This was a pointless mission. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m not a reviewer, Cupcake. I’m going to make the feature good.” A flash of something resembling doubt flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before she could fully decipher it. “The magazine isn’t going to pay to publish something we’re warning travelers against. That’s a waste of time.”
She’d never thought of it that way. “But you don’t even like the Pastry Puff.”
He shook his head. “I never said that.”
“Yes, you did. Repeatedly, actually, about the coffee.”
“Then it’s a good thing the feature isn’t on coffee.” He wrinkled his nose. “Unfortunately, it’s on romance and love locks and other wastes of time.”
She rolled her eyes. “How are you going to make us shine when you don’t even believe in what you’re writing?”
He averted his gaze to the laptop in front of him, his expression sobering. “I’m working on that.”
“Can you work faster? I’ve got a lawyer breathing down my neck.” She dropped her wadded-up napkin on her empty plate. “The Pastry Puff needs this feature, Gerard. I need it.”
He met her gaze, briefly. “I hear you.”
“So, we have an understanding?”
There was that flicker again. He nodded once before she could ask. “The feature will be exactly what it should be.”
Relief flooded through her.
He let out a dramatic shudder. “Just stop being fake nice to me.”
“Deal.” That’d be easy enough. She quirked an eyebrow at him. Speaking of lawyers . . . “What were you doing with Charles earlier?”
“The cha-cha?”
“Very funny.”
“Hey, you said I was clever.”
“I take it back.”
He picked up his nearly empty mug and looked in it, as if debating the last lukewarm sip. “He was talking about the recent offer he made on the bakery.”
To Gerard—a man he’d met one time at the love-lock wall? That was a new low, even for Charles. Was he getting that desperate for allies? The thought strangely comforted her. Maybe he wasn’t as confident in the sales pitch as he wanted her to think. “What’d you say?”
“That he was lowballing. Should offer more.”
“Whatever. Come on. Was he wanting you to write something about his part in this?”
He let out a long sigh. “I didn’t want to tell you, but yes.”
What? Bri’s heart stammered. Charles was going after Gerard to slant his feature? But Gerard had just said he would make the Puff sound good. How could he do both?
Gerard continued soberly. “He begged me to write a haiku on the coffee. To which I, against all my deeply rooted beliefs about poetry, agreed.”
Relief quickly doused the spark of emotion. “You did not.”
“You’re right.” Gerard set his mug on the table. “We done here, Cupcake?”
“One more question.”
“I don’t believe you. I think you have at least fifteen left in that brain of yours.”
She ignored him. “What do you think about my petit fours?”
He offered a casual shrug as he slid his laptop into his bag. “They’re okay.”
“Are they?” She leaned forward, ducking her head slightly to catch his eye. “Just okay?”
He smirked. “Tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”
Oh. She slapped her hand on the table. At least this time the quote wasn’t in French. “Not fair—or accurate.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “They’re amazing, okay? I wish the entire article could be just on those.”
“Aha!” She knew it. She had her mother’s touch, thanks to the Pastry Puff. Her resolve strengthened. This was going to work. Maybe not in the way she’d originally intended, but there was hope again. Gerard was on her side—as untraditional as it might look. But she’d gotten his word.
He stood, shouldering his bag. “See? I’m not too incorrigible.”
She smiled up at him and mentally reached for a new quote from her arsenal. “Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart.”
He squinted. “And what does that mean?”
“It means you definitely still are.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
She was brilliant.
Or her idea was, anyway. Bri hooked her arm through Casey’s and tugged her toward the china display in the local department store. Now to convince her friend of the same. “Let’s look over here, Miss Bride-to-Be.”
“Sure. I’m always up for a sale.” Casey shrugged and tagged along behind her. They’d come to Johnson’s General to price wedding favors during Bri’s Saturday morning break from the bakery. “I still think I’d be better off ordering bubbles from Amazon in bulk, though.”
“Probably. But buying local is important too.” Something Bri hoped Story would keep in mind about the Pastry Puff. She ran her finger lightly over a floral-printed salad plate. “How’s the rest of the wedding planning coming along?” Surely Casey would say yes to her idea. She had to.
“Not too bad, considering it’s in two weeks.” Casey picked up a polka-dotted teapot. “We’re going to register for wedding gifts this weekend. This is pretty cute.”
Bri couldn’t even fathom Nathan—or any fireman, for that matter—using a teapot. Much less a polka-dot one. She hesitated. “Nathan would hate it.”
“Exactly.” Casey grinned. “Wish I had one of those scanner guns now.”
She’d never understand their relationship dynamic. But at least her friend was happy. “Are the girls excited about the big day?”
“They don’t fully get what’s happening, but they know they get to wear pretty dresses, so that’s enough for them.” Casey moved toward the everyday dishes and stopped in front of the ones covered in roosters. “Oh my word, yes. I have to get these too.”
Bri pulled her away. “What about the solid navy? Or the teal?” Any shade of blue or green was a good neutral—something a man could eat off of and not hate. Bri secretly preferred the pink ones with the gold trim, but she’d never expect Casey’s fiancé to jump on board with that.
Her memories of handing Gerard all the pink mugs from the Puff jumped to the forefront of her mind, and she quickly tried to shove them out.
“Those are boring. Dinner should be fun—or at least interesting.” Casey’s lips twisted to the
