“I was about to leave,” he said before she could turn away. But she didn’t turn away. She just stood there, smiling across that white sea of sweetness, her expression bordering on shocked before she smoothed it into a sparkling blankness that rivaled the cake.
“Do you need help with that?” Alec asked, his manners kicking in. If he kept his face turned away into the late afternoon light maybe she wouldn’t stare at his scar again.
She shook her head and laughed. “No, I’m used to this. Do you need help finding the valet?”
Offended in the highest sense, Alec frowned and then mimicked a laugh. “No. I mean, I see him coming now, but thank you.”
Seriously? Had he been away at war for so long he’d forgotten how to carry on a conversation with a pretty woman? He hadn’t forgotten, but he sure didn’t like this feeling of being trapped. Or the way his heart seemed to skip a beat or two when she smiled.
He offered again. “While I wait, I can help you.”
“I’ve got this,” she said as she skirted around him. “Just part of the job.” She motioned to a big open van. “It’s going in there.”
“I can see that,” he replied, grinning. But he took the round platter full of cake anyway. Holding it against his chest, he took a tentative step toward the van.
Lord, don’t let me fall on my face with this cake.
The woman shook her head and all that rusty hair tumbled in layers around her freckled face. “Be careful or you’ll have wedding cake in your face.”
“Okay.” He wondered if she was as worried about his limp as he was, so he hurried ahead of her to a bright yellow-and-white van with the words Marla’s Marvelous Desserts painted across the doors. Underneath that bold title, a depiction of luscious cakes, cupcakes, cookies and pies in all colors tempted Alec’s empty stomach. In smaller black print, another proclamation: We Cater Big Events, Too!
“What do you do with leftover cake?” he asked, curiosity and hunger getting the best of him after he’d placed the partially cut cake inside the van. He hadn’t eaten much at the reception and now he wasn’t in such a hurry to leave after all.
She settled the cake into a waiting box and turned back to him. “What do you do with any leftovers? You eat them or share them with family or friends. Or strangers, if they ask politely.”
He had to laugh at her teasing tone. “That’s a nice thought.”
She fluffed her hair and smiled. “I’ll take this back to the shop and either cut it and wrap it up for the family or probably throw it away.” She glanced back at the house. “They...don’t stay around enough to eat cake and they don’t care what I do with the leftovers.”
“Oh, right.” He understood that comment about the people who lived here. Ultrarich and always on the go. Jet-setters.
Alec had decided earlier that he’d been polite enough for one day so he’d turned away from the few stragglers still out in the garden and kept walking toward the big six-car garage of the Alvanetti estate, the slight limp in his left leg causing his steps to sound off with a now-familiar cadence. He’d driven out here on a cool April afternoon and attended this wedding in an effort to finally win over the eccentric and oh-so-rich Sonia Alvanetti. Mrs. A, as everyone called her, had agreed to write a big check for the Caldwell Foundation’s Caldwell Canines Service Dog Association.
Alec would be forever grateful for that, at least.
Mrs. Alvanetti had money to spare and Alec had time to spare. So when she’d seen some flyers regarding Caldwell Canines at a recent art fair, she’d called Alec and asked him about the foundation he’d recently inherited from his deceased mother. Apparently his mother, Vivian Caldwell, had been friends with Sonia Alvanetti. Another surprise, but then, his formidable mother had always been full of surprises. Alec hated surprises, and he’d resented his unpredictable mother’s eclectic friends. But this one would certainly help his cause.
Mrs. Alvanetti was in her late sixties and a tad forgetful. She’d invited him to the wedding and had insisted he should attend, but he’d had to remind her about the promised contribution to his foundation.
“Oh, silly me,” she’d said with a wave of her bejeweled hand. “You know, Alec, there are a lot of eligible young ladies here.”
“I’m too busy for a relationship,” he’d politely told her.
Soon, she was back to asking all about Caldwell Canines and then she was off on another tangent. But she at least summoned someone who brought her a check already made out to Caldwell Canines Service Dog Association—the official title.
With a flourish, Mrs. A had put her sprawling signature on the check and smiled up at Alec. “Use this wisely, you hear?”
He’d heard, loud and clear. Mrs. Alvanetti would expect a full report.
“Mrs. A is certainly an interesting woman,” he said now, grasping for some conversation.
The woman looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally gossip about people who employ me. I’m only here to supply the wedding cake and take back the leftovers.”
“I understand,” he responded, still holding the open van door. “I have to admit, I don’t usually attend big functions but...it’s hard to say no to Mrs. A.”
The woman gave him a sympathetic stare. “She does command respect, but she’s a sweet person.”
Alec could agree with that. “Yes...sweet but determined and always on her way out the door to somewhere else.”
Which was probably where he should be going right now.
The woman let out another wind-chimes kind of laugh. “She has a lot going on. Too many plates in the air.”
Alec interpreted that to mean the lovely older lady was a bit scatterbrained, but in an I’ve-got-money-so-I-can-afford-to-be-eccentric kind of way.
“Yeah... I get that.”
The pretty woman turned to go but then whirled back around. “I’m Marla Hamilton, by the way.”
She pointed to the van. “Just in case you ever need a special dessert, say for a big party.” Then she gave him a conspiring glance. “I can cut you a piece of this cake if you’d like.”
“Really?” Alec grinned. “I didn’t get any earlier, so how can I refuse that offer now that I’ve met the woman who baked it?”
“Okay, then.” Grabbing a big white bag, she pulled out a plastic plate and knife and proceeded to cut a huge slab of the sugary white cake. “Here. On the house.”
She layered a paper napkin over it, handed him the plate of cake, then winked and smiled up at the imposing Alvanetti house.
He shook his head, held to the van’s open door like a lifeline while he accepted the cake with his other hand. “I guess I’ll have a nice midnight snack later. Thank you.”
Her smile brightened. “Hey, I never got your name. I mean, if you want to order cupcakes or cookies or even a wedding cake. Not that I need your name for that—not yet anyway.”
Liking the way she blushed, he reached out a hand. “I’m Alec Caldwell. No wedding cake in my future, but I do love cupcakes.”
She gave him a puzzled stare. “Nice to meet you, Alec Caldwell.”
That halfhearted cliché didn’t seem like she was really glad to meet him. Was it the scar? Or the limp? Or his name?
“You, too.” He glanced at the address on the van. “So you’re a local caterer?”
She went about shutting the van door. “Yes. I live right here in Millbrook. No sand or sea around