Only for You Page 4

  Before he exited the coffee house, he paused at two more tables to chat.

  “Fuzzy loves it,” Leyna commented, sweeping up her crumbs with a napkin.

  “He’s practically vibrating from all the excitement,” Emily agreed. They cleared their table and wove through the crowded coffee house, making loose plans for some weekend wedding shopping before parting ways in front of Rosalia’s, two doors down.

  Emily struggled to secure the top button of her coat and gathered her thin scarf closer to her neck while crossing the street to cut through town square.

  Once a booming business, Patterson Shoe Factory had been converted into storefronts and upper-level apartments years ago. Along with Tesoro, the strip housed a yoga studio, naturopathic clinic, health food store, Thai restaurant, spa, and pizzeria. Beyond it, the early morning sun rose over the lake, casting a pink glow on the faces of the brick buildings lining the sidewalks.

  Under the turquoise awning at Tesoro, Emily unlocked the thick wooden door, then stepped inside and flipped on the lights. As always, she took a minute to appreciate the space her mom and Nana helped her bring to life almost five years ago.

  After years of flexing her culinary diploma at trendy restaurants in Buffalo, she’d made the move to New York City to focus on her first love—pastry arts, furthering her studies and spending several years working under other chefs. Then she’d returned to her hometown at the age of thirty-three, and Tesoro was born.

  The empty display cases begged to be restocked with cupcakes, cookies, éclairs, and of course macarons, her most popular item these days—Instagram and all that.

  She hurried back to the kitchen to get started on inventory. She had been closed for business this week and would remain closed through the weekend, and her assistant Harlow and part-timer Lauren would enjoy a few days off.

  The sun beat directly in the window, and she paused to angle the blind to keep it out of her face. Beyond the glass, in front of the rainbow of buildings that made up Crayola Row, she noticed Tim chatting with Hazel, who owned Euphoric Yoga Studio. His curls peeked out from under a knit hat with two long tassels hanging from the ear flaps. Steam curled out of the coffee he held in one gloved hand, and the other hand gestured wildly with whatever story he told. The large red barn to the left served as storage for the yacht club, and fog hovered over the harbor, slowly collecting clusters of frothy ice formations.

  Something straight from the pages of L.L.Bean.

  By mid-morning, the back parking lot would probably be filled with more fans stopping by to scope him out. She allowed herself a few more seconds to appreciate the view before pulling the string and closing the blinds.

  She’d accomplish a lot more without distractions.

  By mid-morning Emily craved another coffee. When she used to fantasize about running her own patisserie, she’d always imagined a café vibe, but Fuzzy wouldn’t hear of having two coffee joints on town square. It was a bylaw or something. She hung her apron up and went out to the front of the shop to put on her coat. She’d ignored several texts from Tim, beginning a half hour ago when he asked if she wanted to walk over to Jolt for their usual mid-morning java. It had become a regular part of their routine the past few months. But now she had a New Year’s resolution to uphold, and he wasn’t making it easy.

  When she didn’t respond, he’d tried calling. Then texted again saying he’d stop in to see if she was alive.

  She’d just started toward the entrance when Tim surfaced at the door, holding up two cups from Jolt.

  He’d shown up, so technically she wasn’t breaking her resolution, and she needed to ask him about Nana’s party anyway. Dark rims shadowed his eyes, and Emily berated herself for ghosting him when he could really use a friend.

  She unlocked the door and held it open for him.

  “I come bearing gifts, Shorty.”

  Ugh. That name. As if she needed reminding that she was only five-foot-two. There were enough instances in the run of a day to draw attention to it. Take last week, when the cute guy in the grocery store caught her climbing the shelves for her favorite shaving gel and offered to reach it for her. Humiliating. Or the fact that she had to either shop in the kids’ department or have every pair of pants she ever bought hemmed.

  “I just got your messages now. I was doing inventory.”

  “I had to get away from the shop. I figured you were busy when you didn’t respond.” He passed her one of the cups. “I put maple syrup instead of sugar today. See what you think.”

  She sipped. Damn, it tasted heavenly. Rather than tell him so, she forced herself to remain reserved. “It’s good.” She moved toward the counter and set it aside.

  Following her, he stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugged. “I just poured what seemed like a shitload.” He wandered over to the blue-tufted loveseat along the brick wall across from the counter and sank into the cushions to flip through one of her portfolios. “That goth barista did the hair toss thing again today. I think she’s dropping some signals.”

  Emily snorted, appreciating the warm cup in her chilly hands. “Get over yourself. Not everyone is fawning all over you, you know.”

  Laughter tumbled out of him, warming her like a ray of sun that reached all the way to her toes. “Ouch. I’m so glad I can count on you to keep me grounded through all this.”

  “Hey, actually, I wanted to talk to you about booking a boat tour for Nana’s birthday.” She joined him on the loveseat, crossing her legs and angling herself to face him.

  He closed her portfolio and pushed it aside. “Yeah, definitely. What did you have in mind?”

  Emily reiterated Nana’s vision of the party. “You only turn eighty-three once, you know.”

