Tempt Our Fate (Sutten Mountain, #2)

by Kat Singleton

The most annoying thing about men is they always assume that you actually give a damn what they’re talking about.

“It’s just, I think you should really consider sourcing your coffee beans from somewhere else,” he continues, pushing me past my breaking point. I give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I don’t remember asking for your advice. Remind me what you’d like to order again?” His mouth falls open in shock. “I know this amazing coffee shop in New York that—” I clap my hands together. “Great, you can get your coffee from there, then!” I look around him, motioning for the next person in line. “Next,” I state, trying to get rid of the guy standing in front of me. The dude in a suit narrows his bushy eyebrows. “Excuse me,” he argues, turning around to the customer behind him. “I’m not done ordering yet.”

I roll my eyes. We’re packed, and I’m down an employee today due to a stomach bug. The last thing I need is for some tourist to lecture me on where I get my beans from. I’m proud of the relationship I’ve built with my supplier. I’m not in the least bit interested in getting a new one. My coffee shop and bakery are my pride and joy. Emphasis on my. Wake and Bake is my baby. I’ve poured my heart and soul into this business, and I have no desire to let some stranger tell me how to run it.

“Someone told me that there’s a large group of people in town looking at the Richardsons’ gallery next door.” My heart sinks. “Looking at it?” Lexi shrugs. “Since Barb passed, the space has been left vacant. With no one to run it, and apparently no one local renting it, I think it went to auction. At least that’s what my dad said.”

Yes, sir. You could help me by telling me why the hell the owners will sell to you and not me.

“I was excited to hear we might have new neighbors.” I wasn’t in the slightest, but they don’t need to know that. “I wasn’t aware this space was for sale.” One of them nods, opening his mouth to talk despite his mouthful of food. “Sure was. The deal went through last week.” Shit. Those out-of-state assholes really did sell the space to someone else, despite my inquiries. “Interesting,” I squeak, plastering a fake smile on my face when one of them narrows their eyes on me. “So happy to have you here,” I add for pleasantries.

“Yeah, here to tell Mr. Hunter that there’s no way this is going to work. People here don’t have good taste.” His eyes bulge, like he halfway feels sorry for the insult he just threw out. “No offense,” he adds. “None taken,” I snap, quickly shutting the box. “Because your opinion is wrong.” The air gets thick with tension—and not the good kind. The asshat from outside clears his throat uncomfortably. “It’s not that. I just meant—” “Oh, I know what you meant.” I begin to back up. There’s no use for me to stay here and listen to these guys from the city who don’t know a thing about this town and the people in it. “It’s just that you’re very, very wrong, but that’s okay. We can’t always be right, can we?” His mouth flops open. He looks like the fish in the big tanks at an aquarium I once visited as a kid. His mouth opens and closes as if he’s blowing bubbles into the water. “Maybe this town isn’t for you,” I say, backing up toward the door—taking my pastries with me because they do not deserve even the smallest bites of my creations. “In fact, maybe this town isn’t for you and whomever this Mr. Hunter is. Maybe you could pass that info to—”

“Pass what info to me, shortcake?”

“One of your lovely friends was just saying how they thought people in Sutten didn’t have taste. As someone who grew up here and knew the Richardsons and the art they featured very well, I firmly disagree.” “If I thought people didn’t have taste in Sutten, I wouldn’t be dumping money into opening a gallery at this location.” It’s a half-truth. When I first visited for Beck’s wedding, I hated the town, but I couldn’t deny the bustling tourism that I noticed. It didn’t take long for me to learn that people with money preferred to vacation in a town like this. It’s quieter than other ski destinations in Colorado, and the real estate is a gold mine for what you can get for your money. So I saw a new niche I could tap into by purchasing a gallery here. Unlike my gallery in New York, which relies heavily on exhibits of one artist’s work, I want this one to showcase the best work from the most talented artists I know.

