The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice Page 14

  Six-foot-something of tall, dark, and handsome stood before her. Her savior had wavy chestnut hair about two weeks past a cut and dark green eyes that examined her with concern. A worn, long-sleeve T-shirt stretched across a firm chest, and a light scattering of sawdust was sprinkled across wide shoulders. She looked down past a pair of jeans that hugged him just right to the toes of his mud-caked work boots.

  A slow smile stretched across his face, one edge of his lips curling higher than the other. “I guess it’s me you owe.”

  Chapter 2

  Most of the woman’s beautiful auburn hair had spilled around her shoulders, although one chunk was still firmly held in the clip at the back of her head. Her heart-shaped face was slowly turning from a deep beet red to a lovely pink flush. Big brown eyes blinked up at him, their color a perfect match to the caramel that enveloped the apples he’d passed in the candy shop two doors down. And that body . . .

  No, best not to think about the curves bursting from that clingy dress. Not when the woman had just had a near-death experience. That wasn’t cool. Not. At. All.

  “Are you okay?” Ducking his head, he peered into those doe eyes, relief slipping through him when he saw them focus with intelligence.

  She nodded and cleared her throat. “Yes . . .” Pressing a hand to her chest, she breathed deep and blew it out slowly. “Yes, thank you. That was . . .” She shrugged. “Thank you again, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Chip Gneiss.” He held out his hand and tried not to look too obvious as he sniffed the air around her. The woman smelled delicious. Was that her perfume? “I have an appointment with Sam to get some life insurance. This was quite an introduction to the office.”

  She slipped her hand in his and squeezed. “I’m Cassandra Hie, Cassie, the office manager, and this is my coworker, Franca. And you’ve made the right choice coming to Mr. Bunker for your insurance needs. As you can see, not only will you get top-notch insurance coverage, but all policies also come with a floor show.”

  Chip chuckled. A sense of humor after a near-death experience? That was a rare quality.

  Her gaze zeroed in on his mouth, dropped to his chest. She bit her bottom lip as she scanned him to his boots and back before she gave a small tug on her hand.

  Chip let it slip from his. The skin of his palm tingled as her fingertips dragged free.

  The other woman, Franca, hurried to her friend and rubbed her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right, Cassie? Jeez, that was scary as hell. I don’t understand it.” She shook her head. “I did the same thing he did, but it wasn’t working for me.”

  Cassie cocked an eyebrow. “You were giving me a breast exam. Whatever facility trained you in the Heimlich should be shut down.”

  “I learned from Moonbright’s very own fire department.” Franca planted her hands on her hips. “It was part of their CPR course.”

  “And I’m sure you were listening with bated breath to every instruction instead of ogling the hunky firefighters?” Cassie plucked a tissue from the box at the corner of her desk and strode to the half-chewed glob of whatever had clogged her throat. She scooped it up while her friend protested.

  Chip’s stomach gave a low rumble. Hooking one finger over the edge of the bakery box on Cassie’s desk, he slid it toward him as the women bickered. Mmm. Office cookies. And there was one left. Cocking a hip on the oak surface, he watched the two women argue. Somehow the disagreement had spun from CPR and firefighters to a borrowed and missing library card to . . . cats? They reminded him a bit of his sisters, except for the fact he was having decidedly unsisterly feelings toward the redhead.

  He slid his gaze to her waving hands. No ring. Was she seeing anyone? Cassie had given him the up-and-down earlier. That usually meant there was at least some interest.

  He bit into the cookie, and the explosion of sugary goodness on his tongue almost made him moan. This office really was great. Tasty snacks. A woman he couldn’t tear his eyes from. He should have thought about life insurance a long time ago if this was what he had to expect from visits to Bunker Insurance. He licked a bit of powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth before popping the rest of the cookie inside.

  “And really, if Jinx or I ever have a heart attack, please don’t attempt CPR,” Cassie said to Franca. “If you confused my breasts with my stomach during the Heimlich, I don’t even want to know where you think a mammal’s heart is.”

