Sugared (Misfit Brides #4) Page 30

Lindsey was right.

  He didn’t deserve Kimmie. But Kimmie deserved to be happy. With a husband. Babies. Her own bakery. Her friends. Bliss.

  And if he could make Kimmie happy—he swallowed hard—then he was a fucking selfish bastard if he let his fear of losing her some day in the future win out over her simple request that he love her.

  She’d given him everything. Her trust. Her virginity. Her love.

  She deserved that much and more. His voice wasn’t steady, and it wasn’t suave, and it certainly wasn’t Joshanova quality, but he pushed out the husky words anyway. “You think she still loves me?”

  “I have no idea.” Lindsey smiled an evil, diabolical smile before sliding a ring-size jewelry box onto the bar. “Will’s security team recovered this after our wedding. Based on what I learned about it on The Aisle today, I suspect you might want it.”

  If it was what he suspected it was, she was right.

  He wanted it.

  He should’ve told Kimmie what it was. Who it had belonged to. How Josh had gotten it.

  What it meant.

  He snatched the box and shoved it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

  “It’s not about the ring or the bakery or the show, Josh,” Lindsey said. “It’s about the love. And all of us—you, me, even Marilyn—we all need it. Whether we admit it or not. Easiest way to get it is to give it. Will this be a story you tell your grandchildren or a secret you’re buried with?”

  First his mother, now Kimmie’s best friend.

  “Not for me to answer,” he said.

  But how to get to the woman who could answer it was another question entirely.

  25

  Love Doesn’t Get Any Grander Than This: Chicago’s Hottest Loverboy Won’t Give Up! —Greta’s Gossip, Chicago Daily Sun

  After a week of research, shopping, and planning, Kimmie stumbled into her apartment late Friday night. Throwing herself into plans for her shop hadn’t patched the gaping hole in her cupcake heart, but it had distracted her.

  Mostly.

  Because when she was shopping in the fabulous kitchen supply store in Chicago, she’d wondered if Josh would’ve had an opinion on display cases and cake stands.

  When she’d sat down with friends to brainstorm launch flavors and to debate the merits of adding a lunch menu, she’d wondered what Josh’s instincts would’ve said.

  When she’d crawled into bed exhausted every night, she’d wondered if he would’ve been proud of her.

  She’d fled Bliss altogether yesterday so she wouldn’t have to hear the whispers or answer the questions about her wedding. Josh had handled it as gracefully as she would’ve expected—he’d paid for everything, donated all the food, given the flowers to a couple who were eloping on the cheap, and the photographer he’d hired had offered to do shots of Kimmie Cakes when it opened, since she’d been paid as well.

  If the Chicago society pages were reporting anything about them, Kimmie hadn’t heard about it.

  Thank the cake gods.

  But her apartment still felt empty. Boo greeted her by pouncing from the refrigerator with one of Kimmie’s bras dangling around her neck. Peep head-butted Kimmie’s leg. She picked them both up and squeezed them hard. “Love you two.”

  She thumbed through her mail and then plopped herself in front of the television.

  Bennie’s would be hers on Monday.

  Kimmie Cakes would open its doors a week later.

  And she wouldn’t have another minute to sit and watch TV for weeks.

  Peep suddenly went spastic while Boo tilted her head toward the front door and let out a plaintive yowl.

  Kimmie heaved a heavy sigh. She pulled herself out of her papasan chair as the knock sounded, dragged her tired feet across the floor, and flung the door open. “What, Mom?”

  General Mom wasn’t alone. Arthur leaned against the opposite wall. He gave Kimmie a smile and a wink.

  “Kimberly, I’m sorry,” General Mom said.

  “I’m sorry?” Kimmie said.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. As in, I apologize.” General Mom’s cheeks flushed unevenly. Boo rubbed against her leg. “I’ve been… poorly behaved in my pursuit of success, and I haven’t stopped to consider the full consequences of my actions and opinions on your emotional well-being, or the complications I presented in your quest for success.”

