This marriage of convenience is about to get sticky.

Getting hitched for the health insurance is not Jocelyn Asher’s idea of romance.

But the hospital quote has really frosted her cookies, and suddenly, “I’m rich. We should just get married,” sounds a whole lot more swoony.

Especially when the man proposing is this gorgeous. And takes her to parties featuring champagne and petit fours. She’s a sucker for anything with bubbles or icing. And just like that she finds herself married to a near stranger.

Grant Lorre is usually allergic to spontaneity.

So why did he ask the beautiful small-town baker he had a one-stand with to marry him? Somehow watching her lick batter off a whisk--not a euphemism--made a wedding and a little fraud seem like a sweet idea.

They’ll just play house and make some whoopie--pies, of course--for a few months and then move on with their separate lives. Until then, bring on the cream filling. And that is a euphemism.

But as things heat up even outside of the kitchen, they quickly realize there’s no recipe to follow when it comes to love.