When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Read online

  When You Look at Me

  Pepper Basham

  When You Look at Me

  Copyright © 2018 by Pepper D Basham

  Published by

  Woven Words

  9 Cedar Trail, Asheville, NC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover image ©2018 by Roseanna White Designs & Pepper Basham

  Cover art photos ©iStockphoto.com and Pixabay used by permission.

  Published in the United States of America by Pepper Basham

  www.pepperdbasham.com

  Dedication

  To Carrie and Beth, two of the sweetest and most encouraging introverts I know.

  Your love for Jesus and stories brings such hope to others.

  Chapter One

  J ulia Jenkins was a glass-half-full person.

  Well, most of the time.

  Even with her sordid backstory.

  So she’d spent massive amounts of energy over the past few hours trying to think of all of the positive aspects of her abdomen bulging overnight to show her full seven-months pregnancy. Stomach sleeping? Out. Reaching her feet without sandwiching an actual person in the middle? Impossible. Going anywhere without scouting out the restroom signs? Dangerous.

  And now? Now the curious stares, unvoiced judgments, and annoying questions she’d kept to a minimum behind loose fitting clothes and an apron would increase with the obvious proof of her “sin”—though the truth stung with a much darker betrayal.

  Plus, she really missed baths. Long, candlelit bubble baths, complete with acoustic guitar solos in the background.

  She sighed as she parked her car in front of the bakery she ran with her parents. Just the thought of trying to climb out of a bathtub with all the grace of a beached whale left every aching muscle screaming a resounding ‘no.’ And who would rescue her, anyway? The two new guests who’d be staying in the apartment near hers were both men. Englishmen.

  A shiver made its way down her spine at the possibility of one of them coming to her rescue. The thought resurrected unwanted memories, but she shoved them away and tried to replace them with something positive, just as her therapist had told her to do.

  Usually she focused on Scripture. Sometimes she fixated on chocolate. Then there were those times she found herself re-watching sappy movies. Okay, she’d done that long before Peyton stole her innocence and left her pregnant. Still, the syrupy-sweet romcoms inspired all sorts of daydreams.

  And music? Ah, music soothed away a few of the residual nightmares lingering from the assault.

  Little One—her nickname for her growing son or daughter—took advantage of her lack of motion to make his presence known with a solid kick. The baby was probably a boy, or that’s what she thought, anyway, and her sister Eisley had told her that moms had a sixth sense about such things.

  Julia rubbed a palm against the upraised area where a foot or hand or…something pressed with impressive strength. “You can’t have a cupcake yet, Little One, no matter how hard you kick.”

  With a shove of her car door, she drew in a deep breath and rocked her way out of the vehicle, envisioning bungie cords dropping from her apartment window above the shop and pulling her forward like a cow stuck in the mud.

  The idea inspired a giggle. No, no, no. Two large sweet teas and a baby dancing on her bladder didn’t equal a good outcome from a giggling fit. She shifted the two boxes of fairy princess cupcakes in her arms and waddled toward the shop front door, attempting to tame her skirt against the morning breeze.

  Negative note to later-stage pregnancy: skirts are not only more balloon-like but shorter than expected.

  Adding more humility to her life with a Marilyn Monroe-moment wasn’t on her bucket list of pregnancy milestones, but embarrassment seemed to pursue her. She breathed out in resignation and let the fabric fall where it may. Shifting the boxes in her arms, she rested them on her bulging middle. Fairy princess cupcakes trumped a possible outfit mishap any day.

  Positive note regarding later-stage pregnancy: Your stomach can double as a shelf.

  The Open sign on the front door of the bakery alerted her that her mom was already inside, probably baking a batch of pastries for their early morning regulars. Oh, and hopefully a raspberry tart from their ‘fruitful’ shopping excursion the day before. She stifled a snicker at her pun, as the welcome scent of buttery croissants and fresh-baked muffins drifted toward her. A definite perk to the business.

  Just as Julia reached for the door handle, a strong gust of wind blew down Main Street and, not only gave her skirt an unwelcome swell, but lifted the lid right off the top cupcake box. The box top spiraled in a funny dance down the street, mocking her for the many reasons she remained still. There was no way she was chasing it. Nope.

  There were things passersby couldn’t unsee.

  And besides, she’d already spent enough time on the lips of the local gossipers.

  As she turned away from the frolicking lid and reached again for the door, contorting her body to keep her skirt from flying up to reveal embarrassing pregnancy panties, a voice emerged from her right.

  “Allow me to assist you.”

  The accent sounded different than the usual Appalachian twang. Classy, refined, and smooth. Tourists gave a little flair to the tiny town, especially the ones with accents.

  While she paused to glance over her shoulder for the stranger, someone inside the bakery shoved the door open. The door hit the box in her hands with such force that the cupcakes sailed in all directions. In horrified she clenched the remains of a cupcake box as a battalion of purple flew toward the stranger and…pummeled him in the face.

