All for You (Sweetbriar Cove Book 2) Read online

  All for You

  Sweetbriar Cove Book Two

  Melody Grace

  Melody Grace Books

  Contents

  Introduction

  Also by Melody Grace

  All for You

  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

  The Only One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Also by Melody Grace

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Melody Grace

  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 copyright British Empire Designs.

  Thank you for reading!

  Sweetbriar Cove is a charming small town on Cape Cod.

  I have tons of happy memories of New England, and it was so much fun inventing the town - and all its inhabitants. Summer, the heroine in ALL FOR YOU, is ready to start a new adventure opening her dream bakery, but she isn’t prepared for the charms of local bookstore owner, Grayson.

  I hope you enjoy reading All for You as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. So pack your sunscreen, take a mini-vacation, and enjoy a taste of summer, wherever you are.

  xo Melody

  Would you like to read my USA Today bestselling book for FREE?

  CLICK HERE to claim your free book!

  Also By Melody Grace:

  The Sweetbriar Cove Series:

  1. Meant to Be

  2. All for You

  3. The Only One (August 2017)

  4. I’m Yours (November 2017)

  5. Holiday Kisses (A Christmas Story) (Dec 2017)

  6. No Ordinary Love (Feb 2018)

  The Beachwood Bay Series:

  1.Untouched

  2.Unbroken

  3.Untamed Hearts

  4.Unafraid

  5.Unwrapped

  6.Unconditional

  7.Unrequited

  8.Uninhibited

  9.Unstoppable

  10.Unexpectedly Yours

  11.Unwritten

  12.Unmasked

  13.Unforgettable

  The Oak Harbor Series:

  1.Heartbeats

  2.Heartbreaker

  3.Reckless Hearts

  The Dirty Dancing Series

  The Promise

  Welcome to Sweetbriar Cove: the small town where happily-ever-after is guaranteed.

  Book Tw0

  ALL FOR YOU

  Summer Bloom lives for adventure -- and buttercream bourbon frosting. As a high-end pastry chef, she spends her days (and nights, and weekends) whipping up sweet treats, but when an unexpected detour leads her to the dilapidated bakery on Blackberry Lane, she decides to take a chance on her dreams and leave it all behind for a new life in Sweetbriar Cove. She has everything she needs for baking bliss — she just isn’t expecting her new landlord to melt her heart, as well as her chocolate truffles...

  Grayson Reid knows better than to fall for his impulsive new tenant. He keeps his life quiet and drama-free, but there’s something about Summer he just can’t resist. He’s learned the hard way that a woman can turn your whole world upside down, but her kisses - and those croissants - are too tempting to ignore. He’s determined to keep the lid on their romance, but soon, their chemistry is heating up the kitchen - and he doesn’t want to play it safe any more.

  Can this headstrong pair mix the right ingredients for love? Or will their passion burn out before they can find their happily-ever-after? Find out in the new novel from New York Times bestselling author, Melody Grace!

  The Sweetbriar Cove Series:

  #1 Meant to Be

  #2 All for You

  #3 The Only One – August 2017

  #4 I'm Yours - November 2017

  #5 Holiday Kisses - Dec 2017

  #6 No Ordinary Love - Feb 2018

  1

  Summer Bloom needed a vacation from her life. Golden sands . . . A sparkling ocean . . . She’d even settle for a cocktail with a little umbrella floating in it if it meant she could sleep past dawn and relax someplace without chaos, ten-flame burners, and a tiny sadistic Frenchman yelling at full volume.

  “Order up on three!”

  “Fire six benedict, three salmon, two crab!”

  The noise of the busy restaurant kitchen clattered around her. It was brunch prep on a Saturday morning, and all hands were on deck. Sous-chefs diced onions and whisked hollandaise, busboys raced around fetching clean silverware, and the wait staff pored over the menus, but Summer kept her head down and focused on packing up her baking supplies. After two weeks of twelve-hour shifts, she finally had the weekend off, and she wasn’t going to let anything drag her back into the fray. Even if the substitute pastry chef was screwing up the crepes.

  Summer paused, watching as he added egg whites to the bowl. Didn’t he realize the batter would tighten up the minute it hit the pan—

  Nope!

  She dragged her gaze away. It wasn’t her problem. For the next forty-eight hours, she was off the clock—tough crepes be damned!

  Summer loaded her frosting utensils into her bag and headed for the back door, but she was only a few steps from freedom when Chef Andre moved to block her path.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded. He was a small man in stature, but he more than made up for it in volume—and ego. “I need your strawberry gastrique for the duck tonight!”

  “I’m going to Cape Cod, remember?” Summer replied. Andre looked blank. “You volunteered me to do the cake for the Kenmore wedding,” she added, trying to keep her tone even. Volunteered wasn’t exactly the word she would have chosen, but she knew the Kenmores were the restaurant’s biggest investors. “I have to drive up to make the delivery. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for the reception.”