  Franca opened her mouth, but Cassie interrupted. “Why don’t you call Samuel to let him know his client is here, and I’ll show him back.” She turned. “If you’ll just foll—”

  Her mouth fell open and her eyes flared wide. She hurried to the desk, if rapid, mincing steps on wobbling heels could be considered hurrying. She stopped so close to him that he could smell her tantalizing scent again. It was similar to the cookie, but not quite.

  She grabbed the empty pastry box and shook it in his face. “Did you eat this cookie?”

  Outrage vibrated from her body. Her cheeks turned pink again, but with her pinched mouth and eyes shooting arrows at him, this time the flush didn’t look so delightful.

  He eased off the desk and took a step back. “Cookie? Uh, nope.”

  She advanced and whipped her hand up toward his face.

  Chip flinched, but she only wiped her thumb along his lower lip. His belly pulled tight at the intimate contact, and he just barely stopped himself from darting his tongue out to taste her.

  She held up her digit dusted with white power. “That cookie wasn’t meant for you.”

  “Sorry?” Jeez, what was the big deal? It was just a cookie. And you’d think after he’d saved her life, she wouldn’t begrudge a man a snack.

  He licked his lip. It had been one of the tastiest cookies he’d ever eaten. It must have come from Bellaluna’s, the best bakery in town. Chip could understand why someone would get proprietary about those pastries. He’d been known to give the side-eye to anyone who got too close to his almond croissant.

  Franca plopped into her chair and pulled herself in behind the desk. “And the person that cookie was intended for didn’t want it. Remember? Maybe you should give your cookies away to a more appreciative audience.”

  “How does he know he doesn’t like my cookies if he’s never tried one?” Cassie stalked to the garbage can next to Franca’s desk and chucked the box inside. “Some people just need the right motivation. The right incentive. That cookie was an incentive so he would come to love my . . . other cookies.”

  Chip rubbed the back of his neck. What language were these two speaking? Screwball with a heavy dialect of subtext? Why couldn’t women just be straightforward, tell it like it was, like guys?

  Cassie tugged at the bottom hem of her dress, drawing his attention to her acres of exposed leg. Okay, so there were clear compensations for women not acting like men. A little confusion now and then was the price to pay for enjoying feminine society.

  Besides, as his mom would point out, he had been rude eating the cookie without asking. And Cassie was probably still freaked out over nearly choking to death. She was allowed to be a little high-strung.

  “Hey, I’m sorry.” He dipped his chin and gave her his best smile, the one that had worked on everyone from the nuns at grade school to irate homeowners when an order didn’t come in on time. “I didn’t realize it was a special cookie. But I don’t want you going hungry on my account. How about dinner tonight? My treat.”

  Cassie drew her shoulders back. She shifted her weight, and the swishing of her nylons rubbing together tickled his eardrum. “Um, that’s nice of you, but not necessary.” She started to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, fingered a large clump, and frowned. Raising her arms, she scraped her wavy mane back into a knot and reclipped it. “And I’m sorry about making such a fuss over the cookie. Don’t worry about it.” She flinched and drew her arm behind her back to swat at something.

  “I know it’s not necessary.” Chip hooked his thumbs in his front pockets and widened his stance. “Dat
es never are. They’re supposed to be fun. Come out with me tonight,” he urged. “I promise I’ll show you a good time.”

  Cassie’s body jerked, and she jumped away from Franca’s desk, glaring at her friend.

  Franca gave her a narrow-eyed smile and lowered a pair of scissors she was holding by the blades to the desk.

  “Thanks again,” Cassie said between tight lips. She was addressing Chip, but her eyes never left her friend. “But I’m not interested. Franca, have you called Mr. Bunker yet?”

  Chip’s stomach clenched. Well, that couldn’t have been clearer. He must have misread the situation. It didn’t happen often, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been shot down. Which didn’t explain why this rejection dug under his skin more than usual.

  Cassie stalked to her desk, shifting the air between them.

  The scent of sugar and some unknown spice teased his nose again and his feet turned to follow her, like a puppy after its master.

  “Chip!” Sam Bunker strode into the reception area, arm outstretched. “It’s great to see you again.”

  Chip shook the insurance agent’s hand. “Yeah, you too.”