“I only meant it as—” “You were very clear with what you meant. There’s not much to misinterpret when you say an entire town doesn’t have taste. Ever heard of a generalization?” she fires at him. Damn, she’s mouthy.

“The girl there hates me,” I admit. “She hates everything that has to do with this gallery. I think she was friends with the previous owners. She doesn’t seem like the type that likes the fact that we made the small little gallery more…” “City?” Trisha finishes. I nod. “Yeah. That.” “Then go to her and tell her that even though this isn’t the gallery they’re used to that you appreciate small businesses and would love to show off her delicious food at the opening.”

“Oh, I’m not sorry for him. I’m just sorry you’ll have to deal with him.” “He’s really not so bad.” I laugh. “Yeah. He’s worse.” “What if he came and asked you personally?” “He wouldn’t be caught in hell coming to ask me for help,” I point out. I hardly know the man, but I’ve gathered that much from him. He seems like the kind of person that doesn’t ask for help, let alone ask for it from someone he said he never wanted to see again. “But if he did? If he came over here and begged for your help, would you help us then?” I smirk, trying to get the mental picture of him in my head. It would be pretty nice to hear him beg and grovel. Maybe I could find a way to make it work if he just got down on his knees… “Sure,” I say, mostly as a joke. There’s no way he’d come over here and beg. He’s too good for it, but it gives me an excuse to not feel like I’m being rude to this nice woman. She reminds me of my mom in a way. There’s a quiet kind of confidence to her. One that doesn’t accept bullshit but is still one of the nicest people you know. Trisha holds up one finger in the air as she begins to back up. “Don’t move.” “Not going to hold my breath,” I call after her. There’s no way he’s coming through the door, but I don’t burst her bubble. “He might just surprise you.”

“Technically, the artists are arriving within the hour. Guests will be here in a few.” “And what happened to your fancy caterers? Clearly, I wasn’t your first choice.” He laughs. It seems a little less cold than the times I’ve heard him laugh before. “No, you weren’t, shortcake. Yet here we are.” My eyebrows raise as I grab the edges of the counter. “I’m waiting.” “Waiting for what?” “For you to tell me that maybe fancy, uppity choices aren’t always the best option.” “Not going to happen.” I shrug, going back to my earlier task before he scared the shit out of me. “Then it seems like you don’t need help that bad.” “I’m not going to stoop that low and tell you that until I at least know you have the time to create something suitable for the night.” “It isn’t stooping low when it’s the truth.” “Just because one business from New York has shitty business principles doesn’t mean that everything here in this dingy town is better than Manhattan.” “Call Sutten dingy again and you’ll get a knee to your manhood.”

It’s probably because that smile can’t be good for me. But I’m a desperate man. If she tells me no, I’m going to have to serve Lay’s chips with sour cream dip because I have no other option. Or fucking hot wings from the dirty bar down the street. I refuse to resort to either of those options. Which means all my eggs are in one basket—Pippa’s basket. The woman who hates me—for good reason. The woman who irritates the hell out of me, but somehow, the one person I need right now. The only one who can get me out of my current dilemma. It’s ironic. She’s the last person I want to have to be around in this town, and yet, she’s the only one who can help me.

“Care to tell me what’s so funny?” Her cheeks are flushed a perfect pink from her laughter. Even her nose gets pink. I avert my eyes, finding myself paying too close attention to the perfect shade spreading over her skin. “I’m sorry,” she wheezes, pressing her hand to her chest. She takes a shaky breath, trying to gain her composure. “It’s just hilarious you think I want your damn money.” My eyes narrow. “Everyone has a price. What’s funny is that you don’t know that.” She puffs out her cheeks as she lets air out from the small opening of her pursed lips. “Not me.” “Respectfully, I don’t believe you.” “Because you’re a rich, entitled asshole,” she answers, a little too chipper. “Disrespectfully.”

