Make You Mine by Macy Beckett Read Free Book Online Page B

back. She’d removed her apron, but a dusting of flour on her polo shirt outlined its former shape. The effect drew his gaze to the clean red fabric stretched taut across her full breasts.
    Mercy.
    Even after twelve hours on her feet in those ugly white kitchen clogs, she looked so damned sexy Marc had to check the urge to adjust himself.
    She placed the bakery box on the table and lifted the lid, revealing a miniature two-layer wedding cake iced in white buttercream. Dark pink piping encircled an elegant monogram of the couple’s initials, just elaborate enough to commemorate the occasion without going overboard. The scent wafted up from the table and filled Marc’s nose, and he pulled in a deep breath—sweet and sinful, much like the woman standing by his side.
    “A little bird told me about the problem with the honeymoon suite,” Allie said to the Gibsons. She leaned in and lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “So I made this for you. It’s my secret recipe butter cake with chocolate ganache filling.” She added with a wink, “Don’t tell the other newlyweds, because they’re not getting one.”
    Mrs. Gibson’s mouth had dropped open before she’d even glimpsed the cake. “Miss Mauvais?” she asked in plain disbelief.
    Allie’s back stiffened and she blinked at the other woman as if trying to place her. “Uh, yes. Have we met?”
    “You don’t remember me.” Despite that, the bride’s lips parted in a wide smile. “When I came to see you last year, you changed my life. You told me I had to believe to—”
    “Receive,” Allie finished with a smile of her own. “Sure, now I remember.” She swirled a hand toward her own face. “But I didn’t recognize you with all this.”
    “Oh.” Cheeks flushing, Mrs. Gibson touched one of her nose studs. “Well, you said to be myself, so as soon as I left your shop, I went for my first piercing.” She squeezed her husband’s hand. “That’s where I met Ryan.”
    Still grinning, Allie shook her head in awe. “Then it was meant to be, honey. My mama, God rest her, used to say there are no accidents. Same goes for your suite. We might not understand it now, but there’s a reason you ended up where you did.”
    “If nothing else,” the bride said, standing to embrace Allie, “at least I get to say
thank you
in person. That alone is worth it.”
    When Allie returned the hug, tears welled in her mismatched eyes, clinging to her thick black lashes without spilling over. The sight brought a sudden heaviness to Marc’s ribs.
    He’d never seen Allie cry, not even in the sixth grade when a substitute teacher had flung holy water on her. With her gaze glistening and flour tangled in her curls, she seemed so gentle and kindhearted—words no one would use to describe a Mauvais woman. But the evidence was right in front of him. Allie had baked this cake without being asked—
after
she’d run herself ragged all day in Regale’s kitchen.
    Marc caught himself grinning at her, and he remembered his place, snapping into action.
    He called for a server to assist the Gibsons in cutting their cake and summoned a photographer to capture a shot of the couple feeding each other the first bite. After a nonalcoholic toast to the newlyweds’ future, Marc left them to enjoy their meal. He peered around the dining hall for Allie, but couldn’t spot her.
    Where had she run off to?
    •   •   •
    Allie gripped the cool metal railing, closing her eyes to savor the night air rolling off the river. She let the wind’s gentle fingers lift the heavy curls from the back of her neck while she trapped a lungful of fresh oxygen and blew it out, nice and slow, imagining all her frustrations leaving her body with that breath. Then she repeated the process, because one breath wouldn’t do.
    Merde,
what a day.
    She’d dreamt of sharing a kitchen with Phil Regale since she’d watched him flambé a flawless Steak Diane on the Food Network a few years ago. Like all