Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
At least if she starts hurling complaints, I’m emotionally secure enough to handle it with the store doing well. I can actually offer small store credits in the cases where we screw up, on top of making their order right.
I shove the little box back in my pocket, telling Sarah to get the cake out of the oven when it’s ready, and head to the register.
Sure enough, there’s a woman waiting like Sarah promised.
My first thought is that she’s beautiful, tall and striking with a certain regal vibe swirling around her.
Older, yes, but she carries herself with a grace makeup alone can’t give.
Oh, and her style. She’s wearing a breezy white dress with a red scarf that matches her lipstick for pops of color.
Her blonde hair is almost platinum and exquisitely maintained.
My hair frizzes like a scared cat, feeling inferior.
“Hi,” the woman says, extending a hand. “You must be Juniper.”
I look down, surprised she knows my name even though my nametag isn’t attached, and wipe my hands on my pants before shaking.
“At your service. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Delly,” she says like that should mean something. “Delly Rory. I’m terribly sorry to barge in like this, dear, but I just couldn’t wait another minute to meet you.”
Delly Rory.
Oh, God.
She speaks with the kind of rare old Midland accent and a Southern twang that still screams old money in this city.
I guess that explains a lot.
She’s his mother, after all.
Dexter’s flipping mom is standing here in the store, drinking in her first impression of the woman her son is engaged to and I’m—oh, shit, I’m panicking.
My palms go clammy. I wipe them on my thighs, praying I don’t have flour lodged under my fingernails.
“I’m sorry to drop in again,” she says, correctly reading the expression on my face. “But if I had to wait for my lump of a son to make an introduction, I’d be here another five years. How long has it been?”
Yikes.
What do I even say?
If we stick to our original story, it’s too fast for any reasonable person to get engaged. But she knows we are, so I can’t deviate from the original story or we’ll be doubly screwed.
“Um, a while. It’s easy to lose track!” I manage. “Why don’t you take a seat while I finish up with some stuff and join you? Would you like a coffee? On the house, of course. And the caramel-apple tortes are delicious if you’re interested in having a bite.”
She looks at the cases filled with treats so perfectly glazed they shine, and I wonder if she’s like Dexter.
I might shrivel up and die.
If she hates sweet stuff, if she’s a health freak like her son, I shouldn’t have said a word about those tortes.
“That would be lovely,” she says with a million-dollar smile as her eyes meet mine again. “We can’t live the low-carb life every day. Where’s the fun in that?”
I laugh a little too loudly, relieved, and catch myself before I look like a crazy person.
So I put the kid on the register in charge of the coffee, grab a couple tortes, and stick my apron in the back before I pop into the bathroom.
My hair’s a lost cause, so I just run my fingers through it to comb out the snarls before taking off the cap and pretending like I haven’t been sweating in a hot kitchen all day.
“Sorry, Mrs. Rory. It’s been busy today,” I say as I join her at the table in the corner.
“Please, call me Delly, and don’t you dare apologize.” She accepts the torte with a grateful smile. “Looks like business is booming.”
“Things are looking up,” I admit.
“I’m so glad. Dexter skips out on dessert, but it’s my opinion that dinner isn’t complete without a sweet escape at the end.” She takes a tiny, delicate bite and her eyes widen. “Wow. Oh, wow, dear, this is incredible. Why did I ever put off coming back here? I’m sad to say this is the first time I’ve been to the Sugar Bowl since I was a child. My father adored this place, back when Jo Winkley was always in the papers.”
“Better late than never! And yeah, that’s my grandmother. She’s enjoying her retirement now.” I laugh brightly, still too aware that Delly’s grace outshines any words I can string together. “And yes, it’s been too long coming, meeting like this. But you know Dexter, even better than I do…”
Monster understatement.
“Yes, sometimes to my own detriment,” she says flatly. “Can you believe he didn’t tell me he was dating? If my youngest hadn’t opened his mouth, I might not have found out until your wedding day. Oh, is there a date yet?”
I shake my head furiously.
“Um, no. We’ve barely started planning. Things only got serious pretty recently, I guess, so you weren’t missing much.”