  Tim’s eyebrows lifted and he stretched an arm across the back of the loveseat. “Your nana’s eighty-three? She’s quite a little firecracker for eighty-three.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He smoothed his hand over the velvety fabric of the loveseat, the path of his fingertips changing the sheen from dull to shiny. “So when is her birthday?”

  “May sixteenth. I know, I know,” Emily tucked her foot up under her other leg. “It’s a week before the wedding, and we’re both going to be swamped. It’s not ideal timing, but what can you do?”

  Tim’s brow furrowed, and he set his coffee down on the table in front of them between stacks of magazines. “Oh, man, I can’t do May sixteenth, though. That government conference is happening then. I’m booked for tours the whole week, and most of the week before.”

  “Are you serious? There’s not a single evening that week you can squeeze us in?”

  He rubbed at his neck. “No can do. The yacht club’s boats are booked solid. My cruiser wouldn’t be big enough, and either way, I can’t be in two places at once anyway. These guys booked almost a year in advance. And the week after is shot with the wedding. What if we did something sooner, like a couple of weeks ahead of time?”

  This was not good. Emily chewed on the inside of her cheek and stared at the brick wall behind Tim’s head. “I don’t know. You’re talking the first week of May. It would be too cold, especially since she wants an evening thing. I’ll have to talk to Nana. Maybe I can convince her to book town hall.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lost cause. When her grandmother had her heart set on something, little would talk her out of it.

  “Honestly, not to be a downer, but town hall is probably booked, too. There’s like three hundred delegates coming to town for this conference. We had to hire on an extra tour operator just to keep up with the boat tours while it’s going on. You might even be hard-pressed to get a reservation at Rosalia’s at this point.”

  “Shiiiiiit.” She’d completely forgotten about the conference. Fuzzy had asked her weeks ago to make some kind of treats for the delegate’s swag bags, but the conversation had taken place in the middle of holiday planning, and she’d never given it another thought. She pressed her forehead into the palms of her hands. �
��What am I gonna do?”

  He turned a degree toward her, their elbows brushing. “We can still do the boat tour. If you think it’ll be too cold the first week of May, ask her to postpone her birthday until the week after the wedding. I’ll look at my calendar and text you later with some alternate dates. Sound good?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Postpone her birthday. Clearly he didn’t know Nana. Damn it, Fuzzy talked about that damn conference nearly as much as his web channel. It was aligned with the Tulip Festival. All the inns were booked solid. How could she have blanked on that?

  Tim’s phone vibrated. He reached for it and checked the caller ID. “It’s an L.A. number. Probably that producer again.” He groaned and shoved the phone back in his pocket before rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.

  Emily wanted to ask him if he was okay, feed him cake or truffles—anything to make him feel better, to get his irresistible smile to channel life back into his eyes. Something tingled in the pit of her stomach. She stole a glance at him over the top of her cup. “Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t checked in on you these past couple of days. How are you coping with all this attention?”

  He waved a hand. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve been ignoring messages anyway. I actually appreciate the fact that none of those notifications I cursed were from you.”

  “Everyone is talking about the show. Are you sure it’s not all too much?”

  He tilted his head back and forth, considering. “To be honest with you, it’s wearing on me.” He pushed out of his seat and sauntered over to lean on the counter. “I’m near the point of deleting all my social media. If it wasn’t for the shop, I would. Fuzzy is driving me crazy, too.”

  Naturally. Fuzzy would be all over the attention the town stood to gain from being splashed throughout the scene replaying all over the internet.

  Tim spun on his heel and wandered around the store, still talking. “This producer is calling nonstop about getting me on the show next season, and doesn’t seem to comprehend the words not interested. I just need to get everyone off my back.”

  He stopped abruptly and turned to her. Those piercing blue eyes met her gaze, and his brows lifted. “Actually, I had a wild idea. A proposal, really, to present to you.”

  She raised one eyebrow and got up to move behind the counter. “Go on.”

  “Pretend to be my girlfriend,” he blurted out suddenly.

  Emily blinked repeatedly and then set her coffee on the glass display case. “I’m sorry, what?”

  He lowered onto a stool and pulled it closer to the counter. “Hear me out. It’s not that big of a deal. We just post some pics on social media of us doing the kind of stuff couples do.”

  For half a minute, at least, she couldn’t find her voice. Whatever explanation he gave for this ridiculous idea was drowned out by the yammering of her heart. Snap out of it, Holland. There was only one way to play this and walk away with her dignity. She stepped around the counter and peered at him. “Have you lost your mind?”

  He lifted his hands and then let them fall. “It’d just be until everyone backs off and all of this blows over.”

  She blew out a long breath, fluttering her hair away from her cheek. “And you thought, Oh, I’ll get Emily on board, she’s the perfect candidate, she’s got nothing better to do.”

  Though he rubbed at the nape of his neck, his eyes twinkled. “Well, I mean, it is perfect, when you think about it.” He rolled his gaze toward the pipes running along the decorative tin ceiling. “We’re together a lot already, so it’d be believable. And from a personal standpoint, it’s you and me, so we know where we stand. It’s not like we have to worry about feelings getting involved.”

