Sugared (Misfit Brides #4) Page 28

  She sucked in a sharp breath that he felt in his own breastbone. “Don’t. Sugar. Me.”

  “Ladies, gather ’round,” a voice boomed over the sound system. “Single ladies, I should say. The bride’s fixin’ to toss her bouquet.”

  Marilyn arched a brow. “This shall be interesting. Come, Kimberly. You’re not married yet. Let’s see if fate has an opinion of Mr. Kincaid.”

  The crowd jostled around them as the single ladies surged toward Lindsey and the married ladies and the men backed away.

  Josh tightened his hold on Kimmie. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Kimmie.”

  “Don’t I?” she said.

  There was a weary hitch in her voice that suggested she’d been doing everything but what she wanted.

  Including pretending to be engaged to Josh.

  And his mind’s feeble protest that it was for her own protection from her mother didn’t ease the guilt bruising his heart.

  “All right, all right, here’s our bride,” the voice boomed in the microphone. “And we’ve got our single ladies. Let’s toss this bouquet!”

  “Kimberly?” Marilyn prompted. She gestured toward the crowd of single women beside them.

  “Quit pestering her,” Josh said.

  “Unlike someone, I’m looking out for my daughter’s best interests.”

  “Insisting on her trying to catch a bouquet in an archaic and ridiculous tradition so she might snag the attention of a moron who only wants her for her cupcakes is in her best interest? Just like working her six days a week but failing to train her for the birthright you’ve been dangling in her face her whole life is in her best interest?”

  “Mr. Kincaid, I strongly suggest you speak only of things you have actual knowledge about. I sincerely doubt you’re prepared to take over your family business, given what the man in charge of it has done to its finances.”

  “Stop.” Kimmie shook Josh off.

  “On the count of three!” the voice cried.

  “Three,” the crowd chanted.

  “Both of you. Stop,” Kimmie said.

  “Two,” the crowd yelled.

  “Mr. Kincaid, you heard your fiancée,” Marilyn said.

  “One!”

  “Mom, if you don’t—”

  “Kimberly!” Marilyn lunged forward, grabbed Kimmie by the shoulders, and spun her around.

  In front of Kimmie, women leapt in the air, arms spread, hands grasping, as the bridal bouquet sailed through the late spring afternoon.

  “Move,” Marilyn commanded.

  Kimmie’s hands went up so fast, it had to be pure reflex. Josh reached out too, but Kimmie snatched the bouquet before it sailed past her.

  Applause broke out around them.

  Marilyn joined in the clapping. “Oh, how appropriate, darling, with your wedding next week,” she said.

  Loudly.

  Someone clapped Josh on the back. “Way to go, man.”

  Josh cringed.

  Kimmie turned.

  Slowly.

  So very, very slowly.

  In the month since Josh had gotten to know Kimmie, he’d seen her sad. He’d seen her happy. He’d seen her nervous and worried and tipsy, awkward and funny and delighted.

  But he’d never seen her mad.

  Red splotches bloomed on her cheeks—different splotches, angry splotches. Her eyes were livid blue flames, and her shoulders visibly shook. She pointed the bouquet at Marilyn. “Apologize,” she said.

  Marilyn’s twisted smile morphed into a straight-lined frown. “Smile for the cameras, Kimberly.”

  Kimmie turned the bouquet on Josh. His gut flipped inside out. “And you,” she said, “stop baiting her.”

  “Kimberly, this is indecorous.”

  “My name,” Kimmie growled, “is Kimmie. And I quit.”

  A surge of pride trumped the tightness in Josh’s muscles.

  This was what people should be applauding. Kimmie standing up for herself. Believing in herself. Finding herself.

  Marilyn’s brows slammed together. “Kimberly—”

  “No. No. I’m done.”

  Josh felt a smile blooming. She meant it.

  She honestly meant it.

  She swung on him. “Don’t you dare smile. You think you won? This isn’t a game. This is my life. And. You. Don’t. Love. Me.”

  Josh’s denial caught in his throat.

