Sugared (Misfit Brides #4) Page 22

  “And he can totally stick it to your mother. How many men in this town would do that?”

  “None who would want to marry me.”

  But Josh didn’t want to marry her either.

  Kimmie didn’t care about the wedding. About the cake or the reception hall or the food or the flowers or who did the pictures. Or even the ring she’d ragged Josh about.

  But she wouldn’t have minded being married. Going home every night to someone who loved her simply because she was Kimmie.

  When she and Josh had their “breakup,” she’d mourn their friendship and the relationship that never really was.

  She already missed him in her apartment.

  “You know what the worst part is?” Kimmie said to Nat. “The worst part is, everyone knows this isn’t real. Nobody can honestly believe I snagged Chicago’s hottest bachelor. Or that he’ll show up for the wedding. Except maybe his parents.”

  Kimmie shouldn’t have accepted Esme’s invitation to dinner this weekend, but she’d wanted to defy her mother. Stall breaking up.

  Who was she kidding?

  She wanted Josh to want her.

  “Have you asked Lindsey about him?” Nat said casually.

  Too casually.

  Kimmie poked at her lo mein. “There’s no point. Really, Josh and me being right for each other would be like a bad-boy Greek god falling for a lemon tree when he could have a mermaid instead.”

  “First, if you were a tree, you’d be a Christmas tree, and second, quit putting the man on a damn pedestal. You are fabulous. You are special. And above all, you’re a freaking amazing person. You want to know what everyone wants to know? They want to know what he’s done to deserve you. Not the other way around. Understand?”

  “I had a dream that I couldn’t stop burping frogs,” Kimmie said. “And they tried to sing except we were in a vacuum—like a Hoover, not like outer space—and their eyeballs kept getting sucked out.”

  Nat tucked her silky dark hair behind her ear. “Forget your mother. Forget the wedding. Forget Heaven’s Bakery and whatever your other business is with Josh. Take all that away, and you know what? He’d still like you. I watched him the last few nights, Kimmie. He likes you. He put up with a lot of shit from a lot of us this weekend, and for a guy who would usually show up in Bliss with a snack cake bunny on both arms, that says a lot. Whenever you two finish with whatever your business is, he’s going to miss you. Talk to him. Take everything else away, and give him a chance to be the man you deserve.”

  “He doesn’t want to get married, Nat. Like, ever.”

  “So? Live in sin.”

  Kimmie’s belly flipped. Living in sin sounded naughty and sexy and delicious.

  Not that Josh even knew Kimmie had girl parts. “My mother would crack my coconuts.”

  “More like she’d have a stroke.” Nat squeezed her hand again. “Ignore me if I’m way off base. This is your life. Emphasis on the your part. Don’t let your mother or Josh or me or anyone tell you what you can or can’t have. Decide what you want, and go for it. He might break your heart, but if you don’t give him a chance, you’re going to break your own heart.”

  Nat stood. “I have to go get Noah. Call if you need anything, okay? Anytime.”

  Kimmie nodded.

  Nat left, but her words stayed. They made Kimmie dream.

  They made Kimmie dream crazy, impossible things.

  18

  Tweeted @WindyCitySociety: Josh Kincaid—Secret Geek? Or Geek For Her? Snack Cake Heir Spotted In Gaming Store. #Joshmie #CanThisGetAnyWeirder?

  Josh bolted upright, gasping, cold sweat trickling down his neck. He fumbled in the dark, reaching, grasping—

  For Kimmie.

  “Dammit.”

  He hunched over his knees, reality slowly taking hold. He was safe. Home. In his own bed.

  Kimmie wasn’t lost in a bad neighborhood in Chicago, wearing stripper heels and fishnets and a giant neon green dress with a flashing Hot Cupcakes sign across her chest while Aiden and Ralph and a bunch of those nimrods from Bliss and all kinds of other unsavory characters vied for her attention.

  Josh pushed his fists into his eye sockets, but the image wouldn’t go away.

  He hadn’t seen Kimmie in five days.

  Not when he was awake, anyway.

