“Well, that’s just not good enough.”
The sound of the screeching female voice reached Caroline’s ears the moment she stepped inside after her quick lunch trip home to drop off her luggage. She’d been sure that when she returned to the bakery wearing her business-casual ensemble of black slacks and a crisp white blouse the rest of the day would be a breeze. Wrong.
“I don’t want one wedding cake,” the woman continued, her voice still a few decibels above a speaking voice. “I want each of my guests to have an individual cake.”
“Of course,” Logan said in an unnatural-sounding voice. “Multiple cakes do make a statement, but I’m not sure, based on the budget you’ve just presented me, that they would be the best choice.”
Caroline cringed as she hung up her purse on the hook next to Logan’s black leather jacket and motorcycle helmet. She hurried into the kitchen, where several employees were crowded near the swinging door. Had Logan never heard of the business adage, “the customer is always right”?
Since none of the employees were bothering to hide the fact that they were eavesdropping, Caroline didn’t pretend, either. She leaned close and spoke out the side of her mouth. “What’s going on out there?”
“Just another Bridezilla with big ideas and too small a wedding budget,” Margie told her.
“Why isn’t anyone helping him?” But as soon as she asked it, Caroline realized she didn’t want anyone else to do so. She’d been looking for a way to repay Logan for stepping to her defense earlier, and this was perfect. She knew how to appease irate customers with her eyes closed and both hands tied behind her back.
Squeezing past the decorators and two cake bakers, she pushed the swinging door open. Through the glass in the bakery counter, she could see Logan seated across from the furious bride-to-be.
“Well, you’d better find a way to make it happen, or I’ll be taking my business elsewhere. Amy’s isn’t the only bakery in town, you know.”
Certain the deal was heading south faster than a flight from Indianapolis to Orlando, Caroline skirted around the counter and hurried toward the table where Logan sat, staring down at the price binder instead of at his customer.
He looked up and lifted a hand to stop Caroline, but she ignored him. He might not be happy about this now, but he would thank her later when she saved him from losing a customer on his first day at work.
“What Logan was about to say is that we at Amy’s Elite Treats would be delighted to work with you to make a cake or cakes that will meet all of your needs and impress your wedding guests.”
As the young bride looked up at her from the binder of wedding-cake photos in front of her, Caroline took a few steps forward. “Hello, I’m Caroline.”
The young woman brushed at a few angry tears and then looked back and forth between Caroline and Logan, as if she wasn’t sure which one she should be listening to.
“So you will be able to make individual cakes for all my guests and stay within my budget, too?”
The woman must have chosen her as the primary source now because those red-rimmed eyes appeared hopeful and were trained right on her. Suddenly, Caroline felt as if she was walking into a business meeting unprepared—something she’d never done in her life. Why had she jumped in with two feet before she even knew how deep the water was?
“Well…” she said, stalling.
“Go ahead, Caroline. Tell Nicole your plan for helping to make her wedding picture-perfect,” Logan said.
“It’s just that I’ll need to check a few things first.” Because Caroline was cringing inside, waiting for him to call her out in front of the customer, his chuckle surprised her.
“Come on. Don’t hold back.” He tapped his finger on the price list, speaking to the young bride instead of to his temporary coworker. “She was about to make a suggestion, and she’s right. It would be perfect.”
“What would be perfect?” the bride asked.
“You’ll have to forgive me because this is my first day and I’m only familiarizing myself with the price list.”
The vibrant, white smile Logan trained on the young woman could have earned a presidential pardon, as far as Caroline was concerned. She wondered why she’d never noticed before that the dimple in his right cheek was deeper than the one on his left. Why she was noticing it now, she didn’t even want to analyze.
“Anyway,” Logan continued, “I’m sure Caroline had already figured this out, but we have an alternative in the price list that will fit into your budget and still make a statement for your dream wedding.” Logan maintained eye contact with the customer while he spoke, morphing into a confident salesman in a naturalist’s body.
It didn’t surprise Caroline that Logan would rely on his masculine charm to smooth over the situation, but that he’d used it to cover her gaffe—now that surprised her.
“How would you do that?” the bride asked.
“You could have a small two-layer cake for the wedding party and then provide mini cakes, which serve two people each, for the other guests.” He glanced down at the price list and then back up at her. “Another option would be to have a cake for each reception table, but just by ordering mini cakes you’ll be cutting your number of cakes in half and trimming some of the cost.”
“It’s up to you,” Caroline joined in, “but if I were one of your wedding guests, I might like the warmth and community of sharing cake with a friend.” She didn’t look at Logan, but she could feel his gaze on her.
The woman thought for a few seconds and then nodded. “I guess that could work.”
“It’ll be great. You’ll see,” he said.
Having won the bride over, Logan made an appointment for her to meet with one of the designers early the next week and walked her to the door. Caroline had bent to return the photo albums to the shelf behind the counter when she realized he was standing behind her. She straightened and turned to face him.
“You just couldn’t help yourself from coming to my rescue.”
“No— I mean, I didn’t—” Finally, she gave up and shrugged. She couldn’t deny it because that was exactly what she’d been doing.
Instead of answering, Logan stepped around her and pushed through the kitchen door. Caroline trailed after him, relieved that the eavesdroppers had had the good sense to scatter.
He announced to the others that he would be taking his lunch but didn’t even look back at Caroline as he switched into his riding boots, grabbed his helmet and jacket and headed outside. The door had barely closed before the sound of his motorcycle reverberated off the concrete walls.
He had every right to be mad. She might as well have worn a firefighter’s helmet and carried a flashing red light as obviously as she’d tried to rescue him. Only, he hadn’t needed rescuing, and he’d ended up covering for her. She didn’t know what to do with that truth.
She listened, waiting for the roar of the motorcycle engine to filter away, but instead, the sound stopped. Seconds later, Logan stomped into the entry, carrying his helmet under his arm. Strange how he didn’t look the part of Matthew and Dylan Warren’s little brother as he stood covered in all that leather gear and indignation.
Caroline drew in a breath, not entirely from shock.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, lowering his helmet to the floor. He glanced around at the employees who were pretending not to listen. “Outside,” he added.
Swallowing, she followed him, and when he held the door open for her, she didn’t argue. Under