"Then why-"

"Because, Leilani." He walked fully into her kitchen, meaning to stop a few feet from her, simply wanting her to understand how earnest he was, how sincere. Somehow, though, he ended up not stopping until he was right inside her most personal space. It was a place they'd been many times with each other, elbow to elbow. But never face to face. And never for personal reasons.

"Because?" she repeated, her tone not nearly so strident.

And her jaw, when he placed his finger beneath it, wasn't nearly so tightly clenched. In fact, he was certain he felt a slight quiver. Or was that him?

Her skin was remarkably soft ... how had he refrained from touching it for so long? Up close he could see the light scatter of freckles against her newly golden cheeks, and found himself surprisingly enchanted by them. He wanted to lean in, breathe in her scent, taste her, touch ... fully engage every one of his senses. Wallow, revel, drown. "It's quite simple, actually, my irrationally irritated former compatriot." He was forced to employ a rather remarkable level of restraint just to speak at all and not simply take what was, finally, right in his hands. He drew a thumb lightly across those cheeky freckles and smiled into the dearly missed, familiar blue of her eyes. "I'm here because I'm not doing fine without you."

He'd sworn he would take it slowly, so she would understand what he was thinking, feeling ... and hopefully find something of the same inside herself. It was critical, crucial, that he give her the time and space to be certain of him, of herself. That plan swiftly deserted him. He did manage to lower his mouth slowly ... but even that was a close call.

She didn't stop him. Nor, he realized, when he finally touched his lips to hers ... did she respond to him. At all.

He lifted his head.

Her gaze was fixed on his. Her mouth, still tightly shut.

Bloody hell.

What a blooming idiot he was, risking what might have been his one best chance. What he regretted even more was that the seconds were stretching out like their own little individual chasms of time ... and every one of them was awkward. They'd never once been awkward with one another.

"I don't know what this new game is," she said finally, her words slow and as precisely measured as a knife across starch. "But please, don't ... ever ... do that again."

"Leilani-"

"I have work to do."

He spent another second or two weighing the relative merits of trying to stand his ground and make her understand everything that was going through his mind, but one look in her eyes had him deciding retreat might be the better part of valor. For today.

Her continued anger he could have accepted, even if he didn't understand it, which he didn't. Hell, even indignant fury, though he'd never had it from her, he could have handled, certain he'd get to the root of it eventually. But the look in her lovely blue eyes wasn't either of those things. She looked bewildered. And rather ... lost.

He understood both feelings. Intimately. Specifically as they pertained to her.

But they were emotions he'd never thought to see on her sweet, enchanting face. Made worse, by the fact that he'd been the cause of them.

"All right," he said, and stepped back. It was then he noticed she had a white knuckled grip on the worktable behind her. And he felt like even more of a sodding bastard. What the hell had gotten into him?

But even more worrisome to him was ... what the hell had happened to her? She was the good one, the sweet one, yes? There was a certain kind of tempered steel inside her that he'd recognized from the start. She wouldn't have lasted a minute in his professional world if she didn't have backbone. He'd never witnessed her in any compromising personal situation, or even heard of her being in one. If there had ever been a man-or men-in her life during the time they'd spent working together, she had been very discreet about it. Had she ever been subjected to unwanted personal advances, he wouldn't have anticipated this as being her response. More likely she'd have fended the perpetrator off with a rolling pin thrust to his chest, like a lance.

The very idea of that happening to her was enough to snap him out of his uncustomary daze. The only one to be mad at was himself. The only one to put her in a compromising personal situation ... had been him. Goddammit.

He made his way back to the rear delivery door, knowing he should just keep walking straight through and out. Removing himself was the very least he could do for her at that moment. But no. He turned back, stupidly thinking he could still, somehow, fix the damage.

She hadn't moved so much as a hair.

