The Accidental Kiss Read online

  The Accidental Kiss

  Heatherly Bell

  Heatherly Bell Books

  Copyright © 2019 by Heatherly Bell Books

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Elizabeth Mackey

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  A recipe for Pasta Carbonara

  About the Author

  Also by Heatherly Bell

  For my oldest son, a first responder. I love you, and I’m extremely proud of you.

  1

  “If you’re afraid of butter, use cream.” ~ Julia Child

  Through the large picture window of the restaurant situated on Valencia Street, Charley Young caught sight of the man waiting inside for her. She recognized him from the photo on his Facebook page. Good-looking enough. Short, cropped sun-bleached hair matched a well-manicured beard. A relaxed smile on his lips, he perused the menu and casually chatted with the waitress.

  Poor sap. He obviously had no idea that his entire life’s trajectory might change in a matter of minutes.

  Charley almost felt sorry for him.

  But the thing is he’d want to know. Charley was certain of this. She hopped off her moped, removed her helmet, and walked inside to the sounds of couples chatting and children laughing. The smells of rich coffee, espresso, and mocha lingered in the air. She wanted a slice of chocolate cake but would instead have a double shot espresso because that seemed like the type of drink to have when delivering someone life-changing news.

  Peter Adair looked up when Charley approached the table. He gave her a friendly smile. “You must be Charley.”

  Charley took a seat across from him and set the helmet to her side. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine.” He waved the waitress over and Charley ordered a double shot.

  “Is that all? Nothing to eat?” Peter asked. “It’s on me.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Charley mentally cracked her knuckles. No point in idle conversation. Get right to the point and get it over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  “Thank you for meeting me. I don’t believe in wasting any of your time, so I’ll get right to the point.” She cleared her throat. “I believe my friend is having your baby, and I was sure you’d want to know.”

  Milly, the “friend,” was actually Charley’s foster sister, but they were as close as biological sisters. She figured it might be best if Peter didn’t know that. Charley was simply going by recent history. She’d tracked down another dude a few days ago. Robert Tramarco, one of the few prospects Charley had narrowed down as possible fathers, had become agitated and quite defensive when Charley said the words: “I think you knocked my sister up.”

  Weird.

  He’d had a little bit of a hissy fit and thrown her out of his North Beach condo, declaring he’d dated Milly once and if Charley was going to make ridiculous statements like that, she had better come with a court order for a DNA test next time. Charley had made a mental note to look into DNA paternity tests should it come to that. Later that night, she’d pilfered a beer bottle from the uppity Mr. Tramarco’s trash cans. Just in case it came to that.

  She’d decided from then on that it might be best to set aside the familial ties and simply sound like someone honestly trying to help. Not as though she was searching for a guilty man to string up by his balls. No. Because Charley was definitely not trying to do that. Probably not, anyway. She was aware it took two to tango. Oh, yes sir. All she wanted was for the father to know that he’d planted his seed. And where. That his seed was growing. And where. Milly would thank Charley later, when her baby had a daddy and Milly had regular child support checks. Right now, her hormones were holding her brain hostage and there could be no other explanation. For reasons Charley still couldn’t understand, Milly refused to reveal the name of the father.

  Milly claimed they’d broken up, he wasn’t daddy material, and that was the end of the story. She wouldn’t be telling him because there was no need. She’d raise the baby on her own. What she really meant, of course, is that she and Charley would raise the baby. Because Milly couldn’t possibly think in a million years that Charley would leave her alone to raise a child. And since Charley was a traveling sous chef and had her next job coming up in a week, she couldn’t stay in the city and help Milly. Hence, she had to find the father and pronto.

  The mission, for the next two weeks as Charley was caring for Milly while she was on bedrest, was to find the right man. That pursuit had led to her making a list of all the likely um…culprits. Frankly, there weren’t all that many suspects. But Peter’s name was near the top of the (very) short list. Milly didn’t date much and hooked up even less. It only took once, but definitely at least once.

  Uh-oh. Peter’s eyes had now gone as big as two full moons.

  He tugged at his shirt collar and coughed. Sputtered, actually. “Excuse me?”

  Here’s the thing. She’d decided to take this “shock and awe” approach to avoid men readily lying and skating on fatherly duties. If she asked, that gave him an opportunity to lie. If he couldn’t be the father, they’d find out soon enough as Tramarco had maintained by oh-so-helpfully playing the DNA card. Truthfully, she didn’t mind scaring a few men here and there anyway. It was kind of fun.

  “She’s due this August. I thought you’d want to know.”

  Peter rubbed his chest but didn’t speak, so Charley continued. “I know you’ll do the right thing by her and the baby.”

  “W-why didn’t she tell me herself?”