  “Then go, go!” Andre shooed her away, before turning his attention back to the kitchen, like a mountain lion searching out his next prey. “Lewis!”

  Summer quickly darted past, letting the door bang shut behind her. The back alleyway may have smelled like rotting dumpsters, but to her, it was the sweet scent of freedom. She carefully unlocked the produce truck she was borrowing for the trip, and checked the back of the van. Six layers of perfectly-frosted cake sat, packed into individual padded boxes, plus enough ingredients for any last-minute emergency fixes. Not that there could be any. This was her famous sweet summer peach cake, and required days of preparation to get the flavors just right. She’d been up all night making sure every bite would be perfect, and now she just had to get herself—and the cake—through the five-hour drive without either of them falling apart.

  Simple?

  Summer hit the road, leaving the loud, smoggy New York streets behind as she headed out of the city and along the highways up towards the coast. She played the radio loud, skipping between Top 40 stations as the signal dipped in an
d out, and with every passing mile, she felt her tension ease. Her shoulders unknotted, her pulse slowed, and by the time she crossed the Sagamore Bridge onto the curling bicep of the Cape, she almost felt close to human again.

  Working at Chez Andre was like living in a war zone. It was one of the best fine-dining restaurants in the city, complete with a coveted Michelin Star, but all that prestige came with a price. Andre ruled the kitchen like a tyrant. Her blood pressure had gone through the roof since she’d been working there, she’d lost twenty pounds running around on her feet all day, and as for dating? Aside from a relationship with a rival chef that ended in heartbreak, she hadn’t even tried in years. But that was life in a high-end kitchen. When Summer told people she was a chef, most of them imagined she was waltzing around in a cute white hat, tasting spoonfuls of sauce and dreaming up exotic menus, but the reality was very different. It was a fiercely competitive profession, especially at the best restaurants, and they all paid in blood, sweat, and tears for the chance to learn from the best. Sometimes she wondered why she put herself through it, but the answer was always the same.

  She loved food.

  The tastes, the textures, the alchemy behind every mouthful . . . Ever since she was a kid, and had discovered that a simple box of dry mix and a tub of frosting could produce the wonder of a freshly baked cake, Summer had been madly, wildly, recklessly in love with baking. The plate was her canvas, her mixing spoon was her conductor’s baton—Summer would happily mix metaphors all day long for the chance to pursue her passion. Not that she got much of a chance. Chef Andre was famed for his intricate fine dining, full of precise, elaborate details. Why send out a perfect summer fruit pie when you could spin bird-shaped sugar baskets and fill them with freeze-dried ice cream and beads of coulis? Summer didn’t buy into his “more is more” philosophy, but that was the way the culinary world worked. It was her job to execute the head chef’s vision, until the day she had enough experience (and investors) to strike out on her own.

  She already knew exactly the kind of place she’d run, one day. She’d been dreaming about it for years. A little bakery of her own, where decadent chocolate tortes jostled side by side with lighter-than-air meringues, the air was scented with vanilla and butter, and nobody screamed at you for plating the dessert without a streak of gold leaf on the dish. She would turn out delicacies all day long—not tired old pound cakes, but new, interesting flavors, like the sweet summer cake sitting in the backseat, with slices of fresh, bourbon-soaked peaches baked right into the batter. Summer had made it at the restaurant one night in a fit of rebellion, when the soufflés Andre ordered refused to rise. He’d stormed in, ready to fire her, until the notes started coming back from the dining room, all lavish with praise. One diner had loved it so much, she’d even begged for Summer to bake it for her wedding, so here she was, driving three hundred miles out of the city with fifteen pounds of cake packed up tightly like precious works of art. Which Summer rather thought they were.

  She checked the directions on the GPS again, and found she was just a few miles out. The road had shrunk to a two-lane highway, with a canopy of pine trees shading the blue skies overhead and the ocean glinting through the trees. Summer rolled the windows all the way down to enjoy the warm, sunny day and took a breath of salty sea air. She’d been living in the windowless kitchen for so long, she hadn’t even noticed the seasons change. Now, it was almost Memorial Day—time for herbed salads and fresh fruit sorbets, lobster rolls and sweet taffy that stuck to your fingers.

  She smiled. The truth was, she had an ulterior motive for making the delivery in person. Her best friend, Poppy, had just moved out to the Cape, and as soon as she was done with the wedding, they had a whole weekend planned to reconnect, relax—and for Summer to meet this new man who had swept her friend off her feet. She’d heard plenty of stories about him, but as the best friend, it was her official duty to size him up and make sure he wouldn’t break Poppy’s heart.

  Her cellphone rang, and Summer hit the speaker, expecting it to be Poppy. “Hey babe,” she said happily, “I’m almost there.”

  “Almost where?”

  The voice on the other end of the line deflated Summer’s good mood in an instant. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Where are you? I called the restaurant, but they said you had the day off. You shouldn’t be slacking,” Eve Bloom said disapprovingly. “You know there are a dozen sous-chefs who would kill for the chance to work under Andre.”