“Showing me your money isn’t going to change my mind. But there is one thing you can do to get me to agree to whip up some food for you tonight.” A glimmer of hope sparks deep in my chest. “What is it?” “Give me a day.” “I don’t have a day. I need food right now.” “No, you give me a day. Of your time. In this town. I think if you really spent some time in this community, you’d understand why I love it so much. It wouldn’t be some dingy town to you anymore.” Words don’t come to me. I just stare at her, trying to decide if she’s serious. “That would involve us having to spend time together.” “I’ll try not to kill you.”

“Two can play this game, Camden. I don’t see the reason in doing you a favor if you aren’t even willing to give Sutten a chance. If you don’t want to embrace this town, that’s fine. But don’t expect me to help you out. If you aren’t willing to give me one day, then I hope this opening fails epically and you’re forced to leave us alone.” This. Woman. Typically, people don’t have the nerve to speak to me the way she has, especially not a stranger. Maybe my friends, but even that’s pushing it. My mind races with my options. She’s made her position clear as day. Now it’s up to me to decide if I want to actually agree to her stupid, useless idea. It really is just a day.

“How do I know that you won’t bail on me? It seems unfair that I have to make everything tonight and you could just tell me to fuck off tomorrow.” Her words are insulting. I know she knows nothing about me, and I sure as hell haven’t given her any reason to want to know me, but if I say I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it. “I’m a man of my word.” I’m pissed she would think otherwise. “I don’t know if I believe you.” My body moves of its own accord, cornering her against her counter because of the frustration coursing through my veins. “Listen very closely here, shortcake.” Her chest heaves up and down as her breathing speeds up. “Stop calling me that.” “Staying true to my word is very important to me. I hate liars. I hate cop-outs. So, shortcake—” I draw out the nickname because it’s fun to piss her off. “—I’ll say this again, and then I won’t ever repeat myself again. I’m a man of my word. You impress my guests with your baking tonight, and I’m yours for a day so you can fail at attempting to impress me with this town.”

A grin pulls at my cheeks. “See you in a bit. Don’t disappoint me.” “I hate you!” she calls out. I chuckle, stopping in front of the door. “Not as much as I hate you, shortcake.”

“So are you going to get more, or are you just going to stand here looking clueless?” My jaw snaps shut. Oh no he didn’t. The guy who I’m tempted to put into his place looks to his friends. He laughs, running a hand over his protruding gut. They laugh with him, even though it seems forced and they both appear rather uncomfortable with his harsh words. “Hunter really needs to get himself better help, doesn’t he?” the man continues. “What was that?” My pulse angrily thrums through my veins. I can hear the thumping sound in my ears. The man’s beady eyes widen as he realizes that I’m not some meek human who will let him berate them without sticking up for themselves. “I said, Hunter needs to get himself more competent help.”

“Stupid bitch. You did that on purpose.” We start to catch the attention of people around us, but I don’t care if they’re watching or not. I’m not going to let this man talk down to me because he thinks he’s better than me. “No,” I lie, sidestepping a bit until I grab two full champagne flutes from a nearby table. “But this is.” And then I go against every moral my mom ever taught me, and I toss the champagne on the guy. He screeches, the sound hilarious. “You worthless little—” “Leave,” a voice commands from behind the guy. He steps aside, allowing Camden to come into view. Even though he’s soaking wet with champagne, the guy stands in place, looking from Camden to me. “You heard him. Leave.” He has the audacity to feel smug. If I knew how to throw a punch, I’d knock him right in his terrible veneers.

A pit forms in my stomach because for a split second, I’d hoped Camden was better than these people. There’s no way he didn’t hear that asshole call me name after name, resorting me down to nothing. But he’s one of them. Of course he’d tell me to go when he was the one who begged me to help to begin with. I take a shaky breath due to the adrenaline running through my body. I look at Camden, shaking my head at him. “You’re no better than him.” I seethe with disgust. I take a step forward, hitting my shoulder with his as I make my way away from these people who don’t deserve to be in this town.

