Page 26 of For Butter or for Worse
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 theHome Bakedkitchens.
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.”
Whether or not he means that, I feel the praise down to my toes.
“But where is she living?” someone asks.
I wish I knew who it was so I could glare at them. What does that matter? “With my husband, obviously.” Thank goodness I never got a hotel room, since I’m sure someone working at the Coralberry Cottages would have been sure to spread that info around if I had.
“Are there any other questions about our personal lives, or can we get this line moving along?” King asks. Some of the growl has returned to his voice, his expression harder than it was a moment ago. “If you’re going to order something, great. If not, I’d appreciate it if you step to the side and make some space for paying customers.”
An older woman near the front of the crowd raises her hand, her eyes darting between the two of us before resting on me. “Will you be making those raspberry danishes you had on the show?”
I perk up.That’smy kind of question. “I can if you want me to. They’re not on the Kingston menu, but—”
“What about those eclairs with the cherry center?” someone else asks. “Those looked amazing.”
Before I know it, someone has produced a piece of paper and a pen, and people are writing down their requests of things they want me to make here atthe bakery. While I’m thrilled to be able to put my talents to use beyond cookies and cupcakes, I can’t help but notice the way King slowly deflates with each new request. The way he looks up at the handwritten menu that has been relatively the same for the last twenty-five years.
The way he doesn’t look at me for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Ten
King
A scream pulls meout of bed with a jolt, and though I try to grasp at the details of the dream I’d been having, they slip away like smoke through my fingers. It’s still dark, and a part of me wonders if the scream was in my dream as I gaze blearily around my quiet bedroom.
Then I hear the whimper.
Fully awake now, I scramble out of the room and through the back door to find Georgie crouched in a ball near the pool, her arms over her head and a stream of muttered curses spilling from her lips. The sky is an inky black, but there’s enough light coming from the open door of the pool house for me to see the cause of her distress.
Prince Harry is smelling her hair with great interest.
I release the tension from my shoulders with a breath. “What are you doing?”
Georgie’s head snaps up, knocking into Prince Harry’s mouth, and then she cowers again. “Get this monster away from me,” she hisses.
I reply through a massive yawn. “You must smell good.”
