The Bake-Off by Beth Kendrick Page B

not allowed to be late, and I’m not allowed to talk to anyone.” Amy ticked off these points on her fingers. “I’m going to have to start writing this down.” She swayed on her feet as the elevator car shuddered to a stop.
    â€œWhat was that?” Linnie demanded, scanning the button panel. “Are we stuck?”
    Amy gripped the railing and glanced up at the ceiling. “Evidently.”
    Linnie immediately shifted into meltdown mode. “What are we going to do? Who should we call? Where’s the alarm button?”
    â€œWhy don’t we just wait a few minutes? I’m sure it’ll get going again.”
    â€œWe’re already behind schedule,” Linnie exclaimed. “You have no idea how much I have to do this afternoon. I’ve got to track down the judges and make sure all our equipment arrived and start recon on the baking floor layout and atmospheric conditions.”
    â€œAnd as exciting as that all sounds, there’s really nothing we can do to change our situation right now. So let’s take a nice deep breath and try to have a pleasant conversation.”
    Linnie crossed her arms. “I don’t do small talk.”
    She had her finger on the red button depicting the alarm bell when she heard a muted grinding noise and the elevator lurched back into motion.
    â€œSee?” Amy released her death grip on the side rail. “Here we go. Just a momentary glitch.”
    When the elevator finally opened on the twenty-sixth floor, Linnie grabbed her bag and bustled down the hallway, leaving Amy to wrestle with her oversize suitcases and the closing doors.
    â€œNo worries,” Amy called after her. “I got this.” Linnie heard a few muffled bumps and grunts of exertion, and then a deep male voice said, “Let me help you with that.”
    Amy’s voice instantly took on a fluttery, girlish lilt. “Oh, thank you!”
    Linnie glanced back over her shoulder to see a tall, darkhaired man hoisting up her sister’s luggage. She didn’t get a good look at his face, but she deduced that he must be handsome from all of Amy’s carrying on.
    â€œSuch a gentleman!”
    â€œMy pleasure,” the man replied. “May I carry these to your room?”
    â€œOh no, I can take it from here, but thanks again.” Amy caught up with Linnie at the door to their room and hissed, “Did you see that guy?”
    â€œYeah.” Linnie shrugged. “So?”
    â€œSo he’s cute! He’s got lots of potential.” Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
    Linnie looked down her nose with a stern schoolmarm stare. “Must I remind you that you’re married?”
    Amy looked shocked for a moment, then laughed. “Oh my God, you’re hopeless. Not potential for me—for you. He was so busy checking you out, he practically ran into the wall.”
    Linnie brushed back her hair. “I didn’t notice.”
    â€œOf course you didn’t. I guess it must be hard to find men who live up to your standards, huh?”
    Linnie swiped the key card through the door lock and waited for the tiny lights on the lock to flash green before turning the knob. “What standards?”
    â€œI believe you once told me that any man with an IQ under one fifty might as well be brain-dead,” Amy said. “You said you were holding out for Einstein’s intellect, James Bond’s savoir faire, and Debussy’s musical sensibilities.”
    Linnie thought about the handful of dates she’d had over the last few years: nice, normal men who asked her out with great enthusiasm, only to take her dinner, bring her home early, and never call her again once they realized that the blond hair and buxom body were false advertising and that she was, in fact, more puritan than party girl.
    Not that she cared. Much like small talk and tardiness, Linnie didn’t do relationships.
    She’d tried out a few one-night stands in her