Page 17 of Always a Bridesmaid
Violet:Surviving small-town life so far. Martin’s Trading Post had paint, tools, AND camouflage clothing, if I ever decide to go full country.
Leah:If you do, I’m gonna need pictures.
Amanda:Same, which we apparently have to say now, since you didn’t take pictures of the hot firefighters yesterday! I mean, photos are YOUR THING!
Correction, theywereher thing, but her friends had already been so worried when they’d found out about Benjamin’s wedding that she didn’t want to fess up to that. Not only because they’d stress, but they might think they should confront her ex, and they’d damaged each other enough.
Violet:Maybe I already sent a picture of the camo but you just can’t see it because it’s doing its job.
Violet sniggered at her own joke and withdrew the paint swatches she’d picked up from Martin’s Trading Post, along with a pen. She placed the gradient color cards against the formerly white wall of the bakery, checking which shades best fit the lighting and wooden floors.
The clang of pans meant Maisy was already baking, and since Violet had narrowed down the paint options to three, she headed toward the kitchen. “You’ll never guess who I saw running in the park with a gaggle of dogs. After yesterday, I’m planning on avoiding him at all costs, so I totally darted into an alleyway like I was running from the paparazzi, but—”
Violet froze in place, her pulse thumping too hard at her temples.Please,pleaselet me be dreaming.
“But what?” Ford asked from his spot in front of the oven. He wiped an arm across his forehead, and of course the move lifted his T-shirt enough to display a stripe of toned abs and a line of dark hair that led to…well, where hair like that led to. “I’m interested in hearing the rest of that story.”
Maisy stood behind him, her cartoonishly wide eyes making it clear that yes, this was as awkward as it felt and fully warranted the flush of heat. “Ford came by early to check on the oven and ensure it was working properly. Isn’t that nice?”
Mr. Nice Guy grinned. “Pleased to be of service. Violet, maybe I can help you with whoever you’re hiding from. I’m real good at hide and seek.”
“Wrong,” Violet muttered. “You’re not very good at the hiding part. Not only are you a big dude, you’re freaking everywhere.”
His grin widened.
And like this morning, when Violet had seen his long, muscular legs eating up the distance, his pack of adorable dogs in tow, she decided to pretend Ford wasn’t there.
She held the three starred swatches up to Maisy. “I’d like the bakery to be as lovely as your pastries, but I also don’t want the colors to overwhelm the desserts.” She fanned the cards so the stars lined up and pointed at the varying shades. “This is what I’m thinking of going with for the accent colors.”
Maisy slapped flour from her palms. “As you so nicely pointed out, I’m no good at the design thing, so seriously, whatever you think.”
“Want my opinion?” a rumbly voice asked from right behind Violet, and she jumped, then gritted her teeth at his low chuckle. Why had she thought about this guy way too many times since yesterday evening?
“Nah.” She gave his outfit a pointed look. “Matching isn’t your strong suit.”
His jaw dropped, but then he laughed, the noise cracking the ice around her heart.
Honestly, his outfit was like him. Sporty. Male. Something she shouldn’t be staring at.
The door to the bakery chimed, and Violet couldn’t volunteer fast enough to go welcome the first customers of the day.
“What can I help you with?” Violet asked, plunking the paint swatches on the counter and addressing the three women who’d walked inside.
An older lady with gray and white curls stepped forward, a childlike excitement on her face as she surveyed the treats behind the glass. “We are here for cake tasting, but while we wait, I would love some brownie bites.”
Violet tried to place the accent. German, maybe? Although that didn’t seem quite right.
“Lucia, you’re well aware you can’t have those,” the brunette woman behind her said with a harrumph. “Your blood sugar is going to spike high enough with the cake tasting as it is.”
Violet scanned the treats, searching for the label she’d seen on her side of the counter yesterday. “Oh, we have these brownie bites that are—”
“Absolutely delicious.” The statement came from the youngest in the group, the one around Violet’s age. Her dark ponytail was threaded through a blue and orange AU cap, her face makeup-free and flawless. Hardly fair when Violet needed a half dozen products and palettes to appear that fresh and perky. “But my nonna is cutting her sugar.”
She raised her eyebrows, obviously trying to convey something to Violet, but she was lost.
Nonna. That’s Italian, right?
Lucia’s forehead crinkled as she studied Violet. “Why I don’t know you? I know everyone.”