  Bingo! He wasn’t even going to bother to deny it. This could very well be Milly’s baby daddy. All the signs were there.

  “She was a little worried at how you’d react. Considering…you know, everything.” Charley was reaching here and hoped he’d fill in the blanks.

  Peter’s hand shook as he picked up his coffee cup. “That makes sense. Our break-up was so difficult. But I’ve always wanted to be father.”

  While that was noble and inspiring, Charley couldn’t help notice that his forehead had broken out in a sweat. Although it was early summer, no one in San Francisco sweated without at least running first. The weather just wasn’t sweating weather. Ever. If you wanted to sweat from the heat, you’d have to drive further south. Like Palo Alto, or San Jose.

  Peter gulped his coffee down, which must have hurt, then pounded his chest with a fist. “Is it hot in here?”

  Charley shook her head. “No. I’m fine. But you did slam that coffee down pretty fast. Listen, I can’t speak for my sis—fr
iend, but I think you can probably be as involved or uninvolved as you want.”

  “I-I do want to be involved.” His hand continued to tremble as he mopped his brow. Streaks of water, which Charley assumed had to be sweat, leaked down the sides of his face. “I-I think I’m having a heart attack.”

  Oh, brother. Talk about an overreaction. She’d seen plenty of commitment phobes in her life but this one took the prize. He was going to have a heart attack to avoid paying child support. If this didn’t beat all.

  “I doubt that. You’re just shocked.” Unfortunately, he was beginning to resemble the color of a bleached white sheet and she got a little bit worried. “I mean, c’mon. You’re too young for a heart attack. How old are you?”

  Peter clutched his chest. “Forty-five, but that doesn’t matter.”

  Charley stood. “Forty-five? You’re forty-five?”

  Milly was twenty-eight like Charley, and Peter didn’t look forty-five. A couple of patrons stared in their direction now. One of them took out his phone and appeared to be dialing. Good thing, because Charley had been about to do the same. One could never be too careful.

  “Somebody call 911,” Peter said, sliding down the seat. “I think I’m a goner.”

  “Peter! Please,” Charley went to his side and stroked his back gently. “Calm down. I mean, how bad can it be, right? It’s just a little baby.”

  Peter fisted his hands in Charley’s blouse. “If I don’t make it, tell Debbie that I love her. I always will.”

  “Debbie? Who’s Debbie?” Please don’t tell Charley this dude was married on top of everything else.

  “She’s having my baby.”

  Wait. He had another woman pregnant? But Charley’s hands were the ones shaking now. She had a really bad feeling. It was unfortunately possible that…oh boy, she might have the wrong dude again. It’s not like Milly had made this easy or anything when she refused to give Charley the smallest clue. But maybe, just maybe, Peter had been a terrible mistake. Even if Milly had scribbled a bunch of hearts next to his name.

  He was probably the father of her baby. Maybe Milly didn’t want Charley to know because he was so much older. And God, please don’t let him be married. Also, please don’t let him die. She was about to be in so much trouble and not just because of what Milly would do to Charley if she heard about this. When she heard about this.

  They were coming. Dylan was coming.

  She took Peter’s sweaty hand in her own and spoke softly. “I’m so sorry, but I lied to you. My ‘friend’ is actually my sister. Milly Monroe. Do you know Milly?”

  He scrunched up his eyebrows. “Milly? Yes, yes, I’m her accountant.”

  With that, he closed his eyes and slid the rest of the way down his seat.

  Once the ambulance arrived in record time with the fire truck, ladder truck, and the whole enchilada, it was quickly determined by the paramedics that Peter Adair had suffered a massive…anxiety attack. So, he would be fine. Peachy. On the good news front, he and Debbie were getting back together. He’d called her the moment he realized he wasn’t dying. Yay! Peter said it took his life flashing before his eyes to make him realize how much he still loved his ex, whom he’d interestingly last seen about six months ago. He’d actually thanked Charley.

  Gee, what a great guy.

  “I’m happy for you,” Charley said, as the EMTs loaded the stretcher onto the ambulance for a quick check at the hospital. “This all happened for a reason. And I can’t say it enough…I’m really, really, really sorry.”

  “Easy mistake,” he said kindly, lowering his oxygen mask.

  No, it wasn’t.

  As the EMTs drove the ambulance away Dylan Reyes, the Firehouse 50 lieutenant, turned to Charley, his square jaw tight. As was her luck her best friend since high school days was six feet of prime male real estate. Full head of chocolate brown hair, sparkling dark eyes. When he smiled, one side of his mouth tipped up in a boyish half grin displaying a single dimple. Ridiculously handsome, he even had a cleft in his chin. The turn-out gear he wore did nothing to diminish his appeal.

