Page 88 of Full Circle

“No, Desiree sent me. I bought this…diner…from her and I’m here for our meeting. Where is she?” The way he paused on diner while casting a judgmental eye about the room set my blood to boiling. We might not have white glove service like the restaurants he frequented, but that was because my parents built this place from the ground up on a dream and hard work.

Right on cue, my stepmother sauntered through the door, a triumphant sneer on her lips. “My apologies, Benedict,” she drawled. Somewhere throughout the day she had changed into a black wrap dress with a low neckline. It looked like she had her eyelashes redone, too. She batted them coyly at Mr. Madden. “I do hope you can forgive me.”

Thank God she didn’t have Iris with her.

The way he appraised her figure would have made a cat throw up. “Where is this recipe book you kept telling me about? That’s what I paid to see.”

Excuse me?!

“My mama’s recipes are NOT for sale,” I said vehemently. “And neither is our restaurant. There’s been some mistake.”

Desiree’s eyes flashed in my direction. “You failed, Celeste. This place isn’t going to be a burden on my family any longer so that I can indulge in your childish dreams to be like your mama. She’s dead, and The Comfy Cushion along with it.”

I was too stunned to speak. I knew Desiree could be cruel—downright evil, really—but this was on a whole other level. Her true colors were bleeding through and it made my stomach bottom out. “Indulging” in my dream? From the thriving restaurant she ran into the ground with her greed and poor decisions?

“Go get the book,” she commanded. An eyebrow rose in challenge, the proud smirk on her face gloating at her right to order me around.

“No, I won’t.” Mama’s recipes were what made The Comfy Cushion so special. They were what used to make people drive hours out of their way just to stop by. Our menu varied constantly as she tried something new, and guests loved that, too. There was magic to her cooking, magic that couldn’t be recreated by just anyone.

Mr. Madden scoffed at us. “Is this how you do business, Desiree? I offer you half a million dollars to put this pile of garbage in my stores and you can’t even pony up? We’re done here.” He turned on his heel towards the door.

“No! NO!” Desiree was frantic, skittering after him on her stilettos with her arms failing. “I’ll get the recipes! Don’t you worry, Benedict! You’ll have them, I swear it!”

Mr. Madden paused in the doorway. “You have three days or the deal is off.” The door bell’s chime after it closed seemed to mock the drop in temperature as his presence lingered.

Desiree rounded on me with pure hatred burning in her eyes. She crossed the dining room in two strides and slapped me hard across the face. My head flung backward, a hand clamping on my now throbbing cheek.

“You’ll produce that book by the time he returns or you’ll never see your daughter again.”

Somehow, the slap hurt less than the threat.

CHAPTER 41

A CHANGE IN PLANS

WESLEY

As soon as I stepped out of The Comfy Cushion, a firm hand clamped down on my ear and jerked my head down several inches.

“The nerve of you, Wesley Carter Madden!” Marla howled.

“OW!” I yelled. “Let go!”

Marla scoffed. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that hurts a tough guy like you! C’mon, you big baby!” She wrenched my ear forward, forcing me to follow.

For as little as Marla was, she sure knew how to bring a man to his knees. My coach should hire her.

We charged down the sidewalk together with her fingers squeezing the cartilage out of my ear. A block down, crossing the street, we came to an abrupt halt outside a storefront that had a painted window declaring it Marla’s Sweets. A small black bistro table with two chairs sat on the sidewalk in front and a chalkboard sign listed the day’s pie and cupcake flavors.

Inside, the bakery smelled heavenly, and a large glass display held slices of pie, cupcakes, and cookies. Another large chalkboard on the wall behind the counter listed prices and advertised that custom cakes were available for order. A few other bistro tables lined the opposite wall, with navy shiplap and a light-colored wallpaper decorating the space. Black and white checkered tiles added the final touch. The place was quaint, clean, and a hundred percent Marla.

Good for her.

Thankfully, she let go of my ear when we walked inside. “Since when do you own a bakery?” I asked.

She glared at me. “Since Desiree fired me eight years ago after Celeste graduated high school and took over The Comfy Cushion. Don’t change the subject.”

“What subject? I came out of the diner and you attacked me!”

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