  This looked like the hallway outside Kimmie’s apartment. The carpet beneath her toes felt real. Neither Arthur nor Mom sported any unusual body parts, like donkey ears or alien arm extensions or unicorn horns, so apparently this wasn’t a dream.

  Kimmie tucked her arms around herself. It’s okay wasn’t the right answer.

  “Mr. Kincaid returned his half of Heaven’s Bakery to me this week,” General Mom said.

  Kimmie’s fists clenched. “Congratulations. You win.”

  General Mom’s flush deepened. She looked into Kimmie’s apartment. Kimmie twitched, but she planted herself in the doorway, blocking the way.

  She didn’t want to give up on her mother, but she wanted a relationship on her terms. Or at least mutually beneficial terms.

  “I haven’t won,” General Mom said stiffly. “He made it clear that his respect for you and your assistance with certain family matters influenced his decision greatly.”

  Sounded like the Joshanova. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “My point,” General Mom continued, “is that, as your mother, I should have had the same basic respect and appreciation for all of your unique qualities and for your ability to do things that I will never be able to achieve in my lifetime. Were it not for his interference, I most likely never would have realized that you have grown into a smart, beautiful, unstoppable woman. As you move on with your own professional endeavors, I would like to get to know you as a person again.”

  The walls didn’t morph into chocolate bubbles, no dinosaurs were sniffing down the hall, and neither Mom, Arthur, nor the carpet burst into spontaneous show tunes.

  Still not a dream.

  Kimmie nodded slowly. “Maybe we can do lunch sometime. Arthur can come too.” Kimmie couldn’t remember another time in her life when she’d spent an entire week without seeing her mother. And now, she’d be working without her mother every day.

  Making her own dreams come true.

  She almost smiled.

  “Well, you look tired, dear.” General Mom stepped back with a stiff nod. “We’ll let you get your rest.”

  “You coming to the Games tomorrow?” Arthur asked.

  The Games. For years, she’d gone to the Husband Games. She’d watched other couples play. She’d seen the drama, the fun, the love. And she’d dreamed that one day she, too, would be on the stage with a man who adored her.

  But that man didn’t exist. He never had, and he never would.

  Kimmie would never play in the Husband Games. She’d go watch them again. Sometime. Maybe next year. But this year? “No. I have… stuff.”

  He squeezed her in a quick hug. “Proud of you, kiddo,” he whispered.

  “Grateful for you,” Kimmie whispered back.

  She was grateful for most everyone in Bliss these days. And she was determined to count her blessings and to appreciate people—even her mother—every single day.

  Josh was gone. In returning the bakery to her mom, he’d also given up any excuse to return to Bliss.

  He’d washed his hands of the awkward, gawky girl who didn’t fit into his designer life.

  And that hurt worse than any pain her mother had ever inflicted on her.

  Her mother had given her life. Whether General Mom had raised her right or wrong, they shared a link, and they always would because nature dictated it.

  But for two short weeks, Kimmie thought Josh had chosen her.

  Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

  It was the worst wrong she’d ever been.

  * * *

  Josh strode behind Bliss’s high school football stadium early Saturday morn
ing with far more confidence in his step than his heart or his brain could find, straight to the registration table where Natalie and CJ sat waiting.

  Young married couples milled about, trash-talking and laughing with one another. The sun sparkled in a pale blue sky, green leaves rustled, and the cool morning promised perfect conditions for today’s Knot Fest event.

  Natalie squinted up at him from the folding table. “Hello. Can we help you?”

  “I want to register.”

  CJ coughed. Natalie’s mouth formed a perfect O before her forehead wrinkled. “Ah, Josh, when I suggested you play, I thought you understood that the Husband Games are for married men. With a wife. Who also plays in the Games.”

  “I’ll be married before midnight.”

  He was such a liar. If he was lucky, Kimmie might consider talking to him before midnight. But he had to get into these Games, no matter the cost.

  “To whom?” Natalie said.

  “Kimmie.”

  “Is she aware of your plans?”

  “Let me play, and you’ll find out.”

  This was either the stupidest or the most genius thing Josh had ever done.

  Natalie’s dark hair brushed her cheek. “You don’t honestly expect that to work, do you?”