"I'll apologize," he said, "for the poor timing. And the sorry lack of forethought in not making my interest known. But no' for kissin' you, Leilani. Or, more t' the point, for wantin' to." He stopped, hearing the accent of his childhood creeping back into his words.

He smiled broadly then, to cover how much that little backslide had shaken him, knowing full well he was relying on his infamous rapscallion grin that had, from a very young age, gotten him out of countless scrapes and sticky situations. For a very long time, it had been the only thing he'd had going for him. Leilani would not likely be swayed ... but it was a defense mechanism he couldn't override at the moment. "It wasn't exactly how I'd imagined it, but I promise you, I'm nothing if not diligent when trying to perfect something new."

She said nothing to that.

Keeping the smile in place suddenly took quite a bit of work, so he turned and opened the door.

"You imagined kissing me?"

He jerked his gaze back to hers, his grin broadening further, without the least bit of calculation this time. "It's been the centerpiece of some of my very best daydreams." He wisely left unspoken the far more vivid ones he'd had at night.

She opened her mouth, then apparently thought better of responding, and shut it again. Her free hand still tightly gripped the table behind her. But, from where he was standing, he didn't think she looked quite so lost or bewildered any longer.

It was a start.

Chapter 3.

Lani watched Baxter close the door behind him. Then stood exactly where she was for several more full minutes.

So. Apparently she'd embraced her inner Smackdown Barbie a bit more fiercely than she'd realized. "Welcome to Cupcake Club, indeed," she murmured, then slumped back against the worktable.

Holy crap.

But even as she went over the entire interaction, moment by moment, it still seemed more surreal hallucination than actual occurrence.

Had she really chewed out Baxter Dunne?

The man responsible for her being the pastry chef who had been nominated for the James Beard? The man who had given her the foundation of knowledge and confidence to go anywhere in her field?

And ... had that same man, the man she'd fantasized about having wild, crazed, right-on-the-worktable, sugar-fueled sex with for more than four years, actually just walked right up and kissed her? Her?

Really?

"Why?" she whispered, plagued with even more questions than she'd had before he'd strolled back into her life.

Another thought snuck in, and made her stomach clutch all over again. She and Charlotte had been speculating that he'd come to Sugarberry to do something to help her. But it seemed clear to Lani that perhaps he'd come there to help himself ... and needed her to complete the task.

I'm not doing fine without you.

His words echoed through her mind. That, along with the kiss, would lead any normal, sane woman to think that he wanted her. Personally. Romantically. Sexually.

But she was far from normal at that moment, much less feeling remotely sane. She'd been quite uncharacteristically mad at him. In fact, during their entire time working together, she'd never been angry at him, not once. To his face. So ... upon seeing her irritation, had he just taken things up a notch, hoping to nudge her back into being sweet and helpful and compliant, the way she'd always been with him? Would he-could he-really be so manipulative?

Charlotte and Franco had agreed with her that he wasn't like that. He usually just charmed what he wanted out of people. Which, she supposed, was a form of manipulation, though it came so naturally to him, she'd thought it pretty harmless. Other than what it did to her libido, anyway.

Was it possible he'd known all along about her feelings for him, and was just now opting to use them to his advantage? What situation could he possibly be in that would cause him to make that kind of choice? It seemed to her it would have to be pretty dire and desperate, and his current successes didn't seem to point to that. But what did she really know?

The beginnings of a headache started to throb in her temples.

Fall festival started tomorrow. It was her first and best opportunity since opening her shop to really establish Cakes By The Cup and herself in the community. It was an important event to everyone who lived on the island, and everyone was part of it in some way. She'd spent a lot of time, and not a little of her budget, thinking about the best way to make a splash during the festivities, hoping to boost her professional standing in the business part of the community, and establish an even stronger personal identity with the townsfolk, who were her new neighbors and, hopefully, soon-to-be-friends.

She'd been excited about the possibilities, nervous, too, but in a good way. The Kiwanis connection had really helped to solidify her plan.