  He flung off his sheets and pulled himself out of bed. Dawn peeked through his drapes, but inside his condo, all was quiet. No cats poking their heads through his boxer shorts or swinging from his door frames. No Kimmie doing yoga or twiddling around the kitchen.

  “Dammit,” he muttered again. This was bordering on an obsession, and Josh didn’t do obsessions. Not with women.

  Spending five days away from her was supposed to put his life back on normal ground, not make him think about her more.

  He grabbed his phone and hit Aiden’s number.

  “It’s barely six o’clock on a Saturday, asshole,” Aiden’s foggy voice said.

  “Good time to kick your pansy ass in some hoops.”

  “You need to get laid.” The phone beeped off.

  And now Josh was picturing Kimmie tangled in his sheets, her curly hair spread across his pillow, her girl-guns flexing, those strong legs—

  He flung his phone down and headed for the shower.

  Six hours later, his apartment was spotless, his fridge was packed, and dinner was prepped.

  Because Kimmie had called.

  And when she’d asked if she could drive up and stay with him tonight so she wasn’t rushed in the morning, he’d said yes so fast his tongue had nearly gotten whiplash.

  He was a domesticated pussy, and he didn’t mind as much as he should’ve.

  Still, he hounded Aiden to meet him at the gym until his buddy relented. They hit the court just after lunch, and Aiden shoved a basketball at Josh. “If you don’t quit this moody shit, I’m playing for the other team. Don’t have time to be coddling your ass while you’re on your period.”

  Josh shoved the basketball back. “Big talk for someone about to get his ass kicked.”

  Aiden snorted. “Dude, ain’t your period. You got PKS. Pre-Kimmie Syndrome. Need to get on that. That girl’s got moon-eyes for you. She’d do anything you asked.”

  “I don’t take advantage of women,” Josh growled.

  “Don’t usually fall for them either.” Aiden clapped him on the shoulder. “About time, dumbass. She’s funny. I like her. You really getting married? Had a feeling you were saying that to irritate her mother and get those cupcake recipes.”

  “Shove it.” Josh took stock of the gym. Three games were going on already, but the far court had two guys shooting at one of the hoops. Josh pointed to it. “Good spot for a pickup game.”

  Aiden stopped. “This about your mama?”

  Josh almost flinched.

  His mama—his birth mother, his first mom—had done her best. A single woman working two jobs to keep a growing boy fed, sheltered, and clothed. His grandmother’s wedding ring was the only thing of value that she’d owned, and she’d made sure Josh knew he was worth more than the ring. She’d checked his homework every night, told him he was a smart boy, and that he’d be someone someday. When she got sick and died, he was almost the only thing she left behind.

  And he’d very much been left behind.

  “It’s about waiting for a girl who wants me for me,” he lied.

  “Whatever she wants from you, it ain’t Sweet Dreams,” Aiden said. “She know what you’re using her recipes for?”

  “She knows. And she’s getting something out of the deal too.”

  But she didn’t know what kind of trouble Sweet Dreams was in. And she wasn’t getting everything she wanted, because Josh still had a stake in her bakery.

  Kimmie was nothing like any other woman he’d ever dated. She didn’t want his family or his fortune. She’d been bluntly honest with him—you’re pretty, but only on the outside—but she’d also offered something he’d been offered from very, very few peop
le in his life, and accepted from even fewer.

  Friendship. Affection. Acceptance.

  Even when he’d been a blatant ass, she’d still let him in. As if he were worthy of her attention despite who he was.

  “We gonna play ball, or we gonna stand around here and gossip like women all day?” Josh said.

  “Playing ball won’t solve your problem,” Aiden said.

  “Don’t have a problem.”

  And he’d repeat it until he believed it.

  * * *

  Since Monday, Kimmie had almost managed to feel normal again. Josh had texted every day, and he’d even called on Tuesday and Thursday to hear for himself that things at the bakery were fine.

  Maybe it was defiance against her mother, or maybe it was her taking Nat’s advice to heart, but going to see Josh Saturday night was the only thing she wanted to do.

  She missed him. Her cats missed him. If her couch had feelings, it might’ve missed him too.

