Linda Jones - A Week Till the Wedding

He picked up a box. “I’m pretty sure your mom’s famous homemade lemon cake didn’t start with a cake mix.”

Daisy shot him a cutting glance. “No, but I don’t have time to make a homemade cake, and besides, it’s the icing that makes it special.”

“It’s a good thing you were free this afternoon.”

She glared at him. Again. Still. “I wasn’t free . I had to reschedule a regular for tomorrow afternoon. Remember Miss Hattie?”

“How could I forget. Did you tell her why you had to cancel?”

“No, I lied and told her I didn’t feel well. Do you know how much I hate lying to my clients?” She didn’t point out that she hated the idea that the facts of this charade might get out much more than she hated fibbing to her customers.

“Sorry. I’ll be happy to pay you for any income you lose because you’re helping me.”

“I still don’t want your money, Tasker.” She made sure she sounded sharp and certain. And annoyed.

He sounded pretty annoyed, himself. “I don’t want you to lose money because you’re helping me out of a tough spot.”

“I’m not helping you. I’m helping your grandmother.” He could drown in his tough spots for all she cared.

“Sorry,” he said sharply. “I forgot.”

The tension in the air was almost unbearable. It hung between them, like every unspoken word that haunted her, still. He was angry. She was antsy.

“Are you married?” She’d planned to ask, needed to know, but the question could’ve come at a better time and been delivered more graciously. Instead she’d just blurted it out, standing in the kitchen with an apron worn over a pair of denim shorts and an old red tank—she always made such a mess when she did try to cook—feet bare, a box of butter in one hand and a sack of lemons in the other. The question did diffuse the tension, a bit. Maybe because it apparently took Jacob by surprise.

He shook his head. “No.”

His answer was sadly insufficient, so Daisy pressed on. “Engaged? Dating seriously? Involved with any woman on any level?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not? I’m sure you’re quite the catch, even in California. I’ll bet the women looooove your Southern accent.”

“I lost my Southern accent years ago,” he insisted.

Daisy laughed. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Jacob’s lips thinned. His jaw twitched. Finally he asked, “Would I have kissed you last night if I was married, engaged, or involved?”

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