  Lowering her head, she weaved slightly and then braced her hand on the smooth white counter to steady herself. Each justification he made shredded her heart a little more until tears stung her eyes. This ridiculous proposal affirmed what she’d been coming to terms with all this time. He’d never reciprocate her feelings.

  Chilled all of a sudden, Emily folded her arms and fisted the sleeve of her soft sweater. Her jaw hurt from clenching. “So you think people will buy that? That suddenly you and I are just…” She waved her hands, frantic for the right word. “Together? Out of nowhere? Conveniently now that the episode has aired and you’ve got all this unwanted attention?”

  Her voice came out way too high and penetrating. Feigning nonchalance required reeling in her emotions a little, so she forced herself to take a few breaths.

  She ignored him when he pulled out another stool and patted it for her to sit next to him.

  Oblivious to her pending meltdown, he continued selling the idea. “Actually, it kind of works out, because I was bound by contract before this, so I technically wasn’t supposed to tell anyone Mel and I were through.”

  She swore under her breath. “Please. Everyone in Sapphire Springs knew.”

  The corner of his lips pulled up in a smirk, as though he’d read her mind. “I’m thinking out loud here, but back in the fall, when you and I were planning the holiday festivities, we were together all the time.” His gaze hovered over a selection of handmade watercolor cards next to the checkout, and he squinted while he envisioned his idea. “At first we fought our urges. I wasn’t sure if I was ready, but eventually you wore me down.”

  What the hell? It was like they were sixteen and he was reading her diary out loud to the class. She jerked her head to glare in his direction and squared her shoulders. “Give me a break. I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now,” she muttered, like it was the most ridiculous notion on earth. Because she needed more space between them, she hurried past him and started straightening up the bridal magazines and portfolios that towered on the table in front of the loveseat.

  “But then”—he trailed after her—“we gave in to our burning desire.”

  He tilted his head back, and she cringed when he laughed.

  “Now we’re finally free to shout our feelings for each other from the rooftops.” He raised his hands into the air.

  Heat crept up her neck. He seriously had no idea that he’d described something she’d longed for day in and day out for-freaking-ever.

  And it was nothing but a big joke to him.

  She slammed a stack of magazines down on the table with a little too much force before she whirled around to face him. “What about my love life, Tim? What if Mr. Right comes along, and I’m stuck in some sham romance with you?”

  God, what had she done in this lifetime for the universe to throw this curveball at her—finally swearing off her diehard crush only to have him show up with this absurd scheme? “There is not one single reason I should go along with this,” she hissed.

  Tim bit his lip, eyes skating over the brick wall. “You’d be helping me reclaim some of my pride, after getting dumped on TV and then having it shared all over the internet.”

  Emily snorted and went back to her coffee. “There’s some motivation. Of all the most selfish things I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Think about it, Tim. There’s absolutely nothing in it for me.” Except playing the star role in some pretend version of the life she’d wanted for so long. Well, screw that. She wasn’t that desperate. She jerked another stack of magazines into the center of the table.

  “I promise, if that guy who checks off all the boxes comes along, I’ll step aside. We’ll just…stage a breakup,” he said, snapping his fingers.

  Emily glared at him.

  “Okay, okay, you’re right.” He crossed his arms and his biceps bulged under his coat. “I’m a really great boyfriend, though.”

  Again with the damn grin.

  “I’d send you flowers, and take you to dinner. I give a hell of a neck massage,” he added, practically putting the last line to melody.

  “Ughhhh.” Time to flee this scene. Escape to her apartment and pretend he did not just dangle the words neck massage. “This conversation is over.” Clenching her fists, she spun on her heel and stalked back to the kitchen. When he push
ed off the stool and followed her, she refused to look up, giving her undivided attention to scouring a food coloring stain on the counter.

  “Come on, Shorty, I’m dying here. Will you at least think about it?”

  Emily stopped scrubbing and clenched the wet rag in her fist. “My name is not Shorty. It’s Emily freaking Holland. You think you can handle that, Fraser?”

  Spinning around, she tossed the wet rag in the deep stainless steel sink.

  Tim lifted both hands and backed up a little. “Whoa. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it bothered you so much.”

  “It’s just getting really old,” she muttered, folding her arms.

  He leaned in the doorway and knocked his head against the frame a couple of times. “Okay, I’ll retire the nickname. And the fake relationship idea really is selfish, now that I hear it out loud. It was a stupid idea Blake came up with. I’m sorry I mentioned it before I thought about it from your perspective.”

  She nodded curtly, still not looking at him. “Lock the front door on your way out, please.”

  He started to leave, then slowed his pace and turned back around. “Em…Are we good?”

  Sighing, she finally met his gaze. “We’re fine. Just stop being ridiculous.”

  Tim nodded, holding her gaze another second. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later?”

  “Yes.” Much later, if she had her way.

  Tim headed for the door. When it clicked shut, she scooped her hair away from her forehead.

  Hot tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Those tears just made her an idiot. She’d meant what she said. He was selfish. He hadn’t even had the decency to think of something to entice her to go along with it. Like she should just fall over at the opportunity because he could be so charming.

  Well, at least now she knew how he really felt.