  He’d only spent three nights on it, but it didn’t look right without his blanket folded over the top.

  And now, after the Miss Flower Girl and Miss Junior Bridesmaid pageants last night, and after a full Saturday of delivering wedding cakes today with General Mom’s Cake Readiness Condition Four drill eye glint glowing brighter and brighter all day despite no drills being run—undoubtedly, she was planning something horrific for next week if Kimmie didn’t call off her fake engagement to Josh now, as her mother kept insisting she do—here she was outside Josh’s condo, her stomach aching as if a dried blob of frosting made of steel were weighing it down.

  Josh had agreed to let her spend the night tonight to keep up appearances, she was sure.

  Not because he missed her or because he liked her or because he was starting to think about making their relationship something real, as Nat had suggested.

  As per their agreement, he’d deposited twenty-five thousand dollars into her bank account this week, with the remainder to come after she delivered the final recipes.

  Kimmie hadn’t mentioned the future of Heaven’s Bakery to General Mom again.

  She needed to.

  But what would be the point? General Mom would never take her seriously as a businesswoman capable of running the bakery.

  The door swung open in front of her, and Josh smiled.

  Smiled.

  Not a grin, not a smirk, not a Josh Juan panty-melter, but a real, relaxed, happy Josh Kincaid smile.

  And suddenly, Kimmie didn’t care about General Mom.

  Josh believed in her.

  “You bribe the doorman with cupcakes again?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but instead looped an arm around her waist and pressed a scratchy kiss to her cheek. “Good to see you.”

  Everything inside her melted like sugar in hot butter. She leaned into him and took a big breath of lemon, spice, and Josh. He was barefoot, in worn jeans and a soft, dark gray Kingston Ale House T-shirt. His hair was damp as though he’d gotten out of the shower recently.

  Josh in a suit was devastatingly handsome.

  Casual Josh was something more. He was the best German chocolate cupcake in the world. Or a coconut overdose with fluffy kitty rainbow dreams. Or the knight beneath the armor.

  Kimmie shivered.

  Josh gave her one last squeeze, then released her and took her overnight bag. “Drive go okay?”

  “As good as it gets.”

  He took her hand and pulled her past the kitchen and into a modern black-and-steel living room. Scents of garlic and something yeasty wafted around her. “Kick your feet up,” he said with a nod to the dark leather chairs before the picture window overlooking Lake Michigan. “Dinner’s almost done. You like wine? Otherwise, I have water, milk, and sparkling juice. Or beer.”

  “Water’s fine.” She could bolt. Fake the whooping measles. Cancel tomorrow, cancel dinner with his parents. Call off their whole fake engagement now, as General Mom had ordered.

  Missing Josh wasn’t part of their deal. Nor was wanting to sniff him. Or that fluttery feeling in her belly when she watched his butt in his jeans when he turned to walk into the kitchen.

  Kimmie didn’t ogle butts. As General Mom said, it was unbecoming.

  But as Pepper said, if he didn’t want his butt ogled, he shouldn’t have put it in those jeans.

  And Nat would’ve told her to stay. And talk to him.

  “Any difficult customers this week?” Josh called.

  “Just my mother,” Kimmie muttered.

  “Besides her.”

  She looked at the wall separating the living room from where his voice had drifted out. Black and white poster-sized pictures of buffalo, some famous rock formation she’d seen before, and Old Faithful hung on the wall, but she couldn’t readily see any spying or listening devices.

  Not that they’d look the way they looked in her dreams, with big Dr. Seuss-like cornucopia horns and antennae.

  His massive big-screen TV on the other wall appeared relatively normal and benign too.

  Josh walked into the room with a tall glass of brown liquid. “Chocolate milk?”

  She loved chocolate milk. “I had a dream we were living in this Planet of the Bread movie where yeast gained consciousness and decided to take over the world by implanting itself in our ears and the only person who could stop it was the witch who lived under the wedding cake monument, but she was too busy writing a book to take new clients.”

  His deep eyes crinkled around the edges. “Thanks. I needed that.” He left the chocolate milk on a coaster on the black-and-glass end table next to her, then returned to the kitchen. “And I’d be heartbroken if you bolted,” he called. “Long week. I was looking forward to a Killer Bunnies rematch.”