  Life was so unfair.

  He faced Charley, arms crossed, and tipped his chin in the direction of the moving ambulance. “Why should you be sorry? I mean, he’s a guy, right? He could be the father of Milly’s baby. Isn’t that your only qualification?”

  “No! But I have so little to work with. His name is on my list.”

  “Is her dentist also on that list?”

  She refused to answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate her. The dentist wasn’t on the list. She had already eliminated both the dentist and the veterinarian even though it wouldn’t have been impossible. The vet was super cute and single, too.

  “It’s a very short list.” She glared at Dylan. “Milly doesn’t exactly get around.”

  “I’m going to tell you again. Let her decide if she wants to tell the father.”

  “I can’t do that. You don’t understand. I know Milly. She wants me to fix this.”

  “She wants you to fix it? Isn’t that more like you want to fix this?”

  “Wait and see. She’ll thank me someday.”

  “And today is not that day.”

  “Well, no.” Apparently not. Strike two.

  “Reyes! Let’s go,” the engine truck driver said. “You two can catch up later.”

  “Stay out of trouble, Chuck, or you know I’ll hear about it.” Dylan strode away to the lieutenant’s truck, climbed in, and drove away.

  She sighed. While she would love to promise him that she would stay out of trouble that wasn’t likely, and they both knew it.

  2

  “Life it too short for fake butter, cheese, or people.” ~ meme

  If not for the coffee, Charley would have to kill Milly.

  But then again, if not for the coffee, a whole hell of a lot wouldn’t be happening this morning. Charley wouldn’t be up before dawn. Or at least not with her eyes wide open. She certainly wouldn’t have enough presence of mind to work at the industrial-sized mixer in her family’s bakery. And definitely not the patience to listen to Milly squawk out her instructions step by step over a baby intercom from her upstairs apartment as if Charley couldn’t be trusted to follow a simple recipe.

  Okay, so maybe she liked to wing it, but she understood baking was different. Cooking was all about creation and she didn’t get to do enough of it as a sous chef. She loved traveling all over the United States working in different kitchens, and it was what she’d been doing for the last several years. But the dream was to one day be a chef, open her bistro, and call the shots. Right now, Milly called the shots. And lately, in some ways, she was no different than all the temperamental chefs Charley had worked with over the years.

  At this point in her career, Charley had hoped to have already visited Paris to work, study and see all the sights where her idol, Julia Child, had lived and worked. Yet she was no closer this year than the last or the one before. The closest she would get to Paris was by way of New Orleans this July if her next job panned out. She’d had to tell Sean Hannigan, her friend and work contact, that she was headed home for at least a week because Milly needed her help at the family bakery.

  When her foster mother, Coral Monroe, had died a few years ago, Charley had been shocked to learn that she’d left the bakery to both Milly and Charley. So, she was half owner in a bakery when she’d never been much of a baker and much preferred the main course. Sort of the way her life rolled.

  Charley took another gulp of the magic bean potion. Not only was it early, but on top of all that it was Monday. Her least favorite M word. It had been far too many years since Charley had worked weekends at the bakery along with Milly, but she remembered two things: coffee was a necessity and baking an exact science.

  “Did you scald the milk? That’s super important because milk has an enzyme in it that won’t allow the yeast to rise otherwise. Over,” Milly said.

  “For the love of God, I know this.” She wa
s going to pretend Milly’s lack of faith in her wasn’t insulting. “And you don’t have to say over every single time. You’re on a two-way baby monitor.”

  Milly hadn’t heard about the “Peter crisis.” Reason number one she was still speaking to Charley. Numbers two and three were that she had no choice. Milly was eight months pregnant and on bed rest. Still, it wasn’t as if Charley didn’t know what she was doing in the bakery. She hadn’t worked at SunRise Bakery in a few years, but it was all coming back to her.

  If it made Milly feel better, Charley would let her give directions. As Milly instructed, Charley continued step by step. Measuring precisely because in baking there was no room for error. It was basic chemistry. Off by so much as a tablespoon of flour to butter ratio and you’ll have flat cookies. Cakes that don’t rise to the occasion. Been there, done that. Many times.

  “Are you adding the ingredients with love?” Milly said. “I’m getting from Bean that you’re not feeling the love today.”

  Milly, still unable to choose a name for the child she was certain was a girl, had taken to calling her baby “Bean” because the first ultrasound had looked like a little lima bean.

  “Stop it. You are not psychic, and neither is the bean.”

  “Yes, we are psychic,” Milly said through the baby monitor. “Since I got pregnant, I sense every disturbance in the universe. I’m feeling one right now and it’s kind of bumming me out.”