"And he chooses now to come back into my life? Now?" She looked upward, talking to her mom or a higher power, or both, she wasn't quite sure. "Really?"

And kiss me?

She sank her weight further onto the edge of the worktable as she lifted her raspberry truffle-covered fingers to her lips. "He did. He really kissed me."

"You back there, babycakes? I saw the light on, used my key."

Lani startled guiltily-which was ridiculous. She hadn't done anything to feel guilty about. She had bells on the front door, but hadn't heard them. Something else she happily blamed on Baxter. "Hey, Dad," she called out, snapping immediately back into work mode, moving swiftly to clean up the mess on the floor, tossing the ruined cupcakes into the trash can behind her, washing her hands. "Come on back." He'd do it anyway, but always called out first to let her know he was there, even if she was open for regular business. It was the cop in him.

She smiled. That was another thing about her life that had changed. These days she found herself perfectly happy to be overprotected. Happy to hear that gravelly, grumbly voice, knowing how close she'd come to never hearing it again.

Using a wet wipe, she cleaned up the filling that had oozed out of the cakes onto the floor, then tossed that in the trash, too, straightening just in time to spy the newspaper she'd slapped on the empty worktable early this morning. She slid that into the trash can on top of everything else. If only she could rid herself as easily of the problem that had landed in her kitchen this morning along with it.

Sheriff Leyland Trusdale ambled into the kitchen as she finished washing her hands a second time, and took a seat, as he always did, at the end of the table closest to the door. He could see the swinging door connected to the shop front, the delivery door at the back, the window at the far end next to the door to her office, and her, all without having to shift so much as an inch in any direction. It also put him right at the table where she was working.

Still feeling more than a little discombobulated, Lani grabbed the volcano cupcake she'd last filled and started cleaning up the truffle explosion.

Her father nodded toward the messy cupcake. "Here, let me make that go away."

"The doctor said-"

"I'm not going to have another coronary because I eat a damn chocolate cupcake."

"If it was just one damn chocolate cupcake, I wouldn't say anything. Besides, these are for an order. I'm a sponsor for the Kiwanis Club. These are for the auction tonight."

"You made extra, right?"

"Of course, but that doesn't mean-" She sighed as he reached over and plucked it out of her hand. She didn't attempt to snatch it back, nor did she bother continuing with the lecture. This time. She'd learned to pick her battles. Privately, she was beyond relieved that her father had implemented as many of Dr. Anderson's orders as he had. That he'd even allowed a woman doctor to tell him anything had been a miracle in and of itself.

Not that Lani had said as much. But someone had to stay after him, make sure he didn't revert back to a diet filled with fried foods and extra salted everything. She was the only family left to do it. She was the only family left, period.

She picked up the pastry bag and decided it was best to pretend nothing had happened, just go back to work, fill the cupcakes, and everything would work itself out. Salvation cakes, indeed. "Things going okay with the council regarding the festivities ?" she asked, making small talk. Making anything-but-think-about-Baxter talk. "Arnold isn't still giving you grief over having to file for the right permits, is he? Even the mayor-especially the mayor-has to follow the law."

"Arnold Granby is an old gasbag who likes the sound of his own voice. I let him rant a little and fed his already overfed ego. Barbara will eventually have had enough of listening to him and get the damn permits done anyway. The fine citizens of Sugarberry will get their fall festival, complete with tents, tables, chairs, and Porta-johns."

Barbara was Mayor Granby's executive assistant, secretary, all around problem solver, and people handler. Mostly, she handled Arnold. She also happened to be his wife, so she had unique leverage in that department. She needed it. If it wasn't for Barbara actually keeping the office running, the fine citizens of Sugarberry would have pushed Arnold out of office ages ago.

Her father polished off the cupcake in three bites, then leaned over to drop the paper cup in the trash before Lani could block the move.

