“IN ORDER TO romance Quinn Oswald into a date, did you take her one of my cupcakes?”
“What?”
Vivian tried to ignore the kick-in-the-gut pain, but it was stealing her breath.
“You did, didn’t you?”
For the first time since he’d walked in the door, Zane looked uncomfortable.
“Look, we’re not talking about cupcakes.”
“No.” Vivian pulled her hand away and pushed off the couch. “We’re talking about challenges. Something you’ll apparently take at any cost.”
“You’re holding out for guarantees, clinging to your safety net. And you accuse me of having a problem?” Zane shook his head. “The only way to grow is to take risks, Vivian. If you want something, you have to be willing to pay the price to get it.”
“And in this case, the price you’re willing to pay is us,” Vivian shot back, refusing to hear what she knew he was saying.
“C’mon, Vivian. You don’t actually expect me to walk away from a challenge, do you?”
She wanted to ask him to do it for her. She wanted to tell him that while it didn’t mean anything to him, and it might not even mean anything to Quinn, it meant something to her. It would mean that she was important to him. That she mattered.
Dammit, it’d mean he cared. He wanted her to walk away from her safety net. All she had to do was risk everything, put it all on the line. All of her dreams. The career dreams, the relationship dreams. Everything.
What if she failed?
Her stomach wrapped itself into knots so tight she could barely breathe.
“Look, Vivian—”
No. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to know she was great, but not quite great enough. She didn’t want to hear that she was special, if only she’d change one little thing or the other.
“You should go.”
“Look, let’s eat that delicious lasagna and talk this through.”
Vivian stalked into the kitchen, grabbed the lasagna off the counter, shoved it into his hands, then waved her arm.
“Please go.” She jabbed her finger toward the door. “I’m sure you have a date, or whatever.”
“Viv.”
“Look, I’m starting to fall for you. So go, please, before I actually finish the fall.”
Zane’s mouth dropped open. He closed it. Before he could voice the shock—or panic, or both—that was clear on his face, she did the unthinkable.
She cried.
She managed to keep it to a single tear, but it was enough to get him out the door.
And all she could think was Oh, God. Had she actually said that?
Vivian stared at the closed door for so long that her eyes burned. But no amount of denial could change the facts.
She’d just told Zane Bennett, the hottest guy she’d ever known, that she was falling in love with him.
Vivian groaned.
First that letter. Now this?
Could this night get any worse?
* * *
PANIC SLAMMED THROUGH Zane’s system. Lasagna in hand, he stared at the closed door. At least he thought it was panic. He’d never panicked before in his life, so he might be wrong. But remembering the single tear glisten a silvery track down Vivian’s cheek, he didn’t think so.
An hour later, Zane still felt like shit.
He’d finished off the entire lasagna, which had been unquestionably delicious, but could have used a little garlic bread to sop up the sauce.
Now he sat at the small jut of Formica Lenny called a kitchen table with a full stomach, wondering what the hell had happened. He debated finding his cell phone, calling Xander. Or Lansky. Or maybe he could try Vivian again.
But three calls after she’d told him to get out of her apartment was probably too much.
“Zane, what are you doing here?”
“I was craving bad coffee.” He lifted the mug that claimed that This Is What a War Machine Looks Like. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a hot date.”
“I did, we did, now it’s done.” Grabbing a beer, Lenny dropped into the torn chair opposite him and took a mouthful. “Hottest fifteen minutes of her night, let me tell you.”
“My man.” Zane toasted him with his mug. “You sure know how to rock the ladies of Little Creek.”
“How about you? I thought you had plans tonight.”
“They changed.” Changed, were changed. Whatever.
“Not hanging with Xander?”
“Nah.” Not for lack of trying, but his brother wasn’t answering his phone. Odd.
Xander would be the perfect person to hang with right now. The man had insights. He had the skills to dig beyond the surface of an issue and find the core problem. Not that Zane needed anyone to point out where he’d screwed up. He was pretty clear on that. But how to fix it? That part was a little murky.
