Promises Under the Peach Tree

“You’re moving a lot of things home for someone who is only going to be in town for a few weeks.” He leaned against a pole support in front of the barn. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Grief and frustration over her career battled with embarrassment at her failure. But the details of the scandal were a Google search away. It’s not as if the locals wouldn’t find out about it. Maybe it would be better if he heard her side first. She couldn’t help feeling defensive about how the whole thing shook down.

“My business partner drained the funds from our bakery’s business account and then eloped with one of our clients the night before a wedding we’d been hired to cater.”

How could she have failed—the business, her clients, herself—so miserably? She’d developed her business because she’d loved seeing other people’s happily-ever-afters take shape. But she’d had to cancel over a dozen orders for other weddings this fall, leaving brides scrambling to find other confections for their special day.

“Have you talked to your partner since she left? Do you know where she is now?” Mack squinted in the bright sun, the day growing hotter by the minute.

“No. She left me a note with her apology and some garbage about true love not always being ‘convenient.’” Nina had discovered the note perched in front of the cupcake tower that would have paid the next month’s rent on their costly storefront on the Upper West Side. But with no wedding and a jilted bride in tears, Nina couldn’t exactly collect on the wedding cake. “Olivia—my partner—was always adventurous, and she loved the romance of our business. Little did I know, she would find romance in our client list with a well-known hotel magnate.”

Mack gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Wow. She sounds...immature.”

“Yes. But she’s also creative and energetic. Her father fronted us the money for the shop to begin with, and her wealthy friends helped to spread the word about us while we grew our reputation. I never could have gone into business without her. I really thought we were going to turn a corner this fall and start operating in the black, but...” Nina’s heart still hurt to think about all the people she’d let down by closing up shop. How could she ever go back now? “Anyway, Gram has been battling some health problems, so this was a good time to come home and check on her. I’ll go to New York and settle things there as soon as I regroup and figure out what to do next.”

“Because you still want to bake.” Mack seemed to weigh this. “And get back to the city?”

Maybe.

“That’s what I’ve always wanted,” she dodged, not quite ready to tackle the question for herself, let alone him. “Sooner or later, I’ll need an income source again. If not through the cupcake bakery, then through some other business.”

She could always apply to a restaurant as a dessert chef. The idea didn’t hold much appeal after all the creative independence she’d had at Cupcake Romance.

“Just making sure.” He nodded. Then, pivoting toward her, he gestured to a couple of old hay bales. “Do you have a minute? I’ve got a proposition that might help us both.”

The hay bales looked far too comfortable for her to share one with Mack. A bed of nails, perhaps.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” She remained standing.

She could pretend he didn’t affect her all she wanted, but she wasn’t going to test her restraint that way. Mack had called it when he’d said she had an impulsive streak. And her tendency to leap before she looked usually led her into trouble. She’d shot her mouth off at Vince and he’d died.

“Okay. So just listen.” Straightening, he stalked closer.

She held her breath.

“You need to generate some income while figuring out what to do with your business.” He studied her with serious eyes. “And I have a festival to oversee from the ground up so I can free my brother to work on his marriage. Why don’t we help each other?”

“I don’t understand. How?”

“Traditionally, the fee for renting a vendor booth at the festival is waived for subcommittee chairs. So take over the food management subcommittee for me. That way, you’ll get a booth for free to sell all the cupcakes you like.”

He was offering her a spot on the festival planning committee? It wouldn’t be so ludicrous except that Mack was at the helm.

“You can’t be serious. We’ve avoided each other for eight years and suddenly we should work together?” She shook her head. “Too much water under the bridge.”

Mack shrugged. “If it’s water under the bridge, why not do each other a favor? I don’t mind admitting to you that I’m in over my head with the festival planning, but I’m going to fake it until the bitter end so that Scott doesn’t have to deal with it this year.” The stubborn set to his chin told her he was doing this only for the sake of his family.

Which shouldn’t surprise her in the least. But maybe a small part of her feminine pride stung that he wasn’t angling to spend time with her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Then again, she was broke. And it didn’t seem as if her grandmother was any better off.

“I could sell baked goods, not just cupcakes?” she clarified, thinking she could sell Gram’s jellies and pies, too. They could both earn some extra cash, assuming she could find somebody to run a booth for them while she oversaw all the other food vendors.

It sounded like a big job. Then again, what else was she going to do while she was home?

“Absolutely.”

Nina could already see why Mack was a success in business. He didn’t let a little thing like old heartbreak stand in his way of doing a job. Maybe Nina ought to be paying more attention to his methods.

“I’ll consider it,” she agreed, more than ready to return to the house and leave Mack Finley to his own devices. She hadn’t been prepared for this conversation.

“It could help us move on,” he reminded her. “Make peace.”

Nina knew he’d already moved on long ago—when he’d married Jenny. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t tamp down the words that bubbled up her throat.

“I’ve made my peace with the past.” She shot him an even look. “Once I learned not to trust a man’s promises, I’ve been a whole lot better off.”

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_eaaaf9e1-52cb-5988-b2fe-5a043f20973d)

NINA STARED AT him with more animosity than ever.

“Maybe it’s best to keep promises out of it,” he suggested, approaching her the same way he’d speak to a difficult employee or an unhappy customer at the bar. Keep things level. “We can just maintain a working relationship and build from there.”

Mack hadn’t expected to run into her today, but he couldn’t regret it entirely. First because just seeing her was a pleasure. He’d forgotten that. She wasn’t textbook beautiful, exactly. He saw a lot of that in Nashville, a city overflowing with pretty faces. Nina was more interesting, with full lips and expressive eyes that worked with her strong cheekbones for a face that was perpetually animated. He couldn’t take his eyes off her when she was around.

Plus, in spite of everything, he was glad for this time to talk to her. Maybe Scott had a point about putting the past to rest. Their history together was unhappy enough without piling on the awkwardness of not speaking to each other when they were both in town.

“Well I will admit I haven’t had anyone knocking down the door to hire me for anything else,” Nina finally said, staring down at the ground.

“We wouldn’t really see that much of each other, we’d have totally separate responsibilities. It would give you a chance to keep up your skills and turn a profit while you’re here. And I’d be able to cross something else off Scott’s endless list of stuff to take care of for the festival.”

She planted a hand on one hip. “You expect me to believe that Scott included ‘find a cupcake baker’ on your to-do list?”

“Not in so many words, but I trust you to hold up your end of the bargain more than Cecily Alan over at the sandwich shop.” The woman who owned the old diner on Main Street was warmhearted but disorganized. “She gets more eccentric every year.”

“And crankier,” Nina muttered as she scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe through the tall grass and weeds, stirring the scent of goldenrod. “I tried ordering dinner for Gram from her a few times when I’ve come down here, but she always has some reason why she can’t do deliveries.”

“You see why I’d rather work with you?” He watched as her hair slid forward over her shoulder, the lace of her tank top edging away from the narrow satin of a pale pink bra strap beneath.

His throat went dry as dust.

“I can’t use the name Cupcake Romance at my booth. At least not while the insurance investigation is ongoing.” She shook her head, her jaw tight.

Didn’t she realize he was trying to help her out?

“So call it Cupcake Love.” Was that such a big deal? “Bars change their names all the time and no one ever blinks.”

“Are you doing this just to help me out?” She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Because I will find work one way or another.”