  “I love you,” Kimmie said. “And I hate that I love you, because I deserve to be loved too. And you—you can’t do it, can you?”

  The knot in Josh’s gut twisted. Heat cascaded from his chest, up his neck, to his ears and the top of his scalp. Despite his practice schmoozing at fundraisers and fancy dinners, he couldn’t find his voice.

  He couldn’t tell her he loved her.

  If he loved her—if he let himself love her—she could still leave him. Walk away. Give up.

  Die.

  Just like his mom.

  Leaving him alone. Without her love.

  She flung the bouquet at the nearest person in the thickening crowd around them. Photographers perched on the edge of the group, video cameras rolling, reporters pushing at the ropes separating them from the central party.

  “You’ve ruined both my friends’ weddings.” Kimmie ripped off his ring and flung it into the air. Her chin wobbled, but fire glowed in her eyes. “I’m done with both of you.”

  She turned, and the crowd parted for her. Josh moved to follow, Marilyn jostling at his side, but two brawny bodies stepped between them and Kimmie. Josh went left, but the crowd boxed him in.

  “Clear the way,” Marilyn barked. “My daughter needs me.”

  “Marilyn.” Arthur stepped through the crowd. “Let her go.” His voice was steady, barely loud enough for Josh to hear.

  But Marilyn could deal with her own problems.

  Josh had to get to Kimmie.

  He had to get out of this crowd. Kimmie was disappearing. He had to explain to her—

  Something.

  “Do you love her?” a female voice asked beside him.

  Lindsey stood there, white gown wrapped around her, waiting for him to answer, Billy behind her.

  Josh opened his mouth.

  Then snapped it shut.

  He was supposed to say something witty. Something smart. Something sardonic.

  Anything to hide the fact that his heart was cracking in two.

  “Because if you don’t love her, you need to leave her alone,” Lindsey said. “But if you do love her, I suggest you start thinking big. Big big. Massively big. Impossibly big. Soul-baring big. Because Kimmie deserves nothing less.”

  She turned and said something to Billy. He gestured to someone, and the music started again, the party resuming as if nothing were wrong.

  As if nothing had happened.

  As if life would go on.

  But Kimmie was gone. She’d pulled another of her disappearing acts.

  But this time, he doubted she’d come back.

  And despite the pain in his chest and that hopeless, lost feeling he swore he’d never succumb to again, for her sake, he hoped she didn’t.

  23

  The Real Story Behind The Joshmie Breakup—His Wandering Eye, Her Career Goals —The Windy City Scoop

  Kimmie was two blocks from the wedding before she spun and glared at the men following her. “What?”

  “Mr. Billy told us to make sure you get wherever you’re getting to undisturbed, Miss Kimmie,” Bruno the bodyguard said.

  She swiped at her wet face. Now would’ve been a convenient time to rattle off a dream or a fortune, or to fake having buttercream in her eyes, but she couldn’t do it.

  She hurt.

  She hurt, and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t.

  A fake ring. A fake engagement. Fake love. Everything was fake. Shiny and put together on the outside, empty on the inside.

  And she’d fallen.

  She’d fallen for the man she thought he could be. The man he
’d made her believe in.

  And he hadn’t fallen back.

  The joke wasn’t on Kimmie, because this wasn’t funny. This was worse than the zombie-bat Dad dream. Worse than cakemageddon. Worse than almost killing Josh’s mom with a tennis ball.

  This was heartbreak.

  She’d had a glimpse of being loved, but General Mom was right. It had all been fake. Every bit of it, except for her feelings.

  Those had been very, very real.

  “Thank you,” she said to her escorts.

  The two men nodded in unison. “Give you a ride somewhere?” Bruno’s sidekick said. “Mrs. Billy wanted to make sure you knew her house was your house if you want it. She and Mr. Billy ain’t staying there tonight.”

  Kimmie was unemployed—even if General Mom would let her keep her job, she didn’t want it—and while she could’ve stayed on any couch or spare bed in any number of houses in Bliss tonight, none of them—not even Lindsey’s—could fix her life.

  She was broken. She was weak. She was weird and odd and unlovable.

