Do You Take This Baby?. Wendy Warren

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      “I was kidding about the veggie burger. I only like them if they have meat and cheese.” He went straight to the refrigerator and peered in. “That’s a lot of cheesecake.” He began to stack the boxes in his arms.

      “I’ll do it,” she protested.

      Paying no attention, he deposited the cakes on the center island and opened the white cardboard. “Rocky road,” he murmured. Knowing exactly where to look in her mother’s cabinets, he retrieved a plate and fork.

      “Stop!” she ordered as he began to work a knife into the dessert. “I told you, those aren’t supposed to be sliced until they’ve sat at room temperature for twenty minutes.”

      “A rule clearly intended to be broken. Like so many other rules,” he purred, sliding a slice of the mile-high cheesecake onto the plate.

      “I thought you were treating your body like a temple.”

      “I am. I’m bringing it an offering.” Ethan seemed to let the bite melt in his mouth. His eyes half closed. “Mmm-mmm.”

      Gemma’s knees went weak. How did he do that? How did he make eating look sexy? If she floated the fork through the air the way he was doing, she’d probably drop a chunk on her bosom. No wonder he’d garnered as much celebrity for his sex appeal as he had for playing football. Suddenly, Gemma felt very, very hungry, but not for cheesecake.

      Fiddlesticks. Ethan Ladd short-circuited her brain and hampered her logic. It had been different when she had a fiancé. William was intelligent, educated, taught at the same college as her and was pretty much perfect for her. They’d met in the library, for crying out loud. Engaged to William Munson, Gemma had no longer thought about men who were wrong for her. She’d stopped reacting when Ethan’s name came up or when she heard he was in town, working on the McMansion he’d built on four acres that backed up to Long River. She had become neutral.

      She needed another fiancé, stat.

      “Gemma? Hey, Gemma!”

      Ethan’s voice made her jump. “What?”

      “I said, are you sure you won’t join me?” He held his fork out to her, his eyes half closed in a way that made him look as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Or was still in it.

      Oh, yes, I’ll join you... “No! Absolutely not.” She marched around the counter and closed the box. Reaching into the cabinet beneath the center island, she withdrew a large silver tray she had polished earlier in the week.

      In a moment, today’s guests would emerge from the family room, laughing and ribbing her about her appearance on TV. Elyse would be grinning on the outside, but Gemma knew her perfection-seeking sister was crying on the inside, because Gemma had marred her big moment. So she would try to make amends—again—by earning a spot in the bridesmaids hall of fame.

      A few months ago, she’d ordered a book about fruit and vegetable carving online and had dedicated more hours to perfecting watermelon roses than she had spent on her master’s thesis.

      “I need to prepare the dessert tray,” she told Ethan, waving him toward the other part of the house. “You have a legion of fans out there. Why don’t you bask in the glory of being Thunder Ridge’s favorite son?”

      “Well, now, that’s exactly why I don’t want to be in the other room. All that attention tends to make my head swell, and I’m working on humility.”

      He gave her such a deliberately innocent expression that Gemma felt a genuine smile tickle her lips. The man was wearing a Bulgari wristwatch and designer jeans. And the home he’d built? It was so massive and completely out of proportion with any other home in the area, it shouted, “Hey, everyone, a really, really rich dude lives here.”

      Seeing her smile, Ethan leaned against the kitchen counter and tilted his head. “How about I help you with the dessert? I promise not to eat any more cheesecake. Scout’s honor.”

      A wave of déjà vu hit her: once before, he’d offered to spend time with her, to take her to senior homecoming dance, in fact. And that had been a disaster.

      Before she could courteously decline his offer, Ethan’s cell phone rang. He used Kenny Chesney’s “The Boys of Fall” as his ringtone.

      “Thought I silenced that.” He grimaced. “’Scuse me.” Into the phone, he said, “Ethan here.”

      While he listened to the caller, Gemma tortured herself with memories: the thrill of believing that Ethan wanted to take her to homecoming. Yes, he’d been two years younger, but there hadn’t been a senior girl at Thunder Ridge High who wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to date him. And Gemma, she had...well, she’d...

      Oh, go on, admit it. We’re all adults here.

      With Ethan turned half away from her, she looked at the massive squared shoulders and sighed. Every time he’d come to her house with Scott, she’d fantasized he was there to see her. That the two of them were going to hang out, study together, talk about music and books and movies and sports teams. Not that she was into sports, but with her photographic memory it hadn’t taken all that long to memorize the stats for every player in the NFL, so that if he decided he wanted to get to know her one day, she would be ready with the kind of conversation he was likely to enjoy.

      “What the hell are you talking about?” Ethan’s tone was sharp and concerned, jerking Gemma back to the moment at hand.

      Oookay. She moved about self-consciously, withdrawing a tray of edible flowers with which to decorate the dessert while she pretended not to eavesdrop. Which, of course, she was.

      “No, I was not aware. Where is she?” Ethan spoke with his jaw so tight, the words had trouble emerging. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll get ahold of her myself...I see. Yes, do that. I’ll be available by phone.”

      There was silence. The heaviest silence Gemma had ever heard. She worked at her corner of the center island, her face turned away from Ethan, wondering if she should speak. She had no idea what the phone call was about, but his distress was obvious, and she felt a strong desire to say something comforting.

      When the silence had lasted long enough, Gemma finally turned to catch Ethan staring at the floor.

      Suddenly he didn’t look like Ethan, King of Thunder Ridge High, or Ethan the Football Star, or Ethan the Sex Symbol, or Ethan the Boy Who Made Gemma Gould Feel Like an Ugly Duckling Loser in High School. He was, perhaps for the first time in her eyes, just a regular human being. And he looked really, really alone.

      “Are you all right?” she ventured. “If you need to talk—”

      Her voice seemed to bust him out of his spell. “I have to go.” He didn’t look at her directly. “Tell Elyse and Scott I’ll call them.”

      He seemed to hesitate a moment longer, or maybe that was her imagination, then exited through the kitchen door. And that was that.

      Returning to her edible flowers, Gemma told herself not to feel compassion for the big boob. He’d just rejected her friendly—no, not friendly, simply humane—overture, and, let’s face it, rejection pretty much summed up her relationship with Ethan Ladd through the years.

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