  Well, some landed in his hair and on his shirt, but at least two made it onto his face. In fact, one still stuck there over his left eye like a purple eye patch. Oh, the shortening really worked wonders for stiffness in this batch.

  Julia forced her stunned feet into motion and ran to his side, pulling an apron from her bag.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” She stood on unsteady tiptoes and plucked the cupcake from his eye, wincing as a giant blob of purple icing dripped down his cheek. His eye, a marbleized combination of green and gold rimmed with blue, blinked wide.

  “It’s homemade icing, just so you know. No preservatives.” She smeared her apron over his face to clean some of the icing but only succeeded in pushing a little into his nose. Her pulse skipped into a staccato rhythm, washing her face with a sudden heat. “Purple is a great shade for you, though. It really brings out your eyes.”

  What? She cringed. Heavens, she said the stupidest things when she was nervous. Really stupid. Diagnosably stupid. And she couldn’t seem to stop them from tumbling out in glorious absurdity like Granny O’Leary when she stayed up way past her bedtime.

  The poor man stood in stunned silence.

  “Gee, I’m real sorry, Julia. I didn’t even see you there.”

  Julia turned to the assailant, old man Jacobs, and her frustration melted away. Widowed for a year and a regular morning visitor to the bakery, the kind man’s eyesight was
on the way out.

  “It’s alright, Tom. I’m sure our new visitor understands it was an accident.” She swung her attention back to the stranger, whose expression hadn’t changed.

  Okay. Maybe not.

  That wasn’t good. Bad business—and an unpleasant experience voiced from a potential new customer who would certainly share how flying purple cupcakes landed on his person—traveled fast in a small town. She planned to have this bakery sold in three weeks, purple cupcake missiles or otherwise.

  It was time for an intervention, and stat.

  “Let me help you clean up your face, then we’ll figure out what to do with the rest of you.” Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bakery, passing a small crew of shocked patrons to make it to the kitchen. She parked the man in front of the big-basined sink and gathered a handful of towels. “So, are you new to town? What a sweet introduction.” She cringed at the pun and rolled her eyes heavenward. Help me, Jesus.

  Those textured eyes studied her with an unnerving intensity, inspiring even more jitters in her stomach. Would he sue her? That was all she needed after just ending the rape case a few months ago. No more publicity. Ever.

  “The icing has a lot of egg whites in it. I hear those are good for your skin.”

  His stoic expression slipped into a quivering smile above his strong, icing-covered chin. Heat zoomed afresh into her face. It didn’t help that he smelled like vanilla.

  Or was that the icing?

  She ran another cloth over his face. “Not that your skin needs it or anything. I’m sure…I’m sure underneath all of this icing, your skin is already flawless.”

  She flinched at her own idiocy, but the man’s crooked grin stilled on his face, then…he laughed. Deep and rich, it reverberated around her like the bass notes of a cello.

  He seemed as surprised by his own reaction as she did, but when he tried to cover his mouth with his hand, he splatted another layer of icing directly into it. She tried to muffle her giggle, but it exploded in a ridiculous trill complete with a snort at the end.

  “It tastes delicious.”

  His accent? She stopped on her way to the sink, washcloth frozen in midair. Good heavens, was this her sister’s boyfriend’s best friend? The musician? Was she hosting the guy she’d just decorated like a fairy princess cupcake? “You’re English?”

  His laughter ebbed, but the smile lingered, hesitant. “Yes.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed and sighed. She, Julia—a woman who’d been dodging single males like most kids avoided broccoli—had somehow managed to hold his hand, touch his face, and spend a full ten minutes alone with him without even knowing his name.

  Her stomach twisted with a swirl of nausea that had nothing to do with Baby Jenkins’s sleeping position. And now she was going to be his landlady! What had she done?

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Henry Wright stared in wide-eyed wonder at the petite woman. Yes, purple icing pasted to parts of his face. Yes, she’d pulled him into the strange kitchen of a bakery and he hadn’t refused. Yes, she’d touched him more times in five minutes than he’d been touched in five years. His hands, his face, his hair.

  And—most likely due to shock—he hadn’t attempted to escape into a people-less room.

  She’d apologized profusely and smeared more icing over his face while attempting to clear it, yammering in the most adorable way and oblivious to the glob of purple seated crookedly atop her golden head. And, most startling of all, she’d made him laugh! The entire scene created the strangest scenario—almost dream-like. He could practically hear the strains of Robert Schumann’s whimsical tune Fantasie backdropping the situation.

  The woman fluttered here and there like a beautiful butterfly, a capriccioso melody, attempting to reconcile the accident while navigating her extended abdomen and apparently his response about being English. And her eyes, a captivating twilight shade ringed with a lighter hue of blue, pleaded for his forgiveness while her gentleness and the need to assuage her guilt propelled him out of his introverted shell and directly into…talking. “It does taste delicious.”

  What? He was an utter buffoon. No wonder he kept his words few in the presence of most people.

