The Bachelor Baker. Carolyne Aarsen

      “Oh, dear,” she heard Gracie whisper as Mrs. Morgan walked toward them, clutching a binder identical to the one Gracie had on the table in front of her.

      “Good afternoon,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Sorry I’m late.”

      She held out her hand to Melissa, her red fingernails flashing. Her hair, a delicately washed silver, hung in a stylish pageboy around a face that defied her actual age. Her silky brown dress seemed unnecessarily formal for a casual meeting in a coffee shop, but Melissa was slowly learning Mrs. Morgan placed much stock in appearances. She didn’t so much sit down as ease into the chair in one fluid motion. “What have I missed?” she asked, glancing from Melissa to Gracie.

      “We were talking about some of the changes you wanted to make.” Gracie’s voice grew small in this woman’s presence.

      “Gracie said you wanted to add a tea with snacks for after the service,” Melissa said, taking over, hoping to ease the sudden tension. “However, this will substantially change the cost.”

      Gracie spoke up. “I don’t know if my father wants—”

      “You don’t have to worry about the money,” Mrs. Morgan said. “I told your father we would cover everything.”

      “But—”

      “Please. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.” Mrs. Morgan smiled, but the tension around the table had increased.

      And when the café’s door burst open, Melissa jumped.

      “Melissa,” a worried voice called out. “I need you to come to the bakery.”

      Melissa turned to see Amanda scurrying toward her, twisting her apron around her hands, her face a grimace of concern. “The oven quit working and all those cupcakes you put in aren’t baking.”

      “Did you call Alan?” Melissa asked, her mind scrambling. “He was the one who installed the stove and oven.”

      “He can’t come until tomorrow,” Amanda said. “He’s working in another county today. What are we going to do?”

      Melissa bit her lip, her mind racing. The cupcakes were for a conference in Junction City. If the organizers there liked what she had to offer, it could increase business for the bakery and maybe raise the profile of Bygones and the new businesses here.

      And Mrs. Morgan was still waiting.

      “So the oven won’t go on at all?” Melissa asked, taking care of her first priority.

      Amanda shook her head, her brown ponytail bobbing.

      “I’ll tell Brian. He’s really handy. I’m sure he can help,” Gracie said, then, before Melissa could protest, jumped to her feet as if relieved to have a reason to escape. She hurried over to where Brian sat with the older man and murmured something to him. Melissa looked away when she saw him frown, but then Brian strode over.

      “Something wrong with your oven?” he asked.

      “It doesn’t work,” Amanda said before Melissa could protest that everything was fine, which it wasn’t. She didn’t want Brian in her bakery. Especially not after the way he seemed to treat it so dismissively. “Could you come and fix it?” Amanda asked.

      “Sure. I’ll have a look at it.”

      “It’s fine. We can manage,” Melissa said, holding up her hand as if to stop him.

      Brian shot her a frown. “How? Amanda said Alan can’t come till tomorrow. Can’t bake your fancy cakes if your oven doesn’t work.”

      Melissa stifled another protest at his blunt assessment of her situation. Much as she didn’t like it, Brian was right.

      “Okay. You can come and have a look at it,” she said, relenting.

      “Thanks. I think.”

      As Melissa held his steady gaze she caught the hint of a mocking smile teasing one corner of his mouth.

      Her heart did a slow flop at the sight. Then she caught herself midreaction. Was she crazy? The man clearly didn’t like her or her bakery. Why was she even the least bit attracted to him?

      Because, she thought as she strode out of the coffee shop, in spite of her innate need for independence and her burning desire to make her own way in the world, there were times she wondered what it would be like to have someone beside her.

      Just not this guy, Melissa reminded herself.

      * * *

      “So I relit the pilot light.” Brian pushed himself away from the oven and, brushing the dust and crumbs off his shirt and pants, picked up his tools and got to his feet. “The oven should work now.”

      It hadn’t taken him long at all to get Melissa’s oven going. The thermocouple wasn’t working so all it took was a quick run down to the new hardware store. Thankfully, Patrick there knew his stuff and had one in stock.

      Replacing it was a simple job, but it made him feel useful again. Something he didn’t feel so often these days.

      Melissa looked at the oven, then back at Brian as if she wasn’t sure she should believe him.

      “Are you sure it will work?”

      “Of course I am.”

      “Okay.” She turned the knob of the oven, listening.

      Brian heard a reassuring whoosh as the gas ignited.

      “Great. Wonderful,” she said. “I thought I would have to start all over with the cupcakes.” She turned to Amanda. “Can you get them out of the refrigerator and put them in the oven? They’ll take a little longer to cook because they’re cold so adjust the time by about fifteen minutes.” Then she turned back to Brian with a grateful smile that didn’t help his equilibrium.

      Something about this woman made him feel edgy, and he didn’t like feeling that way.

      “Thanks again. I appreciate the help,” she said, giving Brian a grateful smile. “So, what do I owe you?”

      “Nothing.” He’d only been here twenty minutes and half of that time was spent getting the panels off so he could get at the broken thermocouple.

      “No. Really. I insist on paying you. I would have had to pay Alan and you saved my cupcakes. So how much?”

      “I’m not that busy,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not like you dragged me away from my job.”

      “All the more reason to pay you,” she said. “I’m sure you could use the money.”

      Brian felt a sliver of cold slip down his spine. Bad enough that the comment was partly true.

      That she was the one to say it only added to the humiliation piling on him the past few days. He thought the final straw had been her offering him a job in the bakery, but this was worse.

      He turned away from her and the only sound in the heavy silence following her comment was the hollow thunk of the lid of his metal toolbox falling shut. Then the snap of the clasps.

      “I’m good” was all he said, yanking the toolbox off the floor.

      “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean... It came out wrong.”

      His only reply was to turn and stride out of the bakery, his booted feed thudding on the floor.

      He headed down the sidewalk toward his truck, dropped the toolbox in the back of his truck with a heavy clang, then glanced back, checking for his grandfather.

      A couple of minutes later Grandpa came walking down the sidewalk, a frown on his face. He was probably going to give him a reaming out for walking out on a lady, Brian thought, jingling his keys.

      He knew he had been rude, but her comment was ruder.

      However, as Grandpa