  An awkward silence descended, with Cassie avoiding everyone’s eyes and Chip’s own gaze dragged unwillingly to her time and again. He shifted on his boots.

  A line creased Sam’s forehead. “Anything wrong?”

  “Well, Cassie almost killed herself on a cookie,” Franca drawled.

  “Oh, my God.” Sam turned to Cassie. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” She waved a hand in the air, dismissive. “Thanks to Mr. . . .” She dipped her chin. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

  “Call me Chip.”

  A wince rocketed across her face so fast Chip must have imagined it.

  “Yes, well, Chip gave me the Heimlich. He saved my life.”

  Sam whistled. “Well, he is a handy man to have around.” He knocked Chip with his elbow, laughing.

  Cassie’s eyebrows drew together.

  Chip shrugged. “It’s a joke,” he explained. “Because I’m a handyman by trade.”

  “Ah.” She gave him that quick up-and-down again. “Well, I was very lucky you were around.”

  Sam gestured down the hall. “Shall we head back to my office?”

  With a nod to Franca and a small smile, unreturned, to Cassie, he ambled after Sam and settled into the guest chair in front of the desk.

  “So,” Sam said, dropping into his chair and folding his hands above his desk, “did you look over the policy options I sent to you? Do you have any questions?”

  “No, as we discussed over the phone, I like the first policy you showed me.” Chip crossed his legs at the ankles. “I’m ready to sign.”

  Sam turned to his computer and typed something on the keyboard, his fingers flying. “All right, then. And is Judith Gneiss still your beneficiary?”

  “Yes, my mother.” Chip scooted to the edge of the chair and rested his forearms on his thighs. “With this new project I’m starting, I’ll be going into some debt. If something happens to me, I want her to be able to pay it off.” He lifted one shoulder and smiled. “And maybe a world cruise for her, too.”

  Sam arched an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure she’d want to go out partying after her son passes.”

  “You don’t know my mom.” His mom was great. But she did like to throw it down every once in a while. Of course, Chip didn’t think his mom would ever get a chance to cash in the policy. He was careful, but this new project was a big step for him and he wanted every i dotted and every t crossed. If all went as planned, the profit he made from this flip would fund the next one and so on until he built himself quite a business. He could be like that other guy named Chip in Texas, creating a little real-estate empire up here in Maine.

  Sam hit a button on his keyboard and the printer behind him came to life. He swung his chair around, picked up two pages, and turned back. “Okay, if you’ll just sign here. I’ll have Franca e-mail you a copy of your policy. And if you have any questions, feel free to call me.”

  Chip took the pages and scanned them to make sure they matched the sample he’d looked through before. Samuel Bunker Insurance had to be doing a gangbuster business if all his clients were in and out of the office this fast. The man was nothing if not efficient. Chip clicked the end of the pen Sam handed him and scrawled his signature at the bottom of page two.

  There. One more task finished. Ever since he’d decided to flip his first house, his to-do list had grown exponentially. Get his funding in place, nail down the remodeling he needed to do, order the supplies, get the permits . . . so many damn permits. It felt nice to finally scratch something off his list for once.

  He pushed the papers across the desk and stood. “Thanks for squeezing me in today. My work schedule appreciates it.”

  “Anytime.” They shook hands, and Sam started to circle his desk.

  Chip waved him down. “I can see myself out.” And maybe he’d get another chance to charm Cassie into going out with him. One last shot. What could he say? He was a glutton for punishment.

  He stepped out of Sam’s office and strolled toward the front.

  “I said no.” Cassie’s hushed voice slid down the hall. Whatever the conversation topic was this time, it sounded serious. Chip hesitated in the shadows, not wanting to interrupt.

  “But this one’s into you,” Franca said. “You wouldn’t even need any of my nonna’s spells to help you.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Cassie muttered, “but I think I want to try some of your nonna’s spells. Nothing else is working. Why not turn to the dark side?”

  “Hey, my nonna isn’t dark. She likes to help people.”

