When he was with her, he had felt…carefree. In fact, she still made him feel carefree. Like he could tackle whatever life sent his way.
What was this? Feelings for his old friend? But she was a recent widow. Her husband hadn’t even been dead for a year. And he was still recovering from his ribald reputation. To be honest, sometimes he wasn’t sure he could really be a stand-up man and go the distance.
Sam paused at the bottom of the porch steps—did every building in this town have steps to test his knee?—to adjust his tuxedo tie, making sure the ends were even. Janice was serious about this vintage 1960s theme. A Ford Mustang had been parked in the circular driveway. A ’64, the first year of production, if he had to guess. He chuckled and shook his head as he climbed the front steps of his old house and rang the doorbell, tentatively bending his knee to gauge the pain before peering through the side window to peek inside.
The place looked amazing, decorated with glitz and glam, the china and crystal set out on a long table. He’d seen the bakery’s van parked out back. Chloe must be in the kitchen with the cake. Black-tie caterers and servers hustled about, fine-tuning the last-minute details. A band was setting up in the corner of the large stone-and-wood den. He could hear someone playing a scale on a keyboard.
Why was he early? He should’ve arrived an hour late. He turned to go back to the Range Rover when Janice, in a form-fitting sequined gown, swung open the door.
“Sam, I thought that was you. Come in.”
Why did he feel awkward walking into his childhood home? Because it wasn’t his anymore, was it? There was nothing of his life with Mom and Frank here anymore.
“Your father will be down in a minute,” Janice said, smiling, her hands clasped at her waist. “He’s excited to have you here.”
“The old man only turns sixty once.”
Janice’s countenance brightened. “I guess that’s true, yes.”
Through the living and dining rooms, he caught sight of Chloe carrying in a portion of the cake.
He limped over to help her. “Here, let me.” He took the layer. “Is this it or is there more in the van?”
“The rest is in the kitchen. Laura Kate is assembling them, making sure everything looks good.”
“I hope you’re charging Janice enough,” Sam whispered in Chloe’s ear. “This is a high-class party.”
“I charged her the price in the book.”
“Oh…wow. Let’s go over the prices next week.”
Sam grudgingly admired the remodeled kitchen as he entered the room to watch Chloe and Laura Kate. He liked the idea of working at Haven’s, of being around Chloe.
Chloe and Laura Kate set to work assembling the cake and adding the golf decorations. The final addition was a miniature figure of a man dressed in plaid knickers, argyle socks, and a matching sweater, leaning on a golf club. Chloe set him on the bottom layer and gave Sam a look as she stepped back to survey the finished product. “My attempt at a ’60s golf cake.”
“It’s beautiful.” Sam gave her a side hug and when she relaxed against him, he wanted to never let go.
The kitchen door swung open. “Sam?”
Chloe stiffened again, pulling away just as his cousin Sophie appeared in a slim skirt, heels, and with her honey blonde hair clipped behind one ear. A tall man followed behind her. “There you are!” She threw her arms around Sam and hugged him. “I’m so happy you’re here. This is Eric.”
Eric was Ichabod Crane-thin and gangly with a benign expression as he shook Sam’s hand. Sophie greeted Chloe, then gasped at the cake. “This is amazing! Does it taste half as good as it looks? Do you design wedding cakes?”
Chloe assured her she did, and Sophie launched into fast-paced wedding cake chatter. Chloe offered her a Haven’s business card—with Bob’s and Donna’s names scratched out—and told her to call and schedule a taste test. Sam made a mental note to get new business cards for the bakery and for Chloe.
Sam watched as she and Laura Kate carried the cake out to the dessert table for the final assembly. Pride flickered through him. Chloe, way to go. She’d come a long way from the shy girl dressed in black who had introduced him to Red Jumpsuit Apparatus and Fall Out Boy music.
A man entered the room and Sam tensed.
“Jake!” Janice swooped and wrapped him in a hug. Janice’s son, Sam’s former best friend, and now his stepbrother.
“Sam.” Jake extended his hand, which Sam shook, the familiar ache squeezing his chest.
Once upon a time they’d been closer than brothers—until they actually became brothers. Thanks to Frank, that rift never mended.
Jake turned to Chloe and his face lit with appreciation. “Um…”
“Chloe Beason. Now LaRue. Rock Mill High School.”