He paused, glanced in the trash, then back to her. Why she'd ever thought she could get anything past one of the best detectives the nation's capital had ever seen, she had no idea. Retiring to become sheriff of a sleepy little southern island, where the biggest crime wave was perpetrated by whatever critter had gotten into Conway Hooper's "Utopian peace garden" that week, hadn't dulled his instincts in the least.

Leyland fingered the cupcake liner, cleared his throat, but didn't say anything. He finally crumpled it, and tossed it in the can. Right on top of Baxter's handsome, smiling face. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not especially." Lani's mother had been the go-to parent for all things emotional and personal. Lani knew her father loved her with all his heart, but he had his own way of showing it. If she wanted to know what kind of tires to get for her car, or debate whether the Redskins had a chance at the playoffs, he was right there. Beyond that, his advice leaned more toward how a woman was supposed to protect her body. Lani was loaded with enough mace and pepper spray to bring down an angry mob, and was probably the only person ever to get a taser in her Christmas stocking. However, when it came to helping her protect her heart, he was completely out to sea, hopelessly rudderless.

She had no idea what her mother had shared with him during the time Lani had worked for Baxter. She did know her father was aware that his daughter's former boss and mentor hadn't made her life easy, and, in many cases, very hard. Professionally, anyway. But that had been Baxter's job.

Looking at her father now, and the awkward, uncomfortable way he was shifting on his stool, Lani suspected her mother had shared a lot more with him than her daughter's professional frustrations.

In earlier years, he never would have offered to talk. Even since her mother had passed away, he hadn't stepped in to try to fill that particular void. Nor had Lani asked him to. But, with his heart attack just after the first of the year, and her permanent move to Sugarberry at the end of March, the dynamic between them had shifted. Not in a bad way, exactly, but their roles weren't the same anymore. And neither of them quite knew what to do about it.

She suspected it made him miss her mom even more. Lani certainly did. Marilee Harper Wyndall Trusdale would have known exactly what to do, what to say.

At the moment, however, it was her father's awkward attempt at fulfilling that role that had her eyes suddenly welling up, making her want one of his rare, big bear hugs. Because she knew he definitely wouldn't know what to do if she hugged him, she ducked her head and tried to frown the tears back as she shot rapid fire wads of raspberry into the last of the unsuspecting little cakes. "I still need to get the frosting piped on these, then get them packed in their delivery boxes. Walter is coming by to get them later today."

Normally, excusing her father from any mom-style parental duties was a relief to them both. She'd expected him to gratefully take the cue, make his excuses, and leave. Surprisingly, he lingered.

She didn't look up. But she was rapidly running out of cupcakes.

He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to ... do something? Stop him from coming on the island?"

Lani spurted out a shocked laugh, then blinked away the tears, and looked at her father with a smile. "I appreciate the offer, Dad. But what, are you and Arnold going to pass some quickie ordinance that prohibits the country's most famous pastry chef from airing his immensely popular cooking show from anywhere on Sugarberry Island? Those same fine citizens might lynch you both. They all love Baxter." She swallowed a sigh. "Everybody loves Baxter."

She saw the corner of her father's mouth pull up a little-his version of a smile-and, worse, that spark of determination enter his clear blue eyes. She groaned silently. She should never give him ideas like that. She, of all people, knew better. "I wasn't being serious. You can't-"

"They all think we're backward hicks down here in Georgia anyway, with all kinds of bizarre laws and such. And if Arnold wants me to look the other way on those safety permits-"

"Dad," she said, in the long-suffering tone that only a long-suffering daughter could manage. "First of all, you were born and raised in D.C. and couldn't pass as a local if you wanted to, much less a good ol' boy. And secondly, you'd no more compromise the safety of anyone here on the island just to prevent me from having to deal with-"

"The man who made your life miserable? You bet your sweet ass I'd do that and more."