  “Why not?” Lindsey appeared beside the table. “He seems quite confident.”

  “Lindsey, the Husband Games. Married couples. Not… whatever they are. Which, for Kimmie’s sake, I sincerely hope is nothing.”

  “You’re right.” Lindsey sighed. “Having Josh play for the Queen General’s daughter would anger the Knot Festival gods. Plus, the publicity would be horrible. Bliss would be mocked forever for bucking tradition in the name of matchmaking. God forbid the most romantic moment of the year happened on our watch.”

  “Jeez, you get married, and all of a sudden you’re Princess Melodramatic.”

  Natalie’s resolution was wavering. Josh could feel it.

  Or perhaps he was simply willing it.

  Lindsey squatted at the edge of the table. “Think about it, Nat. If you can’t do it to piss off Marilyn, do it for Kimmie. When has anyone ever made a public declaration for Kimmie? He’s asking to humiliate himself for her. You know what that would mean to her. How can you say no?”

  Natalie drummed her fingers on the table. She and Lindsey went into a stare-down.

  “What would Mom do?” Lindsey said.

  Natalie scowled at her sister. “That was low.”

  Lindsey grinned. She stood and looked at Billy, who was talking to a dark-haired guy and a honey blonde. Billy lifted a brow at Lindsey, then nodded. “Billy will play,” Lindsey said.

  “Seriously? You’re that determined? You know that means you have to play.”

  Lindsey’s shoulders twitched and her eyes pinched. “It’s for Kimmie.”

  Natalie blew out a short breath. “If this goes wrong—”

  “No publicity is bad publicity.”

  “Unfortunately true,” Josh said.

  Lindsey tucked her hands into her pockets. “If this goes wrong, nobody will notice, because they’ll be watching Billy. If it goes right, you get double the publicity. Either way, it’s epic, Nat. But Will only plays if Josh does.”

  Billy joined Lindsey, and they had a quick murmured conversation that ended with the newlyweds staring expectantly at Natalie.

  Natalie threw her hands up. “Even if I wanted to agree to this, how is he supposed to play without a partner? A stand-in is out of the question if he’s playing for Kimmie.”

  “Does Mikey still have that blow-up doll?” Lindsey asked Billy.

  CJ snorted.

  Billy grinned. “Most likely.”

  Natalie groaned. CJ was shaking with laughter. Josh almost turned around and walked away. But this wasn’t about him.

  This was about Kimmie. This was about being the man she deserved. No matter the humiliation involved.

  In fact, the more humiliation, the better.

  Josh leaned on the table with his knuckles. “Works for me.”

  Natalie heaved a loud sigh. “I am such a sucker.”

  “Does this mean we have to like him?” CJ asked.

  “We’ll let Kimmie decide,” Lindsey said.

  And that was what had Josh’s gut quaking.

  What if Kimmie didn’t come?

  Worse, what if she did come, but she told him to go suck eggs with the frog-monsters from her dreams?

  In front of everyone.

  Josh’s gut quaked. “When do we start?”

  “Half an hour.” Natalie pointed to a pop-up shelter. “You can wait there. Where’s Mikey? Let’s see about this blow-up doll.”

  Josh nodded and headed for the tent, green grass muting his steps. There was no chance Kimmie would forgive him for being an idiot if he didn’t ask. He hit her number on his phone.

  It rang three times, then went to voicemail. Josh slowed. He hung up and dialed again, and this time, when her voicemail answered, he left a message. “Hey, Kimmie. I—I’m in town, and I…” He what? Loved her? That deserved more than a voicemail, and she probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. He wanted her? He did, but what was in it for her?

  Why should she love him? “I’m at the high school stadium. Come see me. Please.”

  He jabbed the disconnect button. He’d try again in a few minutes. And again. And again. Until she came.

  And if she didn’t come—

  He thrust his fingers through his hair.

