She shoved aside the threat of disappointment. She already knew the truth—confirming it shouldn’t sting like this. He wasn’t interested—which was clearly why he’d pushed her away before they kissed. She’d misread those moments in the kitchen, bonding, connecting.
Besides, who cared? Her emotions were just raw from the hectic day and the long lineup of tasks still before her. Gerard Fortier was still the last guy in the universe who would be her type, and she needed to remember that.
Even if he was staring at her over the lid of his to-go cup with a steady gaze that made her legs morph into something resembling lumpy cake batter.
“I’m sure the wedding will help give the article a great extra layer.” She started to step past him. “I better go check on Casey and compare to-do lists. We’re burning daylight.”
“Do you think Charles will show up to the wedding?” A glint tinted Gerard’s eyes, one she couldn’t decipher and passed too quickly before she could try.
Bri shrugged, hoping to seem unconcerned, but that particular fear had crossed her mind a few times over the last few days as well. “I don’t think so. He’s got to feel a little like public enemy number one right now.”
“Maybe.” Gerard didn’t look as convinced.
Her heart stammered. “So, you think he might?” That’d be the last thing they needed on Casey’s big day. The wedding was going to be hard enough to pull off as it was—Charles showing up would put such a damper on their success. Still, Casey had technically invited the whole town. He was within his rights to come.
“Honestly?” Gerard pointed his cup at her. “I think everyone in Story is a little unpredictable.”
Bri started to argue, then shut her mouth. Lately, that was true. Even of herself, and she’d had the same safe, comfortable routine for years. Now here she was, stressed out, prepping for an entire wedding in one weekend, and almost kissing near strangers on the kitchen floor.
“You’d be okay, you know.”
She blinked, trying to dial back into the conversation and catch up. Hopefully Gerard couldn’t read where her thoughts had been. “Okay how?”
“If the bakery sold to Charles. Or folds, or otherwise goes away.” Gerard shrugged.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re more than the Pastry Puff, Bri. You’re not fulfilled whisking icing and piping cake.”
She squinted. “Reverse that.”
“You know what I mean.”
She didn’t. She crossed her arms, waiting.
“You’re happy there because you’re serving the people of your town. Caring for the elderly and discounting goods for those struggling and holding babies for stressed out moms so they can drink their coffee in peace. Handing out cupcakes to homeless men on bicycles. Remembering people’s orders and making them feel special. Listening to everyone who’s willing to talk. That’s what fills you up.”
Her defenses bristled. Now he was psychoanalyzing her?
The frustration burned fresh. Was he switching sides? Why the sudden fascination with Charles and his next move, anyway—was he somehow cheering him on? She narrowed her eyes. Gerard had never been fully on her team in the first place. He just wanted to write his story and get out of town.
Did he want to see her fail? She’d trusted him—almost kissed him. But she couldn’t blindly accept something he hadn’t fully given. “How do you even know all that?”
His voice lowered, sincere and husky. “Because I’ve watched you. I’ve seen it.”
And just like that, her defensive wall toppled. He conjured all her feelings at once, then left her reeling in the wake of them.
Still, one giant factor to his current argument remained. She needed the Puff. He didn’t understand the bakery’s connection to her parents, the tangible memories that held her steady on days when the car wreck seemed so fresh.
She pointed out the obvious. “I can’t exactly do any of those things without the Puff. If Charles gets it, those opportunities vanish.”
Gerard shrugged, hands up. “Hey. I’m just saying what I’m seeing.”
And yet somehow, everyone remained so blind about this very topic. She bit back the retort begging to leave her lips and forced another smile, this one obviously missing the casual mark. “I’ve really got to get to Casey. I’ll see you around.”
“Bri.” Gerard reached out and touched her arm as she started past him. “Wait.”
She stopped, turning, her emotions balling in her chest until she thought she might scream. And yet somehow, she didn’t even know what she wanted. Wanted to be left alone. Wanted to be done with this hectic weekend.
Wanted him.
He watched her, unspeaking. The glint was back in his eyes, the one that mirrored . . . regret. Guilt? Definitely remorse.
Over their shared moment in the kitchen, or something else?
“What?” Her gaze jumped from his eyes to his lips—darn those lips—and back again, tension piling up between them like concrete bricks.
His lips parted, as if about to speak, then closed. They tightened into a thin line, and his hand dropped to his side. “Let me know if I can help with anything else.”
“Sure.” She nodded, disappointment welling as she turned back toward Casey’s house. She exhaled slowly, hating how out of control her heart felt. Help. Right.
He could start helping by kicking her poor heart off this roller-coaster ride she hadn’t bought a ticket for.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Saturday. The wedding was now about thirty hours away. Despite the petit fours being ready to go, Bri still had a dozen little things to do for Casey—and yet there was only one task on the forefront of her mind. She’d argued about it in prayer for most of the morning, attempting to convince the Lord this couldn’t possibly be a good idea, but she couldn’t shake the urge from her heart.
Even now, sitting on an upholstered backless bench, watching Casey twirl in front of the seamstress in her wedding dress, her fingers itched to complete the one task dominating her mind.
But she couldn’t do that from the dressing room of Sew Awesome Alterations.
“What do you think?” Casey half curtsied for