A large hand grabs me by the bicep, strong fingers digging into my skin and making me come to an abrupt stop. Shocked, I look up and make eye contact with Camden, wondering why he has a viselike grip on me. I hate that I can’t get out of the hold. I hate that he might be able to feel the shakiness of my arms and mistake it for fear instead of what it truly is—rage. My attempt to make eye contact with him fails because he’s looking over my shoulder at the terrible excuse of a man behind me. “No,” Camden clips, his voice so calm and collected that it’s almost scary. “She stays. You leave, Jason.” The guy makes a sputtering sound—or maybe it’s from me. I don’t truly know because voices begin to whisper around us. Maybe the onlookers are just as confused as I am. “Now,” Camden barks, his voice louder this time. I try to pull my arm from his once again, but he holds on even tighter. This time, there’s a sting from his fingertips pushing deep into m...

Pippa tries to wiggle out of my grip, but I don’t give her any leeway. She isn’t leaving. But this sorry excuse of a human I regret ever inviting sure is. “You can’t be serious,” Jason hisses, outstretching his hands to try and play it cool. It isn’t. He just called Pippa stupid in multiple different ways, and he thinks everything is cool? Absolutely pathetic. “Camden, it’s fine,” Pippa insists from my side. “I can go.” I don’t even give an answer. There’s no way in hell she’s going anywhere when she’s done nothing wrong. “Jason, don’t make any more of a scene than you already have. You can leave, or I can make you leave, which would make me very, very upset because I don’t like drama or theatrics.” “You’re going to defend a server over me? I’ve been friends with your father since before you were born.”

“It’s a great thing I don’t give a shit about that.”

“But I’m not the one who—” “Go,” I interrupt, my voice booming because my patience is wearing thin. He and I stare at one another. It’s like he’s trying to figure out if I’m being serious or not. It’s a stupid mistake of his. He’s been around all thirty-six years of my life. He should know by now that I mean what I say. It’s comical now that the men surrounding Jason all pretend they don’t know him now. He looks to them for help, but they say nothing. They’re all cowards. The only person here brave enough to speak for themselves is the woman trying to pull out of my grip. “This is a mistake,” Jason rants. I click my tongue, cocking my head as I stare him down. “No, the mistake was inviting you.”

“Now that that’s handled, let’s get back to the reason you’re here. The pieces are flying off the walls, so if you see something you’re interested in, make sure to find an employee to help you purchase it.”

The door is barely shut before I’m pushing Pippa against it, my eyes roaming over her body. “Did he hurt you?” She shoves against my chest. “What? Get away from me, asshole.” My vision begins to clear as I regain a sense of reality and no longer see red. “Did he hurt you?” I repeat, backing away from her until I bump against my desk. I undo the button of my jacket, placing my hands safely in my pockets as I wait for her to answer. “No, of course not. He was just being a demeaning prick.” “He’s an asshole.” She laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.” “What happened?” I was busy selling one of Margo’s—Beck’s wife—pieces for the highest price one of her pieces has ever sold for when I heard the commotion from across the room.

“Sure you did, shortcake.” A loud, aggravated noise comes from her throat. It’s something between a growl and a shriek. “Stop calling me that!” “What did he say to you?” I press, needing to know what the hell happened. I’ll ask his dimwit little friends, too, but first, I want to hear it from her. “It doesn’t matter.” “It does to me.” “Why? So you can use the same insults as him against me?” My jaw snaps shut. Damn. Her words hit deep. Because they aren’t completely out of line. I’ve been a dick to her. Numerous times. Because she gets under my skin in a way I haven’t experienced before.

“No,” I hurriedly say, reaching out to stop her but thinking better of it. Maybe I should let her go. Jason is gone and surely not coming back. I really shouldn’t care anymore what she has to say. “I know I’ve been an asshole, but I’d never call you the help. Or worthless. Or stupid or anything that he said because they’re all lies. You’re none of that. You’re—” “I don’t need you to tell me what I am, Camden. I know what I am. His words don’t matter.”

