house.
He shook his head, held to the van’s open door like a lifeline while he accepted the cake with his other hand. “I guess I’ll have a nice midnight snack later. Thank you.”
Her smile brightened. “Hey, I never got your name. I mean, if you want to order cupcakes or cookies or even a wedding cake. Not that I need your name for that—not yet anyway.”
Liking the way she blushed, he reached out a hand. “I’m Alec Caldwell. No wedding cake in my future, but I do love cupcakes.”
She gave him a puzzled stare. “Nice to meet you, Alec Caldwell.”
That halfhearted cliché didn’t seem like she was really glad to meet him. Was it the scar? Or the limp? Or his name?
“You, too.” He glanced at the address on the van. “So you’re a local caterer?”
She went about shutting the van door. “Yes. I live right here in Millbrook. No sand or sea around but we do have Millbrook Lake and the river, of course.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I kind of grew up on that lake. Love it here.”
“So you’re one of the Caldwells?”
Adjusting to her almost-condemning tone, Alec nodded. “The only one now.”
The soft sheen of another blush colored her pretty freckles. “I’m sorry. Your mother was Vivian Caldwell?”
“Yep.”
“I’m really sorry. She...uh...was one of my favorite clients.”
“She was my favorite mother.”
Marla’s freckles grew more pronounced. And more adorable. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
Alec smiled. “Yeah, me, too. Thanks.” He changed the subject. “Millbrook is a special place. Not that far off from the coast but just far enough inland to be in another world. I got back a few months ago so I’m still trying to get into a new routine.”
“I just moved back about a year ago,” she said. “But you’re right about Millbrook. It’s home.”
Nervous now, he prattled on. “It’s different inland. More like farmland. Lots of ranches, horse farms and green pastures.”
Her eyes held a forlorn longing. “Yes. My daddy owned some of that farmland until he retired near the other end of Millbrook Lake. My parents love the new retirement community out there.”
Alec felt an instant connection that worked right along with the instant attraction. “I grew up here but left for college and didn’t get back much after that. Had to come home after I got wounded and made it here a few weeks before my mother died. Retired from the marines. A captain.”
Her left eyebrow lifted. “Oh, so...you’re a soldier?”
“I was. Went through two deployments overseas. Retired and home for good now.” He shrugged. “And trying my hand at something different.”
She gave him an appreciative smile but stepped back, her eyes going a cool green. “Okay, then. I’d better get back in there and finish cleaning up.”
He bobbed his head and wondered what he’d said or done to bring about this sudden chill. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hold you up.”
She turned and said over her shoulder, “No problem. I think the wedding is winding down so I have to get back to the bakery and unload my things.”
Alec didn’t like people staring at his scar or watching him walk with this aggravating limp. And Marla Hamilton had obviously decided she didn’t like him or his wounds or his name, either. For the best, he figured. She was interesting and cute but she was probably also happily married. Even if she was available, he didn’t want any entanglements right now.
Calling after her, he said, “Nice meeting you, Wedding Cake Girl.”
She stopped at the back door and shot him one last skeptical glance. “Nice meeting you, too, Soldier Boy.”
Then she was gone about as fast as the glimmering sunset winking at him through the live oaks and palm trees.
* * *
Marla maneuvered her minivan through late afternoon traffic, her mind whirling with vivid thoughts of Soldier Boy.
Alec Caldwell. A marine. Former marine. The Alec Caldwell. Not someone who’d traveled in the same circles as she had, growing up. He was a few years older than her but she recognized the name immediately. Private schools and big boats out on the lake, lots of society events. So not her type.
But Marla was surprised that such a privileged man had gone off to become a marine. And that he’d come back to Millbrook at all.
He fought for our country and that counts for something, she reminded herself as she turned past the old courthouse that now housed antiques and collectibles and was aptly named Courthouse Collectibles. The stately building drew tourists who bought her standing-order confections from the cute little Courthouse Café. The café was one of her regular customers, not only for the tourists but for everyone who worked and shopped in the building.
She pulled the van up to the front door of her shop, her gaze hitting on the blue Victorian storefront facade that housed her bakery on the bottom level and a two-bedroom apartment upstairs, where she lived with her preschool-aged daughter, Gabby. After parking, she sat there for a minute trying to gather her thoughts. She was almost happy again. Almost.
After she’d become a widow a year ago, she’d moved from Tallahassee back to the tiny Florida town of Millbrook. She’d needed the quietness and the quaintness of the place where she’d grown up.
And she’s needed her parents nearby to help with Gabby. A daughter who had dark hair and eyes like her daddy. But Gabby would never know her daddy. Charlie Hamilton had been killed in a shootout during an armed robbery at his family’s jewelry store. Gabby had witnessed most of the whole horrible scene when she and Charlie had walked in on it.
Charlie had died too young, working at a job he hated. But family had to come first. Duty had to come first. Because he felt trapped, Charlie had turned mean and angry and moody, so much so that Marla felt as if she’d let him down in some way. The harder she tried to please him, the worse things had become. That had made her angry and miserable in return. They had not been in a good place when he died.
Her husband, ever the macho thrill seeker, had started hanging out with a lot of questionable people, and one of them had turned on him and had planned an elaborate robbery at the store. Charlie had walked in after picking up Gabby at day care, had seen what was happening and shoved Gabby toward the terrified female sales associate who was being held at gunpoint. He’d turned the attention on himself and saved the woman and Gabby, but he’d gotten himself shot. In the crossfire, the sales associate and Gabby had crawled behind one of the counters and hit the alarm. Hearing sirens, the robbers had grabbed what they could from a smashed glass display case and fled.
Charlie had performed a heroic last deed. He’d died on the stretcher a few minutes after Marla had arrived at the scene. She’d been five minutes too late.
Five minutes. She often thought if she’d just been there sooner, Gabby would have been with her and on the way home.
Or, as her parents had stated, always trying to reassure her, she could have walked in on the whole thing and Gabby could have lost both her parents.
Marla leaned her head against the steering wheel. She’d never told anyone, but the marriage had been over long before her husband died. She’d told him as much the day before he’d been killed. Now the guilt of knowing that, coupled with her guilt regarding her daughter’s trauma, was destroying her piece by piece. At least the robbery perpetrators had been apprehended and sent to jail for the rest of their lives.
Her phone rang, startling her out of the dark thoughts that caused her to stay awake at night.
She