  The wedding cake monument loomed behind her personal escorts. Commissioned by her ancestors, the ever-present reminder of her heritage, of who she was supposed to be, of what she was supposed to do.

  She loved Bliss. She loved the people. She loved the weddings. She loved the happiness. She loved cake.

  But she didn’t love the pressure of her family history dictating her future. She didn’t love her mother not believing in her. And she didn’t love only being loved for her cake.

  “I—I don’t know where I want to go,” she said.

  The two men shared a look. “You like pie?” Bruno said. “That little sandwich shop next to Mikey’s lady’s ice cream place makes a killer peach pie. Asked to send one home to my momma, and the sweet old lady gave me the recipe herself. Said they’re closing up. I’ll buy you one. Guaranteed to make anybody smile.”

  “Good pickles,” his sidekick agreed.

  Despite herself, Kimmie smiled. “Good pickles?”

  “There’s an art. Ain’t many people get ’em right like my Meemaw did.”

  Kimmie wiped her cheeks again. Pickles. She was going out for pickles and pie with two of Will’s bodyguards. Why not?

  Pickles and pie might not solve any problems, but they certainly couldn’t hurt her any worse than she’d already hurt herself.

  * * *

  For the first time in almost twenty years, Josh couldn’t eat.

  Every time he tried, his gut cramped so hard he thought he would be sick.

  He’d returned to Sweet Dreams on Wednesday to work on the marketing campaign to go along with the gourmet snack cake line. But he couldn’t touch it without thinking of Kimmie.

  The way she’d smiled at him this weekend.

  The way she’d stood tall and told her mother off at the wedding.

  The way her eyes had gone bleak and empty and broken when Josh couldn’t tell her he loved her.

  The broken part was breaking him.

  A courier had arrived late afternoon with a personal check from Kimmie, made out to Josh, returning every last cent he’d paid her and delivering the last hand-written recipe, along with a note that he could consider their business complete.

  She hated snack cakes, but she’d agreed to give him recipes anyway. And she’d done it for free.

  He had no intention of cashing the check, but that wasn’t the point.

  The point was, Kimmie had given them to him.

  She’d probably saved Sweet Dreams from bankruptcy.

  And he’d given her nothing but heartache and complications in her life.

  “Oh, no, tell me the gossips have this wrong,” Mom said from Josh’s doorway. “What happened, sweetheart?”

  I was an asshole. As if he could tell his mother that. “I was an asshole.”

  Mom sank onto the edge of the plush leather chair. “Hmm.”

  He clenched his fists against the truth. “Kimmie’s too good for me.”

  “Joshua Nathaniel Kincaid, no woman is too good for you. Not even Kimmie. Though she was by far the closest of all the girls I’ve ever seen you with. Did she tell you she was too good for you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then are you going to be a man and win her back, or are you going to continue being an asshole?”

  Josh’s lips parted.

  “Women will only wait so long for a man to pull his head from his nether regions,” Mom said. “With all the single groomsmen who go through Bliss, it’s a wonder she hasn’t been swept off her feet before. Regardless, she will be soon. I do believe that girl’s gained the confidence to ask for what she wants, and goodness knows it won’t take long in that town for her to find it.” She stood. “But enough of that. I need to speak with you and your father in his office.”

  Wordlessly, Josh stood and followed her upstairs. She chatted about the weather, about an upcoming tennis tournament, and a charity auction she was organizing for a local food bank. All normal.

  As though she hadn’t called him out on being an asshole.

  And possibly a chicken.

  Mom smiled at Dad’s receptionist, then pushed into his office after a perfunctory knock.

  “Esme, lovely surprise as always.” He winced while he pushed to standing.

  Mom tsked him and motioned for him to sit. She pointed Josh to a plush checkered chair, then claimed a seat of her own and pulled a thick blue folder from her messenger bag. “Gentlemen, this charade has gone on long enough. We need to discuss the future of Sweet Dreams, and before either of you say a word, please keep in mind that my bullshit meter has zero tolerance today.”

  Josh’s jaw slipped.

