially let on.
And the device in his hand was still recording. “I’m guessing from your reaction that you don’t have a lock on that wall?”
Bri snickered, then tried to cover it with a cough.
Charles cut his eyes toward her, then smiled at Gerard—a cool, polite smile that hinted at something much more tumultuous beneath the surface. “I do not. And soon enough, no one else will have to worry about that pitiful display either.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Mabel and Agnes you stopped by. Uninvited. Again.” Bri’s cheeks flushed.
“That would be lovely. Please do.” Charles nodded calmly, which just seemed to make Bri madder. Her small hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Gerard wished he had popcorn. What was the deal between these two? Did she really just want to hang on to the crazy old ladies’ bakery that badly? It wasn’t like Bri couldn’t find a job elsewhere. Heck, Peter could probably get her a modeling gig up north with a single phone call. And why did Charles act like the love-lock wall personally offended him?
No one was saying what they meant.
Gerard opened his palm around the recorder so as not to muffle the sound. “What’s so bad about the love locks? Besides the eyesore element.”
Charles started to respond, then glanced down. His eyes lingered on the recorder, and he shifted his jacket to his other arm. “I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome. Good day, Mr. Fortier.”
Then he nodded at Bri, just enough to say he did it if accused otherwise but not overtly enough to encourage friendly thoughts. Gerard should know—he’d mastered that particular nod over the years.
Bri watched him go, a mixture of worry and disdain coating her expression. “You missed your quote opportunity.”
“I sort of gather he’ll be back.”
“Unfortunately.”
He watched her. “Not your favorite person?”
“He can’t buy the bakery.” She said it so matter-of-factly, Gerard almost wondered if he’d misread the concern a moment ago.
“What’s the big deal if he does?”
Bri’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were here to bring publicity to the Pastry Puff—positive publicity.”
“Honest publicity.” Gerard slid the recorder into his pocket. “But hey, I’m just asking questions to get the whole story. It’s called being interviewed.”
“Then ask better questions.”
He shook his head as she strolled off ahead of him, back to the bakery. She was toughening up, that was for sure. He just wasn’t sure if he—or Charles—had inspired the sudden burst of fortitude.
A flicker of an unfamiliar emotion rolled through his stomach.
Jealousy? No. Impossible. He’d never been jealous a day in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now over some starched suit and a woman he’d known for less than twenty-four hours.
He started to head inside after her, then detoured to his car instead. He would start fresh at the bakery in the morning, after everyone had a good night’s sleep and Bri had some distance from her encounter with Charles.
At this point, even the red room felt more appealing than dealing with her.
The man was infuriating. Both of them, actually.
Bri’s frustration welled up and over. How dare Gerard act so cocky about something he knew nothing about. And how dare Charles waltz onto property she’d practically been raised on and dismiss her so casually—in front of a stranger, no less.
She groaned as she slid Mabel the money bag of the day’s cash and receipts across the counter. “I really don’t know who’s worse.”
Agnes intercepted the bag with a frown and unzipped it, rummaging inside as Mabel patted Bri’s hand atop the glass display. “I know, dear, it’s a tough call.”
The sisters had finally returned from the store, and they’d just put away tomorrow’s baking supplies and were having their evening ritual of coffee and conversation before locking up for the night.
“Tough call, indeed.” Mabel sighed and shook her head as if commiserating with her. “Both men are pretty handsome.”
“Ugh, no.” She needed more coffee. Or one of those petit fours, after all. She cast a sidelong glance at the leftover desserts from the day. “Charles is not handsome.”
Agnes mumbled her agreement as she counted out fives.
Mabel adjusted the purple shawl she always wore to the grocery store, year-round. “Well, he wasn’t too hard to look at, or you’d never have dated him.”
“Can we just forget I ever did?”
Agnes nodded. “Hear, hear.”
“By the way, Mr. Hansen came in earlier while you were out.” Bri tapped the stack of ones Agnes had just counted. “He left a big tip.”
Agnes huffed. “Now I have to start over with my counting.” But her flustered smile gave her away.
“Quit counting, Agnes. You missed it.” Mabel pointed a manicured nail at Bri. “She just admitted that Gerard was handsome.”
Bri’s head jerked up. “What? When?”
“Just a moment ago.” Mabel kept pointing, nearly blinding Bri with her big aha grin. “You argued that Charles wasn’t. You didn’t argue about Gerard.”
Oh, forget it. She was getting a petit four. Bri plucked the one with the biggest flower petal from the display tray, then shoved half of it in her mouth.
Mabel beamed at her while Agnes shook her head with a tsk. “Now she’s stress eating. Just like her mom used to do.”
The mention of her mom settled Bri’s stomach. She set the petit four on its wrapper and licked a remnant of green icing from her thumb, suddenly feeling much calmer. Talking about her mom always tended to do that to her—especially with the two ladies who had known her better than Bri had. “What was her favorite dessert when she worked here?”
“Macarons.” Mabel and Agnes answered at the same time.
Mabel winked at her. “She’d have loved your new recipe tweak, adding that extra dash of almond powder.”
Bri paused. “How’d you know I used extra—”
“My taste buds aren’t
