Page 30 of For Butter or for Worse
“Amen to that,” Beck agrees.
Coop turns his gaze to me, eyes narrowed but a mischievous grin on his face. “Here’s hoping your fun little impulse decision doesn’t prove us all right. Love is the worst, and you might be the biggest idiot of all of us for thinking otherwise.”
Even if he knows my marriage is fake, I’m worried Coop is going to end up being right, just as he predicted. Love is dangerous.
And Georgie even more so.
Chapter Eleven
Georgie
I’ve barely seen Kingthe last few days. It’s not exactly a surprise—he warned me he would be busy—but my disappointment is definitely concerning. We both agreed that we can’t get attached to each other. But when a girl watches a man physically heft an animal as large as a water-laden llama out of a pool, her mind starts to get ideas. I had been annoyed that my sleepwalking pulled me out of the house in the middle of the night until King dove into the pool and gave me a show.
If I’m being honest, that morning was just a cherry on top of the ice cream sundae that is Royal Kingston. During the moments when Ihaveseen him the last couple days—like when I dropped off some fresh croissants at the surf shack and watched him teach three little kids how to balance on their miniature surfboards, all four of them with broad smiles—I felt like I was getting a front row seat to the man he has become.
I liked him when we were younger. Maybe even loved him. But I never looked at him back then like I’ve been doing since we tied the knot.
It’s dangerous.
“Mrs. Vanderman just came in,” Emily says, poking her head into the kitchen.
Now that school is out, she and Meg have started switching shifts. The seventeen-year-old is not especially skilled at baking and has a lot to learn, but I haven’t minded the change in company. Meg’s unveiled glares were getting tiresome. I’ve been able to handle the morning baking on my own just fine, glad to have a chance to roam the kitchen freely without worrying about getting in someone else’s way, and Meg has been helpful with prepping for the next day before she locks up in the afternoons.
It’s a relief to have found a sort of rhythm together, though she still seems sad that I stole what chances she had with King, however small they were.
“Are the sticky buns ready?” Emily asks.
As I carefully fold almond flour into my egg whites for a batch of macarons, I glance at the one oven that isn’t finicky, which is currently baking the sticky buns that Mrs. Vanderman is particularly fond of. “Five minutes,” I tell Emily. I would have liked them to be done already, but I’m not about to serve the woman a subpar bun the morning before I convince her husband to transfer the bakery to me. Our appointment is in an hour or so, and I’ve been dreading it since leaving the courthouse.
Especially because Mrs. Vanderman has been here every day. King says that’s normal, but the stern-looking attorney’s wife seems to watch me more closely than what is socially acceptable. If I had to put money on it, she doesn’t seem to think our marriage is a real one. That makes me worried to learn of her husband’s opinion on the matter.
With King too busy to make appearances at the bakery, I’m using the only weapon I’ve got to combat Mrs. Vanderman’s skepticism: exceptional sticky buns.
The bell above the front door jingles merrily as Emily heads back to the lobby, hopefully to tell Mrs. Vanderman that her breakfast will be out momentarily. We’ve had a pretty constant stream of customers now that summer is officially here, and I hope it continues. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow with a local contractor,Beck Billingsley, to see how much it will cost to do some refurbishments, and I’ll need as many profits as I can get to pay for them.
I haven’t had many moments of missing my life with Lane, but they tend to happen when I look at my bank account.
“Georgie?” The voice that calls from the lobby is familiar, but I can’t quite place who it belongs to because I’ve reacquainted with a lot of people over the last few days—too many to keep track of. It never ceases to amaze me how many people remember me from all those years ago, given I was only ever here in the summers and didn’t interact with many people outside of King and his friends. I guess my days spent at the bakery were more memorable than I thought.
Emily pushes through the swinging door again, a frown on her lips. “There’s someone here who says she’s your best friend,” she says.
I can’t help but grin at the way she seems to be trying to defend me. Yes, Emily is a definite step up from Meg, at least when it comes to company. “I don’t really have friends in Willow Cove. Or at all,” I add under my breath. Just Cecily, who is…
My grin drops as recognition sets in. Why is Cecily in South Carolina?
Setting aside my batter, I brush my hands on my apron and hurry to follow Emily out to the front. Sure enough, my best friend is standing on the other side of the counter, her arms folded and a look of unadulterated frustration on her face.
As soon as she sees me, however, her scowl shifts into a wide grin. “You’re alive!”
I skirt around the counter and attack her with a fierce hug. “I talked to you last night.” The words come out tinged with emotion. Apparently I missed my friend more than I realized. Video chats aren’t the same as seeing her in person. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
Cecily snorts. “I only missed your wedding because you neglected to tell me about it beforehand. Otherwise I would have been here sooner.”
I glance at Mrs. Vanderman, who narrows her eyes at me, and then I take hold of Cecily’s hand so I can tug her into the kitchen. It’s not completely private, but it’s better than having a conversation like this in the middle of the busy lobby.
“You’d better keep your voice down,” I warn her. “We’re meeting with the estate attorney this afternoon, and his wife is out there.”
Cecily raises an eyebrow. “Okay?” I filled her in on the whole situation the night after I married King, but she’s clearly not grasping my warning.