  If she didn’t come, there would be no one to blame but himself.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Josh was up to his elbows in linens, folding towels like a madman while his blow-up wife lounged in a La-Z-Boy beside him in the end zone. The stands overflowed with people—probably five or six thousand, he guessed. Banners and posters cheering on various contestants—mostly Billy Brenton—dotted the crowds. On the field, thirteen other men raced to grab and fold towels from the haphazard piles scattered across the field.

  Compared to the three-legged trash dash the couples—and Josh and his blow-up wife—had done for the first event, this one was rather lame.

  “Release the toddlers!” CJ’s voice bounced around the football stadium. A gate lifted on the sidelines at the fifty-yard line, and a horde of short people came screaming onto the field and turned as one big mass to dash toward the end zone. The crowd went nuts.

  Josh wished he had an antacid.

  More, he wished he had Kimmie.

  “Gentlemen,” CJ’s voice boomed, “your wives need drinks.”

  A chorus of deep-voiced obscenities accompanied shrieks of feminine laughter.

  “Better get on that, Kincaid,” Mikey Diamond, owner of Josh’s blow-up wife, called as he dashed past toward the coolers on the sidelines. “Bitsy Mae’s looking parched.”

  Those toddlers were freakishly fast. And they had devilish gleams in their eyes.

  Gleams of we have permission to wreck your folded laundry piles.

  Josh left his piles and trotted after the other men. The dark-haired guy that Billy had introduced as Jackson beat everyone else to the orange coolers, and he was already on his way back to his spot next to Josh. Josh’s competitive side wanted to kick the guy.

  But Josh’s heart had flopped over and given up.

  He’d been watching the stands, called Kimmie between events, texted her twice and asked her to please come to the stadium, but she was nowhere in sight. He scanned the crowd again while he filled a water cup.

  No curly dark blond hair. No bright clothes. No wide Kimmie smiles with sparkling blue lakes in her eyes.

  Just a bunch of people laughing at the moron with a blow-up wife.

  The society pages in Chicago would have a field day with this.

  The kids had decimated Josh’s pile of towels in a matter of seconds. Every towel they’d flung on the ground, Jackson had grabbed and claimed as his own. “Keep countin’,” he drawled to the boys and girls who had surrounded his honey blonde
wife. “You’ll find that sixth toe. Gotta look hard enough.”

  “Jackson Davis, I do not—”

  “Hush on up and be a good sport, Anna Grace.”

  Anna Grace laughed.

  And it hit Josh in the solar plexus.

  Kimmie should’ve been here laughing too. Or, better, they should’ve been anywhere but here. Laughing. Kissing. Touching.

  He would’ve given anything to talk to her again. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to hug her, he wanted to make love to her, but mostly, he wanted to talk to her. To see her smile. To know she was happy. To be the one who made her happy.

  “Josh, I think someone’s waving at you,” Anna Grace called.

  Josh straightened and whipped his head around, scanning the crowd, until his gaze landed on a familiar figure.

  His dad.

  He’d bought one of the big, white #1 hands, and he was wincing as he waved it.

  Josh sucked in an obscenity.

  Kimmie wasn’t coming.

  She was here in Bliss—he’d seen her car when he drove past her apartment on his way here this morning—but she wasn’t in the stands.

  She wasn’t coming.

  She didn’t want him. He’d blown his chance.

  The worst part was, he hadn’t realized what he’d lost until she was gone.

  He gritted his teeth, and he dashed onto the field for another basket of towels, and he waited for whatever else these dingbats in Bliss wanted to throw at him.

  After what he’d done to Kimmie, he deserved the humiliation.

  * * *

  Kimmie was flipping pages in a cake supply catalog and swinging her foot against the stool rung at the high counter in Bennie’s when someone sat down beside her late Saturday morning.

  “You are a difficult woman to track down,” Esme Kincaid said.

  Kimmie jumped. “Esme! Hi. I—erm—hi.”

  “Did you lose your phone, sweetheart?”

  “No, I—” Kimmie had left it at home. She didn’t want to know what was happening at the Husband Games or at Heaven’s Bakery. She didn’t want to take any more calls asking how she was doing. The bank wouldn’t call today—not on a Saturday—and if her friends wanted to find her, they’d figure out where to look.