Zane pulled out his phone to scowl at the blank display.
Where the hell was Xander when he needed him?
Zane looked across the table at his brother’s stand-in. The lanky, freckled boy next door whose greatest ambition was to own the gas station where he worked. As far as Zane could remember, the guy had dated two women, so his expertise was nothing to brag about. And the one he’d married had kicked his butt to the curb months ago.
That didn’t mean he didn’t have anything to offer.
“Do you think I’m incapable of refusing a challenge?”
“Why would you bother? That’s how you prove you’ve still got it, my friend.”
Zane blinked. What the hell? He was a SEAL. He disposed of live bombs for a living. He jumped out of planes, dived into oceans and, dammit, pounded sixty-four-ounce slushies in a single gulp.
Why did he have to prove anything?
“Dude, you and Xander, you’re like our heroes. You guys live the dream. Kicking ass, saving the world.”
“If you think that ass-kicking and world-saving are so great, why the idiotic dares when we come home?”
“How else would we get you back here?” Twisting off the cap of another beer, Lenny laughed. “Like you’re gonna come back to hang out with your boring old buddies?”
“We come back all the time,” Zane said, dismissively. “Our family lives here. We’re not going to stop visiting.”
“Visiting Little Creek, sure. But us? Most of the guys are married. Joe has a kid on the way. Sure, I’m holding down the fort as the hottest bachelor in town, but let’s get real, you’re not coming back to play my wingman.” Lenny laughed so hard he snorted beer. “As if.”
Huh.
Good point.
Ten minutes later, Lenny had gone to his room to pass out, leaving Zane to contemplate his friend’s buck-toothed brilliance. Well, that and leave another message for Xander.
Where the hell was his brother?
Zane stepped out to sit on the narrow excuse for a patio that ran between Lenny’s apartment and Vivian’s and contemplated one of the biggest challenges he’d ever faced.
Figuring out what to do about this situation with Vivian.
On one hand, his career as a SEAL was based on challenges. Every training session, every op, every mission was a new challenge to be faced. And damned if he didn’t rock them, every one. Because that was what he did.
Which brought him to his other hand.
Was he so incapable of refusing a challenge that he’d let that blow his shot with a woman as great as Vivian? Was his ego more important than her feelings?
Which brought him to her feelings.
She’d said she might be falling.
Zane’s spine twitched as something that resembled panic started climbing up his back again.
Falling?
Wasn’t that his signal to start running?
Sure, he’d wanted her to move to San Diego, to live near him. He’d pictured them continuing the fun and games. Great sex, lots of laughs, more sex, good times and, yeah, more sex. And sure, they had a lot more going on than that. Other than the challenge thing, which she clearly didn’t understand the importance of, she totally got him. She made him feel great. And he’d thought he did the same for her.
But falling?
That was serious.
What if it didn’t work? What is she moved there and wasn’t happy? What if they failed as a couple?
Talk about challenges.
It was better this way, he decided. Her brother had said to get out. She’d said to get out. He’d gotten out.
Mike would see that as honoring the bro code.
Vivian would see it as doing exactly as she’d asked.
And he could finish out the challenge and, yeah, even though he’d pretty much ignored it until now, he could pull off a win.
All he had to do was accept that it was over with Vivian.
* * *
“YO, VIV?”
Vivian bit her lip against the urge to scream, but didn’t bother looking up from the cake she was decorating. She’d come in early to finish this cake hoping she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Was this Mike’s challenge? To ruin every one of her plans?
“This is a bad time,” she said quietly. “I’m working.”
“So? You can work and talk at the same time.”
Because it took no focus or talent to slap frosting on a cake? Vivian whipped her whisk through melted sugar then flicked it over the rack, where it hardened instantly in slender, misty strands of gold.
“About this deal with Zane.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Moving around the table, she spun sugar over two more racks. “Was there anything else? Because I have to finish this cake.”
