Only ten times, Tina wanted to say, but she didn’t, of course. She simply smiled and nodded when Beverly whipped the pictures out with the speed of a policeman flashing a badge.
‘‘Ah, so lucky you are.’’ Mariska sighed with envy. ‘‘I fear I will never be a grandmother. Sophia is dating too many young men, Rachel spends all her time at the movies and museums, and my Tina—’’ Mariska tweaked Tina’s cheek ‘‘—she is just a baby herself.’’
I’m twenty-four, for God’s sake, Tina thought and gritted her teeth. Because she was the youngest, she knew her mother saw her as the baby and, no matter what her age, probably always would. But she supposed it made no difference, anyway. Tina knew she could never accept a proposal.
Any man who would actually want to marry into the Alexander family couldn’t possibly be right in the head.
Not that she didn’t love her family. Her two sisters, mother, father and Aunt Yana were the only family she had. She loved them with all her heart.
But they were all just so…overwhelming. Her father looked and acted more like he was in collections for a loan shark than a baker. With just a look, Ivan Alexander had scared off every man who’d come to date his daughters. The ones who’d managed to survive Ivan never made it past Mariska, who asked endless questions regarding their job status, their family lineage and the question that really sent them running—did they like children?
Tina figured the only way she’d ever be able to marry was if she were witness to a mob murder and testified, then put under the witness protection program. Then, by some miracle, if she found Mr. Right, he would never be able to meet her family.
A little extreme, but it just might work.
Tina helped the next customer while her mother continued to ooh and aah over the baby pictures. When Beverly finally left, Mariska slipped off her apron and reached for her purse.
‘‘The chamber of commerce has ordered twelve dozen muffins and ten dozen Danish for a breakfast tomorrow,’’ Mariska said, pulling her sweater out from under the counter. ‘‘I have to run to the market for pecans and blueberries.’’
Tina glanced at the two young men sitting at the corner table. ‘‘But you were supposed to interview the applicants.’’
‘‘Be a good girl and do that for me, dear.’’ Mariska patted Tina’s cheek.
‘‘But—’’
‘‘Oh, and we need you to come in early tomorrow,’’ Mariska said. ‘‘We have a heavy load of orders in the morning. Your father and I could use your help.’’
It wasn’t a question, so Tina didn’t bother to answer.
‘‘I will be back shortly.’’ With a quick wave Mariska disappeared down the hallway leading to the offices and back exit.
Tina stared after her mother, then sighed. It wasn’t as if it was a problem to come in to work early. The most exciting thing going on in her life this evening was apartment-sitting for her aunt Yana while she was out of town for the next three weeks. Tina’s hot date for the night was a cat and a video copy of Sleepless in Seattle.
‘‘Sorry I’m late, T.’’ Sophia breezed through the front entrance of the bakery. ‘‘I stopped to gas my car and darn if I didn’t break a nail, so I just had to run by and see my manicurist.’’
The two applicants took one look at Sophia dressed in her black leather skirt, low-cut sweater and tall boots, and they snapped to attention. Sophia, who’d just recently put highlights in her already-blond hair, smiled at the young men. They puffed their chests out and sucked their guts in.
Tina frowned at her sister when she came behind the counter and reached for a black apron. ‘‘Must you torture every male you see?’’
‘‘I’m the one in torture,’’ Sophia said smoothly. ‘‘So many men, so little time.’’
Tina rolled her eyes at her sister’s foolishness. They were all so different. Sophia, the gorgeous green-eyed, blond man-eater; Rachel, the pretty, though timid, hazel-eyed brunette.
And then there’s me, Tina thought.
Not blond like her mother, not dark like her father, but with her sandy-brown hair and light-brown eyes, somewhere in the middle, a mix of them both. She was the smart daughter, the level-headed daughter and—the label that Tina hated the most—the responsible daughter.
But what she really hated was the fact that it was true.
There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a mumbled string of Hungarian curses. Sophia gnawed on her shiny, red bottom lip. ‘‘Ah, I’ll be right back. I’ve got to go ask Rachel something about, ah, reimbursement for petty cash.’’
‘‘Chicken,’’ Tina said, but Sophia merely clucked as she hurried away.
Walking into her father’s kitchen when he was in a foul mood was like entering a lion’s den. You never knew if you’d come out alive.
With a lull in the storm, Tina knew she’d have to hurry and do the interviews before the lunch crowd flowed in. Slipping out of her black apron, she looked at Jason, who was ringing up an order for a cappuccino and a chocolate muffin.
The twenty-six-year-old counter clerk had a boyish charm about him: unruly dark-blond hair, deep-blue eyes, a lean, athletic build. Teenage girls and young women had a tendency to giggle and bat their eyelashes when he waited on them, and even older women seemed flustered by the counter clerk’s good looks.
But Jason, much to Tina’s distress, had eyes for only one woman.
With a sigh, Tina forced her mind back on business and asked the applicant with the spiked hair to follow her down the hall to her father’s office.
The sidewalks in front of the narrow, three-story red-brick building were damp from the previous night’s rain. Over the wide, bevelled-glass storefront window, drops of water still clung to the forest-green awnings.
Reid stared past the For Lease sign and scanned the empty office space. The location and square footage were exactly what he’d been looking for, and the rent was in the ballpark. Public parking two doors down and heavy traffic only sweetened the deal.
And speaking of sweet—Reid glanced at the building next door. The most incredible smells were coming from Ivan Alexander’s bakery.
Based on the number of customers Reid had watched coming and going in the past few minutes, the business was doing very well. Housing his father’s campaign headquarters next to the busy bakery would not only bring a lot of foot traffic, the staff and volunteers working the campaign would have easy access to food and drink.
By the end of the day Reid intended to have a lease signed and a key in his hand.
An overhead bell tinkled when he opened the oak-framed, bevelled-glass door of Castle Bakery. The scent of warm cinnamon, rich chocolate and freshly baked bread assaulted his senses. Reid glanced at the polished display cases of neatly stacked cookies, fancy cakes and assorted fruit pastries. His mouth literally watered. The place had an old world feel to it, he thought as he closed the door behind him. Stone floor, suit of armor in the corner, framed pictures of famous castles in Europe. Glass-topped tables with wrought-iron chairs allowed seating for customers, though currently only two of the tables were occupied: a man drinking a cup of coffee and munching on a muffin while he talked on his cell phone and a teenage boy reading a physics book.
Reid approached the counter and stood behind an elderly couple who couldn’t make up their minds between prune Danish or apple tarts.
‘‘Excuse me.’’ Reid caught the counter clerk’s attention. ‘‘I’m here about Mr. Alexander’s ad for—’’
‘‘In the office—’’ the clerk raised a thumb toward a hallway ‘‘—third