Free How to Eat a Cupcake by Meg Donohue Page B

loved dogs as much as I did. I had to warn him not to try too hard with Gus; too much attention from a stranger would only make Gus more nervous out there in the big loud world. Jake managed to restrain himself for half a block, but soon was cooing down to Gus, running his hand down the length of his silky black-and-tan coat, and passing him a little piece of chorizo from a napkin that he’d somehow slipped into his pocket at El Farolito without me noticing. Gus pressed himself against Jake’s leg and looked adoringly up at him as he gobbled the meat, his tail for a moment wagging as freely as it did at home.
    â€œSo, can I see you again soon?” Jake asked, looking up from Gus to me, his eyes crinkling against the sunlight.
    YES! Teenage Annie screamed.
    â€œI suppose that could be arranged,” said Adult Annie, finally, if barely, staking her claim.

Chapter 4
    Julia
    W hen I heard Jacqueline, the maid, opening the door for Wes, I hurried out of my bedroom, but it was too late: my mother’s throaty voice carried up the stairs to me as clearly as if she were speaking directly into my ear.
    â€œWesley darling, how wonderful to see you! Julia didn’t even let us know you were back in town. She must be trying to keep you all to herself.”
    Wes’s response was too low to make out, but I could hear the warmth in his voice, the drawl of South Carolina hanging in there after all those years. I loved his voice. I loved thinking about him in business meetings all over the world, his honeyed, down-home vernacular and his gracious manner unexpected from a successful American businessman. I loved introducing him to people and watching their reactions when this big, sweet, slow-moving guy began talking about wireless Internet boosters and the socioeconomic complexities of third world countries. He had a pull, a magnetism, that people seemed unable to resist, least of all me. He was not really the sort of man I thought I would end up with, but I suspected I loved him for that reason, too.
    â€œWell, surprise or not, I’m very glad you’re here,” my mother was saying as I descended the stairs. Her hand, I could see now, rested conspiratorially on Wes’s arm. “Julia’s been moping around this house night and day for weeks. Your visit couldn’t be better timed.”
    â€œMother, you’re exaggerating,” I said as I crossed the foyer to join them. “Wes knows I don’t mope.” I kissed him on the lips. “Hi.”
    â€œHey there,” he said, hugging me tightly so the side of my face pressed into his crisp linen shirt. He was one of those men who managed to make even off-the-rack clothing look perfectly tailored to his broad frame; the combination of that stylish, yet unfussy wardrobe and his debonair good looks created an overall impression of confidence without cockiness. There was something so unquestionably manly about him, and seeing him still gave me butterflies even after all our time together. I wasn’t so head-over-heels to not realize that some of the spark between us was undoubtedly flamed by the fact that we had yet to actually live in the same city as each other, and had in fact only seen each other, at most, once every couple of weeks for the entirety of our relationship. Even now that we were finally living on the same coast, we were unlikely to see each other with much more frequency in the year leading up to our wedding. Wes owned a condo in San Francisco, but spent most nights at a hotel near his company headquarters in Silicon Valley and probably caught the majority of his sleep on airplanes, living out of a suitcase as he traveled nationally and internationally to raise funds and establish manufacturing operations. He’d already warned me that the months ahead would be no different; he’d be away from the Bay Area more often than he was there, determined to get his business ducks in a row so he could properly enjoy