Page 68 of Coming Home

She reached for two small sacks sitting on a nearby counter and handed them to Willow. “These are for the two of you. Breakfast in the car. I also told Gloria to make up two lattes when you came in.”

Willow opened one sack and inhaled deeply. “Mmm. I love a road trip when there’s food involved, especially pastries you’ve made.”

Jackson kissed her again. “I’ll see you tonight.” His eyes fell to the wedding cake she had finished early this morning. “That is a thing of beauty. For the wedding tomorrow?”

“Yes, it’s the cake for Anthony Abbott and his bride. Since it’s small, I can drop it off myself in Crescent Cove and then head up to Portland for my shopping.”

“Let’s get on the road, Bro,” Willow said. “You claim the lattes for us.”

Her husband kissed her one last time and grinned. “See you soon.”

The rest of her day flew by, and she said goodbye to her staff a little after three. Gus had boxed up the wedding cake for her and now carried it to her car.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help delivering this cake?” he asked as he placed it in the back of her SUV, securing it so it wouldn’t be jostled during the drive.

“No, you see how small it is. I’ll drop it off and then head up to Portland. Tomorrow morning, you can help me unload the supplies from the car, though. We probably won’t do so after we get home tonight.”

“I can do that,” Gus told her. “Tell Jackson hello.”

Ainsley went upstairs to her office and took a quick shower, washing the sweet smells of the bakery from her and dressing in fresh clothes for her husband. She added a touch of lipstick and was about to head out the door when her cell rang.

She didn’t recognize the number but with Jackson being out of town, she decided to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ainsley Martin?” an anxious voice asked.

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

A muffled sound occurred, and then, “This is Anthony. Anthony Abbott. I’m almost to Maple Cove. I’ve come to get... the cake.”

“I told you that I would be delivering it,” she said gently, hearing how upset he was. “In fact, it’s already in my car now. I was about to leave.”

“Don’t,” he said, urgency in his voice. “I’ll get it.”

“Then you’ll need to come around to the alley behind Buttercup Bakery,” she said, worried at how he sounded and guessing the wedding was off. “I’ll meet you out back. We can transfer the cake to your car, then I need to get on the road. I’m picking up my husband at the airport in Portland.”

“I’ll be there... in less than five minutes.”

Her client hung up without a goodbye, and a wave of sadness swept over her. This had only happened on one other occasion, a couple canceling their wedding at the last minute. The bride and her mother had shown up at the bakery, both in tears, the bride hysterical. She had caught her groom in bed with her maid of honor two days before the wedding. Ainsley had baked all three tiers and had iced the bottom layer by the time they arrived. The mother of the bride told Ainsley to send her the bill for what was owed. She had told the mom their deposit would cover supplies and time she had already spent, not wanting to add to their heartache.

Now it looked as if another wedding wouldn’t take place.

She made her way downstairs and unlocked the rear door leading to the alley, propping it open in case Anthony changed his mind and wanted to leave the cake behind. She could always slice it and sell those tomorrow and try to turn a little profit from the disaster. She went to her car and unlocked it, tossing her purse onto the passenger’s seat and opening the tailgate to her SUV.

A car rounded the corner and pulled in two spots down from hers. Anthony Abbott got out, a bottle in one hand and two champagne flutes in the other. He slammed his door using his foot and came toward her.

Frowning, she said, “I see you are upset. Can I do anything for you?”

“You can drink a toast with me and celebrate the fact that I dodged a bullet,” he said flatly.

She really didn’t want to have a drink since she was about to get on the road to Portland, but she didn’t want to upset him further. She could take a sip or two and then send him on his way.

“Come inside the bakery,” she suggested.

He brushed past her and she hit the remote so the car would be locked and her purse safe before following him inside. He had already uncorked the champagne and was pouring some into a glass. He moved to the other flute and filled it, as well, handing it to her.

“I should have known,” he muttered, tapping his flute against hers and taking a drink of the champagne.

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