“No, they don’t matter. But I need to know.” I’m beginning to accept that she won’t tell me and I’m going to have to get the story from someone else when she takes one hesitant step closer to me. “It all started because I ran out of food. He said you needed to hire new help, and, well, I won’t let someone insult me. You know that very well.” I laugh because it’s true. “I’m sorry he said those things.” Pippa’s eyes search my face. I wonder what she sees in me. What she thinks of the man standing in front of her. I stuff my hands into my pockets to give them something to do. “I never thought I’d hear those words come from your mouth,” she teases. “Even if you were apologizing on somebody else’s behalf instead of your own.”

“What’s this?” she asks, closing the distance to the small table with the sculpture on it. “Oh, just a piece I’m debating about selling in the gallery,” I answer, feigning nonchalance. “Can I touch it?” she whispers, her eyes trained on the piece in front of her. “I don’t think the artist will mind.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen something so beautiful that it took my breath away. I’m speechless, allowing my finger to gently run over the carved curves of the statue. It’s of a couple, but only from their waist up. They clutch one another so delicately, so fiercely, that it’s obvious they’re in love. You look at them and it seems like something is trying to keep them apart, but they’re clinging to each other so tightly, like they won’t let anything come between them. The way her back arches, it appears as if some outside force you can’t see is pulling her from him.

“This is stunning,” I whisper, running my finger along their outstretched arms. “You think?” Camden keeps his voice poised, but I can feel his gaze hot on me. “Why isn’t it on display out there? It would sell immediately.” “The artist doesn’t want to sell it.” I look at him in shock. Who wouldn’t want to sell this masterpiece? I don’t know anything about art, but it’s so intricate I have to imagine so many people would want it. “Do you know why?” Camden swallows, his eyes staying locked with mine. I don’t know what’s more perfect to look at, the slopes and planes of the statue or the slopes and planes of his face. His features are so perfect that they deserve to be forever carved in stone. I forgot I’d even asked him a question, too focused on tracing his cheekbones with my gaze, when he speaks up. “No.” He sighs, looking away from me to the statue in front of me. “I don’t know why.” “Well, I think you should get them to change their mind.”

“What about this makes you think it should be sold?”

“The moment I saw this, I could feel the emotion between the two of them. I think the little details of the statue add up to depict this beautiful and tragic love story. At least that’s what I gathered from it.” I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “But what do I know about art?” He looks at me—and I mean really looks at me. He stares at me so intently that it makes me shift uncomfortably on my feet. It seems like time stops around us as we stare at one another. “That’s exactly what I got from it.” I rip my gaze from his because it feels wrong to be so close to him, to not be fighting—for me to want to inch even closer to him. “From far away, you’d think the two of them are in love and are happy, but that doesn’t seem to be the whole story once you get closer and start taking in all of the details.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling embarrassed for the first time in my life. “I’m probably not making any sense.” “No.” I wish I knew how he kept his voice so cool and collected. It’s smooth like velvet, wrapping around me. “You make perfect sense. What makes you think that?” “It’s the desperate way they cling together. They grasp at one another too tightly to be fully happy. Something is ripping them apart. I wish I knew what…” “What if the sculptor didn’t want you to know what it was? Maybe they wanted you to come up with the answers yourself. Maybe they wanted to make you think about what things in life could rip you apart from someone you love so deeply.”

“Just when I think you might not be the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, you prove me wrong.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “Come to New York. You’ll meet men far worse than me, shortcake.” “Yeah, I’ll pass. You’re a dick for no reason. I have no desire to meet anyone worse than you.”

“I was going to say thank you for saving me tonight. People might be talking about the food more than the art.”

