Page 15 of Trouble Me
Amelia picked up the cookie sheet and turned to the oven behind her, shoving the pan inside. She brushed her hands on her apron. “Do you think that’s the best way to go about it?”
Emma lifted her chin and gave her cousin a cold stare. “It’s the only way to go about it right now. I don't have another option.”
Amelia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to keep that monstrosity of a house and all that land. It’s just you. It’s not like it’s going to bring your parents back.” As soon as the words were in the air, her mouth formed an O and her eyes went wide. “Emma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Emma straightened her spine and pushed away from the counter. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” She jerked an apron off the hook near the door and started to put it on, her hands shaking with a combination of anger and anguish. Loss and regret ruled her life for too many years.
Her cousin walked over and covered Emma’s hands in an attempt to keep her still. “Look at me.”
She blinked back tears that burned her eyes before looking into the face of one of the people she trusted most. She found pain swirling in Amelia’s eyes and sighed, then drew her into a hug. “I love you. I know you didn’t mean it that way.” She pulled back and looked down at the floor between her red Chucks. The ache in her chest was almost overwhelming, and she blew out a breath, meeting Amelia’s forest-green eyes. “I made a promise to my parents, Amelia. I told my dad I’d take care of my mom. And I told her I’d keep the house in the family. One day, maybe I’ll open it as a B&B again.” The shimmer of hope in her heart was chased away by the reminder of the bank breathing down her neck. “I've gotta do what I need to do in order to keep my word.” She swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall. “I have to make amends. It's the only way I can move forward.”
“Oh, Em. I’m sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Damn it, now I feel like a real shit for what I just said to you. Me and my damn mouth.”
Emma grinned. “You always did get us in trouble with your mouth. I don’t know how Stella doesn't have a headful of gray hair.”
Amelia smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I know. I can only hope I look like her in my sixties. We kids caused her so much angst.”
Emma’s gaze took in the rich chocolate-brown hair and startling green eyes of her cousin. Of all her cousins, Amelia looked the most like Stella. “I’d say you have plenty of your mama.” The hollowness in her chest grew thinking about her own mother, who had been as blonde as Emma was dark.
She moved away toward the island and picked up a cookie scoop, dropping dough onto the waiting pans. The repetitive exercise soothed her nerves. “It won’t bring my parents back, I know. But it’s the least I can do to make her proud, defend the family name, and prove I’m not a screw-up anymore.”
Amelia frowned, her eyes still damp although the tears were gone. “You’re not a screw-up. You were a freaking CEO of an international company, a company you built. I’m sure you made a ton of money in addition to all your success of climbing the ladder.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t happy.” Disgust churned in her stomach. “I fell down a slippery slope and used anything I could to explain away my actions and bad judgment. It took losing it all, including my parents, before I figured out what the hell I needed to do.”
Coming back home had been the first step toward finding the peace she craved. The peace she needed to stay on recovery road.
Amelia picked up the pan Emma filled with the sweet dough and put it in the oven before turning back to her. “Well, you’re making good now. Give yourself some credit.”
Emma nodded and looked at her watch. Thank God, it was time to open. She backed toward the doorway that led out of the kitchen. “How about for this morning, you man the kitchen and I’ll go open up. Trays of pastries already out here?”
“Yeah, I took them out just before you got here.” Amelia cocked her head to one side. “You don’t usually like manning the counter first thing.”
Emma pursed her lips. “Yeah, well I’m doing a lot of things out of my comfort zone lately.” Before Amelia could respond, she turned on her heel, shoes squeaking on the floor, and moved out into the dining area.
She hustled, starting the multiple commercial coffee pots brewing and sliding the trays of fresh-baked goodness into the glass cases. Less than five minutes after she opened, Shane Kavanaugh walked through the door, looking better than he had a right to in a flannel shirt and faded jeans.
Stopping his forward motion, his eyes widened in surprise, then a half smile curved one side of his full lips. “Emma. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
She swallowed hard and stood tall, ignoring the butterflies in her belly. Her mouth finally cooperated and kicked into a smile. “Hi, Shane. How are you?”
“I’m good.” He walked farther in, the door closing behind him, and glanced around the bakery. “Hmmm...it smells good in here.” His gaze came to hers. “You’re all over the place in this town, aren’t you?”
She chuckled at his slightly bewildered look. “My cousin owns the place. I help her out sometimes when she needs it.”
He nodded, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Walking over to the glass cases, he studied the wares. “Are all these pastries baked in-house?”
“Every morning.”
“Good to know.” Shane stepped up to the counter, his eyes roaming her face. “It’s nice to see you again.” His voice was low, the deep timbre of it dancing along her skin like a live wire. She was spellbound for a moment before her brain fired again.
“Yeah, you too.” Emma blew out a breath, trying to bring herself back to rights. “What can I get you this morning?”
He pulled his stare from hers and looked up at the chalk-drawn menus behind her. “What's your favorite of all those?” He waved toward the boards.
“You can't go wrong with a medium roast.”
He nodded. “Medium roast it is.”
