Page 20 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

“Good?”

“So good. So fluffy.” I bit my lip to keep from moaning again. Once was understandable. A show of enjoyment. Anything more than that would be just weird. “Where’d you learn to make these?”

“My dad,” said Brad. He hid a frown in his coffee mug, and shook his head. “He said a man?—”

“He said a man what?”

“It’s so caveman.” Brad groaned. “He thinks a man should be able to do everything himself. Apart from, y’know… his own dental work. But growing food, hunting it, cooking up dinner, building a house, he should be able to do all that. Not that Dad does these days, but he thinks if you can’t, it’s some failure of manhood.”

I had to close my eyes to keep them from rolling. Failure of manhood, wasn’t his dad a prize? But before I could press for more, Brad changed the subject. I didn’t mind letting him, when it came to fathers: mine had run out on us when I was still small. I barely remembered him beyond the scratch of his beard.

We talked mostly about lighter things for the rest of breakfast, books we’d read lately, the best beaches in town. What we’d each do if we won the lottery. Then we cleaned up our plates — he washed, I dried — and headed down to the shop to dig into my books.

I paced back and forth as Brad went through the numbers, unable to look too long at his face. I was certain I’d read something there, some expression, shock. Resignation. The death of my hopes. Every so often, he’d ask me a question, how did I handle overstock? Was spring always busy? What was I doing to boost sales in the off-months, when the summer houses were empty and the island was quiet? To some of my answers, Brad nodded slowly. To others, he frowned, and I felt myself wither. When he closed the last ledger, I held my breath.

“It’s not as bad as I thought,” he said. “Business seems steady. But you’re spending too much on things you don’t have to. All these small orders’ll kill you on shipping. And your ad budget’s small, but I see it’s all local. From what I saw last night, everyone here loves you, so you’re advertising in the off-season to basically your friends.”

“I get a discount,” I said. “For running my ads every month.”

“But, see, look at this.” Brad leafed through the ledger. “You’re getting a discount, but a discount on what? You’re not attracting new business or online sales. Spending less isn’t better if you don’t see returns.”

We worked on my ad budget right through the morning, then Gareth showed up with the plumber in tow.

“I don’t mind if you keep working,” said Francis, the plumber. “But it’s going to get loud in here at least for a while.”

Brad glanced at his watch. “It’s about lunchtime, right? Why don’t we take a break and go grab some food?”

Food sounded good to me, as did getting outside. My eyes were starting to cross from all the numbers. I’d never had a head for them, much as I’d tried. But now I was learning. It wasn’t too late. For the first time in months, I felt something like hope, like I could still set the shop back to rights.

I led Brad to Baguettes for lunch by force of habit, but when we got there, the tables were packed. The spring rush had come early, and I was missing the boat. Perhaps sensing my panic, Brad gave me a nudge.

“How about we grab ourselves something to go? We could eat and explore. You could show me the sights.”

I nodded and swallowed, getting hold of myself. The rush had started, so what? It would go on for a while. I’d still catch the bulk of it when schools let out next month.

“My treat,” said Brad, heading up to the counter. “To thank you for such a great place to live.”

I wanted to insist today’s lunch was my treat, my way of thanking Brad for his help with my books. But I couldn’t afford it, and I guessed he knew that. I’d mostly been eating at home these past weeks, pretending to Alice I didn’t feel like the walk. No wonder she’d started to call me a shut-in.

“I’ll get the chicken baguette with pepper mayo,” said Brad.

“Same for me,” I said. Jenny behind the counter saw me and smiled.

“Oh, Lana, you’re back! We’ve missed you at lunch hour. Let me throw in some cookies for your dessert.”

I tried to refuse, but Jenny insisted, stuffing our lunch bags with oven-warm cookies. Brad tried one of his straight out the door.

“What, dessert first?”

“Patience is overrated.” He took another bite and sighed happily. “Mm, these are great. Still warm and gooey. So, where are your favorite spots around here?”

I peered up the street, trying to think. Where could I take him that wouldn’t bore him to death? He was used to the city, to noise and excitement. The closest we had here was the beach club, and that was private, and probably closed.

“There’s the lighthouse,” I said. “And Hidden Beach. Oh, and the wishing bell.”

“You mean ‘wishing well?’”

“No, it’s a bell.” I shook my head. “But it’s not that exciting, just this weird bell.”

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