“I didn’t realize you and Zane were a thing.”
“Is that the new term for consolation prize?”
“C’mon, Viv. You should give Zane a chance. He’s really upset about what happened.”
He was? Vivian’s hand froze midflick. Maybe she should talk to him. Apologize and explain why she’d been so over-the-top the night before.
She set the bowl aside and turned to stare at her brother.
“Just, you know, let him finish the challenge first.”
“Finish the challenge?” Vivian bit back a scream. “You are saying you want me to get together with your friend, but he has to win this little bet first? The bet that involves him dating another woman?”
And this from a man who thought she was too risqué because she decorated penis cakes?
“No, of course not. He doesn’t have to win a bet. It’s not like there’s money riding on it. And Xander has just as good a shot. But they have to finish it. It’s a tradition.”
A tradition.
Vivian drew in a deep breath through her nose, hoping the air would cool the fire in her gut. When it didn’t, she grabbed her bottle of water and guzzled. That, and another breath were enough for her to be able to look her brother in the face and say, calmly, “Some traditions are stupid.”
Needing to finish the cake, so ready to be done with everything—especially the confusion—she grabbed a sugar burst.
“Sometimes tradition is just another word for limiting. For staying in a rut. Some traditions are excuses to never take risks, never change, never try.” Vivian bit her lip, all of her attention on placing the final explosion of sugar on the top of the cake so it poured like fireworks out of the panther’s paws. “This bakery is all about traditions, isn’t it?”
“Of course. Three generations of bakers. That’s something to be proud of. Something to respected, even.”
“It is.” And it was something she’d forgotten in her determination to pursue her own dreams. “You’re right. Sometimes traditions matter.”
Clearly traditions mattered to Zane.
And obviously traditions mattered to her family. And, she could now see, they mattered to her. So much so that she’d never follow her dreams if she stayed here in Little Creek. She’d keep glomming on to excuses. She’d keep sabotaging herself.
This thing with Zane had made her realize one thing. She couldn’t face her own challenge if she kept hiding behind traditions.
“You’re right,” she said again. “And my designs go against that tradition, don’t they? I’ll talk to Mom and Dad when they get home tomorrow.”
“Excellent. You’re going to tell them you’re done with that crazy baking stuff?”
She thought of the acceptance letter from the culinary institute.
“No. I’m going to tell them that they need to find a baker to replace me. I’m moving to California to intern with one of the great dessert chefs in the culinary field.”
“What? No,” Mike protested. “You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can.” Vivian toured the cake, walking around to check it from all sides before deeming it finished. That gave her enough time to gauge the nerves dancing in her belly and decide if they were good and happy or bad and freaked out.
A little bit of each, she decided, whipping off her apron and exchanging it for her purse.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I don’t think, I know.” She picked up a pink cardboard box sporting The Sweet Spot’s sticker. “I’m going to talk with Zane.”
“No.” Mike shoved to his feet, scurried across the room and stood in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re not interfering.”
“Yes. I am.” Vivian angled sideways, heading for the back door instead. She had it open before he managed to uncross his arms. “Oh, and before I talk with Zane? I’m going to fill Quinn in on your little challenge. Just so it’s fair.”
She left to the sound of her brother’s scream of protest.
Ten minutes later, she’d tracked down Quinn’s place and knocked on the door. When the brunette answered, Vivian choked back the automatic surge of envy at how gorgeous the woman was.
“Hi, I’m Vivian. I was hoping we could chat.” She lifted the box and smiled. “I brought cupcakes.”
“Hi, Vivian,” Quinn greeted with a hesitant smile. “Why?”
“First, because I love your boots and figure any woman who has such great taste in footwear is one I’d like to know. Second, I know you grew up here, but you haven’t been back long so I thought maybe you could use a friend. And third—” she lifted the lid to show off the variety pack of cupcakes “—some things are better discussed with sugar.”