Temptation Trails (The Haven Brothers #3)

“Pathetic, right? I know. I’m thirty-one and spent most of my twenties being chased by a bad luck curse. And now, here I am, in a new town, rambling on to a bartender who probably thinks I’m the weirdest girl he’s ever met while waiting for a blind date who probably isn’t going to show.”

My phone buzzed. It was Garrett again.

So sorry. I can’t make it. Something came up at work.

I held up my phone. “See? Told you.”

He hesitated for a second, then grabbed a shot glass from under the bar. He poured a shot of whiskey and slid it over to me. “On me.”

Despite hating whiskey, I sighed again and swallowed the shot. I winced as it went down. “Thanks.”

He tossed a fresh Timberbeast Tavern coaster toward me. “Take one home if you want.”

I picked it up. It had the name of the bar with a cartoon lumberjack with a thick beard and big hairy arms. It was cute. Kinda looked like the bartender.

Yep, a date had been a mistake. I felt bad for Garrett. He had no idea he’d been caught in my bad luck curse.

Then again, maybe it was a good for him, bad for me situation. Maybe he’d just solved a huge case and all his career dreams were about to come true.

Meanwhile, I was banning myself from dating. Again.

Seven more months. That was all I had left. The bad luck curse would be over, and I could move on.

Besides, I was starting a new life in a new place, and my bad luck was sure to show up in all sorts of ways. I had a feeling I was going to have my hands full enough as it was.

There’d be time for dating again. But that time was not now.

CHAPTER 3

Harper

There were few things that smelled as good as freshly baked bread. Sugar cookies were one of them, and both scents mingled in the bakery kitchen as I worked.

Horatio had already been in to bake the day’s batch of fresh bread. Although Angel Cakes specialized in cakes, cupcakes, and cookies, Aunt Doris had wanted to expand our offerings to include bread and dinner rolls. That wasn’t my specialty, so I was glad Doris had brought him on. He was a bread-baking genius.

I scooped more cookie dough onto a large baking sheet. This batch was very much an experiment and I wondered if customers would be willing to give them a try. I’d been dabbling with grain-free baking—I know, it sounds strange—and the snickerdoodles didn’t have an ounce of wheat flour.

Tilikum didn’t have a lot of options for people who were gluten free or just watching their carbohydrate intake, so I’d been refining this recipe for the last several days, hoping to find one that tasted as good as it smelled. I had a feeling I’d finally nailed it.

With its stainless-steel counters and appliances, four ovens, and plenty of shelves to keep everything organized, the bakery kitchen was a dream to work in. The walls were white with a scalloped pink border near the ceiling and the large island provided ample workspace. The motif carried into the front, with an exposed brick wall painted white and the same scalloped pink border. Wooden shelves displayed bagged treats to go, as well as the bread and rolls, and there were a few café tables with chairs, usually used for cake tastings.

But the crown jewel was the pastry case.

Every day, we filled it with a new selection of delicious creations. Our specialties were cupcakes and cookies, but we also dabbled with brownies, cake pops, and other treats. The classics were always popular—sugar cookies, chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin. I liked to offer seasonal specialties as well. It was spring, so we had strawberry cream cheese and lemon blueberry cupcakes, as well as frosted sugar cookies shaped like tulips.

I put the cookies into the oven and set two timers. I didn’t trust just one. Such was life when it was ruled by your bad luck.

The back door opened and my aunt Doris walked in. She greeted me with a warm smile and I was pleased to see she was looking energetic. Retirement seemed to be helping her recover.

“Morning!” Her voice was cheerful, but when she didn’t trade her beige knit cardigan for an apron, I knew she wasn’t there to work.

“Morning, Doris.” I tightened my low ponytail and adjusted the wide floral headband I wore to keep my long, blond hair out of my face. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, more or less.” She knocked her knuckles against a door frame. “Knock on wood.”

I tapped a knuckle on a wooden cutting board in solidarity.

“What smells so good? Cinnamon?”