"No." She was stunned by his papa bear attitude. What had gotten into him? "You won't. It's because of Baxter that I'm the chef I am, that I had the career I did, one that allowed me to indulge myself in this." She gestured to the well-stocked kitchen surrounding them. She looked at him and decided to just put it out in the open. With Baxter on the island already, it was likely to come out anyway. Especially if that kiss actually meant anything. Which-She rapidly shut down that thought track. "It's true"-she took a steadying breath-"my feelings for him didn't help me any, and maybe he should have been more aware of the difficulties I had to deal with because of how differently he treated me, but I handled it, Dad. I handled myself. I handled the people who doubted me. And I handled Baxter." Right here in this kitchen, she added silently. "I can certainly do it again." She prayed like hell she was right. She wasn't sure how many Commando Baker Barbie performances she had in her.

"You shouldn't have to." Her father sounded a lot more like the grumbling, hardnosed cop he usually was. "Sure, he taught you what he knew, but then he dumped all the responsibility on you and took off for fame and fortune. You stayed behind, in a hostile work environment, and ran that place and made it sparkle. Then, when it was your turn, you left to start your own place. I'd say, at the very least, that makes the two of you even."

"I agree, Dad, which is why I'll handle ... whatever it is he's coming here to do." In the odd mood her dad was in, it was definitely not the time to reveal she'd already seen Baxter. And definitely not the time to tell him about the kiss. Not that she ever planned to tell him about that part.

"Do you know why he's here?" her dad asked. "Have you spoken with him?"

"No, I don't know," she said, quite honestly, opting to dance around the other question. "I talked to Char and Franco this morning already, and though there's a chance Baxter will mention it during a series of talk show spots this coming week to promote the current season, no word has leaked out in New York, or from Baxter's production company or television network as yet. All I know is what was in our paper this morning-that he's coming here to use Sugarberry as a remote location to shoot a week's worth of episodes for his show." She lifted a shoulder. "Maybe that's all it is. Part of some sweeps or ratings stunt." She wished she believed that.

Her father's expression said he thought there was as much a chance of that being the case as she did.

Before he saw something in her face that gave anything else away, she stepped around the end of the table. "I don't want you to do anything to complicate matters further." She kissed him on the forehead, surprising them both into silence. "But I really appreciate that you want to." Tears threatened suddenly again, and she knew she had to end this little chat before it became even more awkward. "I'll deal with Baxter Dunne."

"I've no doubt that you will. You're a sweetheart, and everybody loves you for it, but I know your mom and I didn't raise you to be a pushover." He scooted the stool back and stood. "It's just ... you shouldn't have to deal with him again, Lei-lei. Not if you don't want to. That's all I'm saying. You shouldn't have to."

He didn't call her that very often. She'd been named for him, after a fashion, anyway. He'd wanted a son, a namesake, but her mother had had such a difficult delivery, they both knew their daughter would be their only child. Her mom had honored him the best way she knew how. He'd shortened her name, calling her Lei-lei when she was little. But the more traditional Lani was the nickname for Leilani that eventually stuck. So, being stubborn, as he certainly could be, he'd called her by her full name. It was a rare occasion when his old pet name for her popped out.

It had been awhile. Since her mother's funeral, in fact. It took her a second to regroup, and speak past the lump in her throat. "I've dealt with worse, Dad." She immediately wished she'd thought that comment through a little better. She hadn't intended to invoke the memory of her mother's death, which had been by far the most difficult thing either one of them had ever dealt with, far worse than any nightmare work scenario Baxter could have inadvertently gotten her into. Her dad spoke of her mother often, in that way some people did, as if she was still there. It was just ... easier. Talking about her death, the impact of it, the gaping hole it had left in their lives, was still a hard thing for him. A very hard thing.

She winced when she saw him duck his gaze, then realized there was one other thing that could hurt him. She laid a hand on his arm, a gesture that would ordinarily be a little too touchy-feely for him, but, at the moment, felt natural. "I might have come down to Georgia for you," she told him steadily, having long since figured out being direct with her father was the only way to really get through to him. "But I stayed here for me."