He shrugged and crammed those damn earbuds back into his ears. “It’d scare me off anyway.” Then he closed his eyes and had the audacity to ignore her for the rest of the trip.
Two
A persistent ring pulled Josie from sleep.
“No. Go away,” she groaned as she reached for her phone.
It was way too early on a Saturday morning, particularly after sleep had eluded her following the previous night’s train encounter.
Both of the train encounters.
She slid her finger to accept the call but could only muster a moan into the speaker.
“Where is my ring bearer?”
The unusual note of strain in Richard’s voice sent her scrambling to untangle herself from the sheets. “No! Oh my God, I completely forgot!”
He clucked his tongue. “You’d think this wasn’t your wedding too.”
“Ha.”
Her best friend Richard was getting married in two months, and she’d volunteered to help with a few final details while his fiancé was out of town. This wasn’t a great start.
“What time was I supposed to be there?” She staggered to the bathroom, fatigue pulling at her like molasses. The reflection in the mirror startled the last of the sleep from her brain, and she poked at the straggly mess of curls.
“Five minutes ago, so leave right now.”
Again with the sharp tone. Something was stressing him out, which was unusual enough to make her skip her usual normal beauty routine.
“I’ll be there, but I might not be too cute,” she warned after another glance at the mirror revealed that her pale cheeks were now accessorized with under-eye rings. Sexy.
“Sweet potato pie, you’re always cute,” he said. “Just hurry.”
She smacked a kiss into the phone and hung up, then raced through washing her face and brushing her teeth. She threw on the first semiclean clothes she could find and tiptoed past her roommate Finn’s shut bedroom door, behind which she was presumably sound asleep with her boyfriend.
Once Josie was clear of the apartment, she sprinted down the stairs and burst out of the building. Thankfully, the little bakery that had been generating buzz on the Chicago wedding scene was only a few blocks from her place, so she could hoof it in her flats without any trouble.
By the time she arrived at the Cake Shoppe, her fingers were tingling from the brisk morning air, and she was grateful she’d layered a fleece over her long-sleeved T-shirt. A bell jingled when she pushed open the door to the little shop, but the scene she encountered was anything but cheerful.
Richard was seated at a round café table next to a grim-faced sixtysomething woman, who said peevishly, “Is this her? Finally?” The woman’s mouth tightened so much her lips disappeared in a mass of wrinkles.
Josie’s friend stood smoothly and wrapped her into a hug, whispering, “Thank God” as he kissed her cheek. Then he guided her to the open seat in front of an array of cake slices.
Josie flashed the woman an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. Late night last night.”
The woman just scowled and adjusted the headband holding her cottony white hair off her forehead. “Well, now that everyone’s finally here, we can start. I’m Dora, the owner.”
She didn’t extend her hand for Josie to shake, but Josie hadn’t worked in marketing for five years for nothing. “Hi, Dora! I’m so thrilled to finally check out your bakery,” she enthused. “I’ve heard so much about your gorgeous cakes over the past few months!”
Dora’s watery blue eyes flicked over Josie’s North Face fleece jacket and leggings. Damn, she’d grabbed the pair with a hole over the knee. Why hadn’t she tossed them out last week when she’d noticed the snag? Her hand fidgeted to cover the exposed patch of skin, but she forced herself to stay still and act like she’d intentionally chosen distressed athleisure wear.
Dora sniffed. “Yes, I’m delighted that the good word is starting to get out. It’s thrilling to have the… best parts of Chicago society take notice.”
Shit. She should’ve taken more care with her appearance before she left the apartment. In her haste to get out the door, she’d ignored the first lesson her mother had taught her as a child: dress the way you want people to treat you. But over her Spandex-clad dead body would she let Richard and Byron get anything less than stellar service because of her.
“The best part of Chicago’s sitting right here,” she said, squeezing Richard’s elbow in its impeccably fitted suit. Thank God he was classy enough for both of them. “What flavor shall we start with?”
Richard pointed at the cake nearest him. “With chocolate, of course.”
