I’m the one who breaks the embrace, though King keeps me close to his body.
“Was that enough?” he asks, his eyes closed and a slightly pained expression on his face. If I had to hazard a guess, he liked that kiss as much as I did and hates himself for it.
Taking a steadying breath, I nod and then sigh. “Meg was being…difficult.”
“How so?”
We’re both whispering, just in case, but I don’t anticipate Meg coming back here. She was hot on King’s heels when he came back to the kitchen and would have seen that kiss, clear as day.
“She came to the conclusion that there’s something fishy about our marriage and that it has something to do with the bakery.”
King finally opens his eyes, his frown deep. “That’s a pretty specific assertion,” he mutters, dropping his hands from my waist and taking a step back. His eyes start wandering the bakery and the mess I’ve left behind.
I wouldn’t normally be this disorganized, but I’ve been stress-baking ever since King left, cooking up way more than we could ever sell in a day. Then again, it feels like half the town has come into the store since I got back from the courthouse, determined to find out the truth for themselves. I’ve kept myself occupied back here to avoid their questions, and I’m sure Meg is irritated by being forced up front.
Yesterday, she was the one in charge and I was the helper. Today, she realized she now works for me instead of King and has been seething ever since. I can’t say that I blame her for being a little salty.
“I don’t know where she got the idea,” I say, wiping my hands on my messy apron. “But I haven’t had many good ways to convince her that she’s wrong. I came to town yesterday, and now I’m married to you and taking over the bakery? I think anyone is going to come to the same conclusion if they think about it hard enough.”
“Which is a problem, if we want this to work.”
“Do you?” I ask the question without meaning to and wince when King’s eyes meet mine. “I mean, you weren’t exactly thrilled by this idea at the start, and you’re not getting much out of the arrangement. It’s hard to believe you do want this to work.” I should probably stop talking now.
Leaning against the counter, King folds his arms and sighs. “I still don’t like the idea,” he admits. “But we both need the outcome. I can’t keep running this place and, honestly, I can’t trust it to anyone else.”
I accept the praise with a small smile. I still plan to make some upgrades and changes as soon as I can, but I’m hoping I can do it in a way that will satisfy him. “Thank you. I know I don’t deserve that trust.”
“No, you don’t.” There’s no bite to his words. He looks at the swinging door and sighs. “There are a lot of people out there who want answers.”
“I know. I’ve been avoiding them all day.”
“We should probably tell them something.”
“What do you suggest?”
For an answer, he holds out his hand to me. I take it with some measure of hesitation, wishing I could read his mind as easily as he used to read mine. “Maybe we show them,” he says and tugs me toward the lobby.
What in the world does that mean?
As we step through the door, the buzz of conversation in the lobby hushes and leaves the air thick with anticipation. King’s dark eyes take everyone in before he puts a gentle hand on Meg’s shoulder.
“I’ll take over,” he tells her. “I’m sure you’re sick of being at the register.”
Though relief washes across her face, it’s short-lived. She glances between the two of us before returning her attention to King. “Are you sure your wife is okay with you giving orders?” She speaks the word “wife” with all the vitriol of a woman scorned. It’s a bit dramatic for a woman as young as her, but I’ll give her a pass today. We did spring our marriage on her. And everyone else.
I don’t know why they think it’s any of their business, but the crowd holds their breath as they wait for King’s response to Meg’s question.
He doesn’t even look at me, keeping his eyes on her. His expression is patient and sympathetic, more like the man I remember and a far better sight than the tired and grumpy scowl I received yesterday. “That’s still my name on the door, isn’t it? And it wasn’t an order, Meg. I know how you get when you’re stuck in one spot, and we left you alone longer than I meant to this morning. I’m sorry about that, and hopefully it won’t happen again. You are too valuable to be taken for granted.”
I have the sudden mental image of King crouched in front of a miniature version of himself, scolding but gentle. I’ve seen him with children plenty of times over the years—there’s a kids’ surfing class every summer—but this is different. I’ve never so fully pictured him as a father before. And while Meg is nowhere close to being young enough to be his child, he is very clearly showing her that their relationship is far from romantic.
I’ve always admired his calm and careful personality, but witnessing this moment is really tugging at something deep inside me.
Something that should not be tugged.
Meg looks like she wants to argue, but she’s smart. And she can probably see as well as anyone that King is nothing more than her boss. A few tears well up in her eyes, and she darts into the kitchen without a word. Suddenly looking worn down again, King takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then he puts on a smile and faces the horde of customers. “Who’s next?”
They erupt into chaos, all crowding forward at once and shouting questions and requests indiscriminately.
“Are you really married?”
“Can I get a dozen chocolate chip cookies?”
“Who’s in charge of the bakery? You or the Yank?”
“How much for a blueberry muffin?”
King glances at me, looking rather disoriented for the first time since stepping into the bakery. He seemed so ready to handle everything that I almost forgot he admitted to being as lost as I am with this plan going forward.
I square my shoulders. We’re in this together, and if I want this bakery to start to feel like mine, I’m going to have to act as such. Sticking my thumb and forefinger between my lips, I issue a shrill whistle that always worked to catch the attention of the staff in the Home Baked kitchens.
The bakery goes silent, all eyes turning to me. “Yes, we’re really married,” I say first, taking a step closer to King so I can slip my hand into his. He keeps his eyes on my face, though I feel his attention on our clasped hands, like he’s trying to judge how our fingers fit together. I know he wanted to show everyone that we’re married rather than talk to them, but that’s not really my style. “With summer coming into full swing in a few days, we didn’t want to put it off.”
“But why now?” someone asks from the back. “You haven’t been in Willow Cove in years.”
A part of me hoped I wouldn’t be remembered, but I was sorely disappointed. Pros and cons to that, I suppose. “Because I was busy filming a TV show until recently,” I say. If I can manage it, I’m going to stick close to the truth with all of this. But we don’t need to linger on why I’m no longer filming said TV show, so I press on. “A dozen cookies is $14.99, by the way, and muffins are $3.99, as you can see on the menu.”
“Georgie is in charge of the bakery,” King says before I can continue. His hand momentarily tightens around mine before he lets go and folds his arms. “Something I think y’all will be grateful for after enduring my baking for the last few months. Georgie is world class.”