  Dad flipped a pen over his fingers. He shot a glance at Josh. “Esme, you know—”

  “That you’ve been borrowing from your retirement fund to meet payroll the last two months, sales figures are at an all-time low, and focus group tests on the fall line have been extremely disappointing?” Mom said.

  Josh’s neck went hot.

  Dad’s nose took on a cherry hue, and a vein in his forehead bulged.

  “Yes, Clayton, I know. While I would have preferred to save this conversation for after market testing the new gourmet line of cupcakes—” she spared Josh an indulgent smile that twisted his gut “—the idea of it was enticing enough for Hansen Food Industries to make a respectable buyout offer.”

  Dad shot to his feet.

  And groaned and clutched his back, then collapsed into his chair. “Esme, I will not—”

  “Clayton, you can hardly move after a workout of walking, you’re sleeping less than four hours a night, and you’ve been promising me a Greek Isles cruise since our thirty-fifth anniversary. I’m done with humoring both your workaholic tendencies and your pride. It’s high time you retire.”

  “This is a family company, and by God, it’ll stay in the family,” Dad roared.

  “Josh, do you want to sit in your father’s chair? It requires far more than marketing genius and sleeping with pretty girls for cupcake recipes.”

  Josh straightened. “Now hold on—”

  “Figure of speech.” Mom flicked a dismissive hand. “Clayton, you have done amazing things for Sweet Dreams and its employees, but times have changed. Snack cakes aren’t the rage they once were, and while a boutique line of cakes is a brilliant idea, we need to look beyond one line to the future. Do you want Josh saddled with the responsibility of keeping this company going when schools are waging a war against sugar in lunches, there’s a cupcake store on every corner, and Food Network has higher ratings than the evening news? That’s an enormous weight to put on his shoulders, and he doesn’t have the financial resources to keep the company afloat in tough times the way you’ve been doing.”

  Dad jabbed a finger in her direction. “You have no right—”

  “But you have a right to keep secrets from me, to lie to me and tell me everything’s fine when you’re risking our future financial security?” She f
olded her arms. “Don’t mistake me being nice for me being ignorant.”

  Dad’s bluster faded into a stuttered gibberish and ended with him slamming a fist on the desk. “It’s my job to protect you both, dammit.”

  “We put on a fabulous show, don’t we?” Mom said. “But if we can’t be honest with one another, what do we have?”

  Josh rubbed at the knot behind his sternum.

  Lies. Kimmie had said she was tired of the lies. But they all lied. Dad lied to Mom to make her feel safe. Mom played dumb to let him. Josh hid from both of them that he knew the truth about the company so they could keep up appearances.

  If they’d all been honest, if they’d admitted their weaknesses and owned their vulnerabilities, would he have gone after Kimmie and her cupcakes?

  Would she be better off if he’d stayed out of her life? Had she set her pride aside and returned to Heaven’s Bakery this morning? Had she been put on dishwasher duty as punishment? Had she been cut out of Marilyn’s will and lost her heritage for his misguided stupidity?

  He rubbed his fists in his eyes.

  “Josh, you’ll have a guaranteed five-year contract with Hansen Food Industries to continue working in marketing, or to dabble in product development or management or logistics or anything your heart desires,” Mom said. “You’re also being offered an increased salary and contractually obligated annual pay raises. They’re impressed with your work. Frankly, sweetheart, Sweet Dreams wouldn’t have lasted this long without you, and everyone at Hansen Food knows it.”

  Josh’s head was spinning. “Aiden?”

  “All current Sweet Dreams employees will be offered fair continued employment packages or transition assistance if they wish to leave the company.”

  “Esme—”

  “We’re on a sinking ship, Clayton. We can choose the life raft now, or we can drown later.”

  Josh lifted his head. “I won’t let this company fail.”

  “At what cost to yourself?” Mom said softly. She touched a warm hand to his cheek. “We didn’t adopt you so you could spend your life indebted to us. We adopted you to give you the chance to choose a life of your own. If you could be anywhere in the world with no responsibilities, no obligations, no questions, where would you be?”