I take a second before going back to the event. Pippa walked out the door a few minutes ago, yet I haven’t moved since she left. It still smells like her in my office, the scent of her surrounding me, even though I’d prefer it not to. I don’t like how she smells unlike any woman I know. I’m used to the scent of a few different expensive perfumes. All women in my circle wear the same handful of fragrances. They’re either way too flowery or way too overpowering. Pippa doesn’t smell like either. Everywhere she goes, she leaves the scent of vanilla and strawberries. I find myself taking a deep inhale, hating myself for wanting to get another waft of her.

His fingertips stroke over the bare skin on her shoulder. I never thought I’d see the man so happy and in love. For a fraction of a second, I wonder what it’s like to love someone as much as he loves Margo. What it’s like to be loved the way she loves him. It’s only a thought I humor for a moment before I rid it from my mind. I don’t want to be in the position he’s in. I remember the terrified phone call I got from him when he thought she’d ended their engagement. To love is to be vulnerable. I’ve never been very good at being vulnerable.

“You can’t just go asking young ladies who they’re boinking, Rosemary,”

“The kids these days are using the term getting freaky with it.”

“Can we have a new subject, please?” I beg. Rosemary snickers. She knows exactly what she’s doing. I’m never serving her again. “No, dear. You aren’t getting any younger. Soon, someone will have to plant their seed in you.”

That’s great, Lenora. I’ve started a successful business and have dealt with the loss of my mother on top of helping to keep my family’s ranch afloat in my twenty-three years of living. Just because I haven’t had children yet doesn’t mean I haven’t done anything with my life.

“Oh!” Rosemary cheers excitedly, slapping her magazine against her lap. “Have you met the man who just moved in right next door to you? He looks like he’d be the perfect sin!” “I think I’d rather be celibate,”

Lucky for me, Terri, a server from our local diner, speaks up from a few chairs down. “I wish the oldest would find someone new. His daughter deserves to have a momma. I still can’t believe Selena is gone.” My chest feels heavy thinking about Selena Livingston. She was a ray of sunshine in this community. She got in a car accident two months after giving birth to a beautiful baby girl. That was almost two years ago, leaving Dean to care for a newborn all on his own. The Sutten community rallied around the family and helped out, but I still can’t imagine how Dean Livingston must feel. The air around us gets heavy for a moment. Their daughter, Clara, seems happy. He brings her to church every Sunday, and it’s cute to watch her talk her daddy into doodling funny things on the program or watch her beg for something sweet when he stops in with her at the bakery.

My eyes trace over her hair. It seems lighter than the last time I saw her, but I’m wondering if maybe it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me. The first thing I notice after the possible change in color is that her hair looks tame for once. It isn’t in her face, and it isn’t messily knotted at the top of her head. It’s sleek and smooth. If I were any closer, I might be tempted to reach out and run my hand through the locks just to discover what they feel like. The unwelcome thought has me ripping my eyes away from her because it’s Pippa. This is the woman who spilled an entire pitcher of beer on me, who ruined my suit for Beck and Margo’s wedding with an array of different-colored icing. The one who isn’t shy about making it known her feelings toward me—or lack thereof. Despite the bad blood between us, as a fan of art, I can’t deny that she’s a work of art herself. Her skin is effortlessly sun-kissed, like she’d spent a lot of time outside during the summer. I can’t help but wonder what she does in her free time, what her hobbies are. The glow of her skin tells me that whatever she was doing, she spent time outdoors. She wears a baby pink shirt that cuts off right above the waistband of her light denim jeans. I can only see the side of her, but the square neckline shows a good amount of her cleavage. There are so many beautiful lines to her body. Her high cheekbones and upturned nose. Her breasts that seem to be a perfect handful. Hips that slightly curve out at her waist...

My eyes blink repeatedly as I attempt to wipe the thoughts I was having of her. It really isn’t any use; those dirty thoughts of her are ingrained in my mind forever when they absolutely shouldn’t be.

“It’s weird. I have this very vivid memory of you showing up at my business when I told you multiple times we were closed.”