  “I am working,” Summer explained. “I had to make a wedding cake for an event out of state.”

  “You’re catering?” Her mother’s voice rose, and Summer winced.

  “It’s a favor,” she soothed her. “Besides, the Kenmores are Andre’s biggest investors. I’m sure there will be tons of restaurant people at the wedding, and they’ll be a captive audience to my baking.”

  “Hmm, well, alright.” Eve seemed mollified. “But make sure you circulate and meet everyone, don’t just hide away in the kitchen. Investors buy into a personality, not just the food.”

  Summer stifled a sigh. Her mother would know. Eve Bloom was one of the biggest TV chefs in the country, with a collection of cookbooks, Food Network shows, and even a line of non-stick pans selling gangbusters at Target. She’d built an empire out of smiling perfection, and no matter how hard she tried, Summer knew she’d never live up to her mother’s example—which is why she’d given up on winning Eve’s approval ten years ago, and had set about forging her own path, instead.

  “And be sure to wear your hair back from your face,” Eve continued. “Did you show your stylist those photos I sent? Marcie agrees, bangs would make your nose look much smaller.”

  Marcie was her mother’s hair and makeup assistant. “Uh huh,” Summer answered vaguely. She’d learned the hard way it was easier just to agree with everything her mom said.

  And live halfway across the country from her, too.

  Her father had the same idea: he’d divorced Eve when Summer was six, and now lived up in Alaska with his third wife and five Husky dogs. Her older brother had done one better—he barely stepped foot in the States at all with his job as a photojournalist, which meant Summer was lucky enough to get the full force of their mother’s attention. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is we’re going to need you in the studio next week,” Eve continued briskly. “I’m flying out to film a family meal segment, sharing recipes down through the generations. I’ll teach you to make a pie, and then we’ll host a nice family dinner together.”

  Summer laughed out loud, then quickly covered it with a cough. “Family?” she echoed in disbelief. “Pie?”

  The last time her mother had baked pie for the family was . . . never. She’d never baked them pie. Because despite her public image as hostess supreme, the truth was, Eve Bloom barely stepped foot in the kitchen—unless the cameras were rolling.

  “It’s the pitch for my new series, I told you about it. We’re going for a more homey feel. Anyway, I’ll put you down for the 9 a.m. call-sheet.”

  “No, Mom, I’m not coming on your show—” Summer tried to object, but Eve didn’t pause for breath.

  “I’ll have Marcie take care of those bangs. And wear something blue, you know the stage lights always wash you out.”

  “Mom, I told you, I’m not—”

  Suddenly, there was a flash of orange ahead on the road. Summer cursed out loud and slammed on the brakes, yanking the wheel to avoid hitting . . .

  What was that?

  She caught a glimpse of something round and fluffy dashing off into the undergrowth as she pulled over to the side of the road. She caught her breath, her pulse racing.

  So much for lowering her blood pressure. Between her mom’s delightful call and that kamikaze cat, she would be lucky if she reached the wedding in one piece.

  Summer checked the backseat, but the cake boxes were thankfully intact, and when she fished her cellphone from where it had fallen between the seats, there was nothing but dial tone. Her mom ha
d already hung up.

  “Thanks a lot, buddy.” Summer could see the cat through the windshield: a fat ginger fluffball now happily sunning himself on the steps of a ramshackle old house, as if he hadn’t just tried to kill her. “Look both ways next time.”

  Yes, she was talking to a cat. No, she hadn’t slept in twenty-two hours.

  She needed coffee, and fast.

  2

  Summer made it the final few miles without any more interruptions (animal or maternal) and finally pulled up the gravel drive of a stately-looking hotel overlooking the beach. She drove around to the delivery entrance and found a woman pacing there, clutching her phone. She had blonde hair pulled back in an immaculate bun and wore a crisp white shirt and pencil skirt, despite the warm weather.

  “Is that the cake?” she demanded, the moment Summer climbed out of the van.

  “Reporting for duty.”

  The woman let out a massive sigh of relief. “Thank God. Sorry,” she added, with a flustered smile. “The bride’s been talking about this for weeks. I don’t think she’d even mind if he left her at the altar, as long as she still got to eat the cake.”

  Summer laughed. “Don’t worry, I just need to assemble it, and we’re good to go.”

  “Can I help with anything? I’m Tess,” the woman added, looking less stressed now.

  “Nice to meet you, I’m Summer. And yes, I’d love some help carrying those boxes in. Carefully.”

  Together, they unloaded the van. Brooke guided her through to the kitchen, which was already a hive of activity. “I’ve told the caterers to stay out of your way.” Tess showed her to a clear corner. “You’re the VIP.”

  “And I bet they’ll love me for it,” Summer joked.

  “Do you need anything?” Tess checked, but her phone was buzzing like crazy, and Summer guessed she had a million other places to be, so she waved her off.