  “Blam it,” Kimmie muttered.

  “This guy at the game store recommended a card game called Fluxx too. Heard of it?”

  “No Zombie Fluxx. It gives me nightmares.”

  “I got Holiday Fluxx. Seemed appropriate for you. Couldn’t pass up Pirate Fluxx either.”

  Kimmie stifled a whimper. He was the worst fake fiancé ever. Because he could’ve been a wonderful real fiancé.

  But this wasn’t real.

  Josh brought in two white plates heaped with something that smelled delicious and looked even better.

  Kimmie’s belly rumbled.

  “Birdie taught me how to cook,” he said with an adorable, almost self-conscious half-shrug.

  There was a chicken breast with a light brown glaze—garlic, Kimmie guessed—and bright, fresh, perfectly steamed green beans and carrots next to—“Are those homemade yeast rolls?”

  “Yep.”

  Kimmie squinted at him. “Made by you?”

  “Yep.”

  “You put the flour and water and salt and yeast in these yourself?”

  He grinned. “You want to watch me do it again?”

  “That might make my ovaries explode.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I mean—no. I’m yeast intolerant. I can only eat non-yeasted flour products. Eating that will make my—my—”

  “Groceries explode?” he deadpanned.

  Kimmie thrust a finger in the air. “Yes! Yes. Wow, you’re good. With hearing. Things. With hearing things right. The first time. Did I tell you about my dream—”

  “Kimmie. Eat.”

  He handed her a plate, and he was grinning when he sat next to her. He propped his feet on the matching leather ottoman, then passed her a fork, spoon, knife, and napkin.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He speared his chicken and cut a healthy bite. “Thank you. Appreciate the company.”

  She looked out the window at the water melting into the darkening sky in the distance. “That’s what friends are for.”

  The chicken was tender, the green beans and carrots crisp, and the rolls were soft and buttery and perfect.

  “This is better than the Rose and Dove’s banquet chicken, and for banquet chicken, they do a pretty good job,” Kimmie said.

 
; “Your relatives run that?”

  “Third cousins twice removed, or something like that. Descendants of Birdie’s great-grand—oh.” Kimmie lowered her voice to a whisper. “This is the same recipe, isn’t it?”

  “Your mother can’t hear you here.”

  “Distance is no match for my mother’s eavesdropping and mind-reading skills.”

  “I had steel anti-mind-reading plates installed this week. Specially designed to be Marilyn-proof. Also sounds an alarm if she gets within two hundred yards of the building, and I sent the guards downstairs to ninja training. You’re safe.”

  His smile was warm, not mocking, and the caramel cupcake in her chest went gooier and warmer. “Can they combat flying monkeys too?”

  “Yep. And coconut dreams.”

  He needed to quit saying the right things, because he wouldn’t follow up the saying with the doing, no matter how much Kimmie wished he would. “You know this is the kind of conversation that could cost you next year’s Chicago’s Hottest Bachelor title.”

  He frowned and put his fork on his plate.

  The hairs on the back of Kimmie’s neck stood up. Something was off. “I was thinking about our breakup,” she blurted. “We should probably pretend to be engaged until I’m done with all the cupcake recipes, because otherwise General Mom will get suspicious about why we’re talking when we’re broken up, and she wants me to break up with you yesterday. We can still be friends. Secret friends. Not that I’m embarrassed to be friends with you. But it’s wiser not to anger her.”

  “Did you just call your mother General Mom?”

  Oh, pumplegunker. “No.”

  Josh’s lips twitched up. “You’re a terrible liar.” He set his plate aside, then leaned into Kimmie’s personal bubble. “And you make up half your dreams on the spot.”

  She squeaked, and a tsunami of lava crashed over her neck and face.

  His grin went bigger. “You do.”

  “I—”

  Josh touched a finger to her cheek, then traced a design. Oh, fugglemuffins and yams. That tickled. On her cheek, inside her mouth. And it made other parts of her flare to life too.

  “You’re quite remarkable,” he said.