  “So help me.” Cassie sighed, and a shiver whispered down Chip’s spine at the sound. He leaned forward, his body feeling a tug at her distress. “I promise I won’t make fun of you or your nonna’s ideas anymore,” she said.

  “But what about the hottie who actually wants you?”

  Yeah. Chip was assuming he was the hottie, and he thanked the hours of manual labor he’d done for giving him some muscle. What about him? And what the hell was a nonnaspell? And was there actually some idiot out there who wasn’t interested in Cassie?

  “Franca, come on.” Chair wheels squeaked, and Chip could imagine Cassie pushing herself away from her desk. Perhaps standing and stretching her arms overhead, giving that dress a challenge to hold everything in. He grinned.

  “Once you’ve set your sights on filet mignon,” she continued, “you can’t then lower them to ground beef. Besides, I want a man who can count higher than two by four.”

  Chip’s shoulders hardened into blocks, and he straightened from his slouch against the wall. Well, his mom was right. Eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves. Couldn’t count higher than two by four? Because he was a handyman who worked with lumber all day? Cute. His stomach churned. Good thing he’d heard her now. Saved him from the humiliation of getting rejected again. Or worse. Having her give in to a pity date, thereby sentencing him to spending an evening with this stuck-up witch.

  He ground his teeth together. He’d never misread someone so badly.

  He stalked into the reception area and a lick of satisfaction lashed him when Cassie looked up, her eyes going wide, her gaze darting from him to the hall and back.

  “Yeah, I heard.” He breezed past her. “Don’t worry. This piece of ground chuck won’t be bothering you again.” He pulled open the door and had just enough self-control to keep from slamming it on his way out.

  That was the thanks you got for saving a woman’s life: snide insults and unapologetic conceit.

  Well, his insurance policy was bought and paid for. He wouldn’t need to come back to the office of Sam Bunker Insurance.

  He never had to see Ms. Hie and Mighty again.

  Chapter 3

  Cassie teetered on the step stool, braced her hip against the wall, and heaved the plastic tub from its spot on t
he high shelf above the washing machine. The hard rubber edge smacked into her collarbone, and she stumbled from the second step, dropping to the floor with a shriek.

  Heart pounding, she blew out a breath and rolled her shoulders, waiting for a bolt of pain to assault her. None came.

  She was almost disappointed. She deserved a broken bone or sprained ankle after her behavior yesterday, and having a physical ache to worry over would have seemed a reprieve from living with her self-reproach.

  The hurt in Chip’s eyes when he’d walked out of the office dug a hole into her gut. Her and her stupid mouth. She’d tried to be funny, to make Franca laugh while still impressing upon her friend that she wasn’t ever going to change her mind about Samuel.

  That had worked well. She snorted. Not.

  Cassie lugged the bin to the living room and dropped it next to the others. Jinx looked up from her spot on the back of the sofa and lashed her black tail back and forth, annoyed at the disturbance.

  “Thanks for coming to see if I was okay,” Cassie said to her cat.

  Jinx sniffed and tucked her head back into the chenille blanket.

  Cassie twisted her lips in a rueful smile. Aside from the occasional snuggle, Jinx wasn’t the nurturing and caring type of pet. She was more the I’ll-feast-on-your-dead-body-in-victory kind of cat. Which was fine. Cassie respected her fierce attitude, and in return Jinx tolerated Cassie’s sarcasm. A perfect partnership.

  If only it were that easy with people.

  She dropped her forehead in her palm. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d insulted a man who’d just saved her life. She didn’t know how many flowers she was going to have to send him in apology, but it had better be impressive. Maybe a couple of those cookie bouquets.

  At least Franca had agreed to help her win Samuel. After consulting with her mother on the phone, she’d written a list of her grandmother’s spells for Cassie to try.

  Spells. Cassie couldn’t believe she’d come to this. She wasn’t necessarily a disbeliever. Her aunt Hildy had, as Cassie’s mom used to say, “the witchy-way.” But Cassie was of a more practical bent. If she couldn’t see or touch something, she tended not to give it much credence. Still, she was down to her last trick. It was time to either go big or go home. Come Monday, Samuel wouldn’t know what hit him. She had the whole weekend to decide which spell to use first.