  “I can’t believe I did this.” She groaned then slammed her palm down onto top of her head only to have it land in the icing. A gasp released. She examined her hand then looked at him, her lips opened in an O. The most beautiful blush rose between the purple icing smears on her face. “Um…this isn’t the introduction to the Jenkins family Eisley had in mind, just so you know.”

  Despite his internal reprimands, his grin slipped through his control. “I’ve heard introductions to the Jenkins family can be quite memorable.”

  Her lips twitched up on one side then laughter tumbled forth. The musical sound fit her perfectly, icing and all. He couldn’t help but join in, his own bass blending into her lighter trill.

  “Oh my goodness. I suppose it would be a disappointment to have anything less.” She shook her head and wiped her hand on the cloth she held, her eyes brimming with barely controlled mirth. She held a lovely glow about her, very fairy-like to his mind.

  Her gaze dropped to his lips.

  A sudden awareness rushed into his face with unexpected heat, drying out his throat and stealing his smile. Why was she looking at his lips?

  “Um…you have purple icing coming out of your nose.”

  His eyes shot wide. Of course she wasn’t looking at his lips. Idiot.

  She offered a helpless shrug and pushed a cloth toward him. “I…um…don’t think we know each other well enough for me to intervene.”

  “I have no idea what I would have done if you’d tried.” His lips perched into another grin as he took her offering.

  “Right? I’m Julia Jenkins, by the way.” She offered her hand but pulled it back when her purple-streaked fingers extended his way. Her nose scrunched in an apparent apology, and she quickly rubbed her fingers over her apron, highlighting the swell of her abdomen. “Eisley’s sister.”

  What had Wes told him about this Jenkins sister? Was she married? He couldn’t remember, but she was clearly expecting a child soon, so there had to be some significant other involved. The youngest? No, that didn’t seem accurate.

  “Henry Wright.” He took her hand. “Wes’s friend.”

  She slipped her fingers free after a light squeeze. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m your landlady for the next two months. I can assure you, though, that cupcake explosions on guests are a rare occurrence. In fact, this is my first one.” She gestured toward him. “So I wouldn’t worry about dodging the bakery on your way up to your rooms—”

  “There you are.” Wes Harrison stepped through the door of the kitchen, followed by his girlfriend, Eisley Barrett, Julia’s sister. “Oh dear.”

  Eisley’s vibrant ginger hair always snagged Henry’s attention. Of course, vibrant appeared to describe her entire personality from the first moment Wes had shown him a photo of his quite unexpected American sweetheart. Henry almost grinned. She and Wes suited one another but, in all honesty, Eisley’s propensity for chatter and insistence on constant conversation terrified Henry to his core.

  “Gracious sakes, Henry, what did Julia do to you? Slap you with icing?”

  “Eisley!” Julia shot Henry another apologetic smile. “There was an accident at the door, and poor Henry became the victim of a cupcake disaster, but I think he’s okay.”

  “Well, what can I say!” Eisley’s laugh rushed forward. “We know how to make a memory.” She linked her arm through Wes’s. “Right, handsome?”

  His best mate wore a look of utter adoration as he stared down at his ginger-headed girlfriend. “Undeniably, squishing grandpas and all.”

  Henry’s smile eased. Who would have ever believed a movie actor and an Appalachian single mum would end up as a couple? Certainly not Henry, but his perception—based on his rather convoluted romantic history—left much to be desired.

&n
bsp; “Okay, okay.” Julia raised her palms to the group. “Let’s get Henry to his room so he can clean up before the icing hardens in his hair.” She stepped around him and a faint sweet scent—wisteria, perhaps? —followed her. The gentlest refrains of Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy tingled to life in his head. Yes, the golden-haired hostess reminded him of Christmas and sweet scents and a celesta welcoming a flurry of fairies.

  He blinked away the distraction and shifted his attention back to his purple-tinted hands. What would her husband think of his wayward thoughts? Henry had learned his lesson about involvement with women who belonged to other men. He’d been too easily entangled—his heart a simple target, his will too frequently bombarded or manipulated. He was not bound to play the fool again.

  “It’s a good thing Dad just helped us bring in part of Wes and Henry’s luggage.” Eisley glanced back at him as they walked away from the kitchen, down a private hallway which seemed to parallel the dining area of the bakery. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to come to the party dressed like that.”

  Party? Henry raised his brow to Wes for clarification.

  “Dinner,” Wes whispered as they stopped at the bottom of a narrow stairway. “Actually, it’s a cookout, according to Nate. You remember, Eisley and Julia’s father, the one I warned…told you about.” Wes’s grin tipped but Henry couldn’t quite work up a smile.

  Henry had done a few online searches to prepare himself for the cultural differences between Appalachia and England, but Wes’ descriptions of the Jenkins’ patriarch left him unsteady. The people, the culture—all of those brought the usual anxiety of the unexpected—well, except when it came to their music. Music he understood…breathed. People? Well, they’d never been his forte. His breaths scattered arrhythmically. He took a mental trip into a concert hall, performin Blue Danube to bypass his inner panic.