Chapter 3 #2
I turned my back to him, focusing too hard on chopping salad.
The cutting board thudded beneath my knife—harder than necessary.
I didn’t need to hear his judgment. I was well aware of my flakiness.
My handsome, reliable cowboy didn’t need to remind me.
I knew. My dad knew. My ridiculously successful brothers definitely knew.
“Hey, sugar,” Hank said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean anything by it. You’ve tried a lot of things. I’ve done a grand total of one. Maybe the perfect job’s out there for me and I’ll never know.”
His hand was warm. Solid. I forced myself not to lean into it.
“No worries,” I said. “I’ve been fired from most of them, so it’s fine. The only one that actually stung was the coffee shop.”
I kept my voice bright. I would not bring the mood down. I would not admit how embarrassing it still was. “I mean, can you really be a balloon artist if you can’t make a dog?”
“Uhh…I’m not sure?”
“No, you can’t. It’s a fundamental skill.”
“What happened at the coffee shop?”
During our back-and-forth, I’d brought dinner to the table. Hank followed and, without asking, took my plate and began plating food for me. When he cut up my chicken, it took everything in me not to dissolve into a puddle. Had he been a Daddy before? If not, what the hell was going on?
“When I started, all I did was make coffee. That was fine,” I said. “At the time, they were serving these frozen pastries—gross and overpriced, but whatever. Not my business. The manager knew I liked to bake, so when they forgot to order the usual stuff, he asked me to make a few treats.”
Hank returned my plate without fanfare, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“They sold out really fast. He asked me to make more. Pretty soon, that’s all I did—bake in the back.”
“Sounds like the perfect job. What happened?”
“I was stupid.”
Anger bubbled up, but I did my best to stay even-keeled. It had been six months, and I still saw red.
“The manager asked me to write down the recipes so he could price them properly. That made sense, so I did. I even included my specialty modifications.”
“Why was that dumb?”
“Because if I’d paid attention, I would’ve known the owner was about to retire and sell to a chain. The manager gave my recipes to the owner after rewriting them in his handwriting to prove they were his. The owner paid him for them so the chain could mass-produce them.”
Hank sat back, jaw dropped.
“You’re kidding me. That asshole used you, stole from you, and gaslit you?”
“Yeah, well, he also offered me a few hundred for the ‘misunderstanding.’ I passed.”
“What the fuck?”
“I was so embarrassed that I’d been dumb enough to handwrite them that I told my family the same excuse he used: I got fired for losing a deposit.”
“So no one knows?”
“Well…Sissy did. Her revenge fantasies were both detailed and illegal in most states.”
“I knew I liked her.”
I smiled.
“So yeah. There you go. My sordid employment history and brush with mass-production pastry greatness.”
“Thanks for helping clean up dinner.”
I popped Hank softly with the dish towel—not enough to hurt, just enough for the snap to get his attention.
“You cooked, so the least I can do is wash.” He grinned. “Thanks for drying.”
His smile, with the crinkle eyes, made me giddy.
How was it possible for this man to be single?
Was he single? Yeah, he was alone this morning and hadn’t brought anyone with him tonight.
Surely, if he were dating someone, he’d have mentioned it.
This was likely a question I should have asked earlier.
Like much earlier. Like this morning, when I barged into his house and invited him to teach me how to fix fences earlier.
“Your boyfriend, girlfriend, or nonbinary significant other doesn’t mind you having dinner with me tonight? If I knew their name, I would have invited them along.”
I worked to keep my tone casual. I might like to date, but I wasn’t into cheating. Open relationships? Yeah, sure. But only when everyone knew what was up. And was cool with it.
“No one in my life meets any of those descriptions.”
“Is there anyone in your life who thinks they meet those descriptions but you disagree?”
“Nope.”
“In that case, I made dessert. Wanna eat it outside?”
Hank’s eager nod warmed me from the inside out. Food was my love language, and I loved to share it with anyone who wanted to sit at my table. Even Gage, the most annoying brother that ever existed, was welcome at my table because he shoveled my food in his mouth and always asked for thirds.
I gathered the marinated raspberry-strawberry combo off the counter and moved to the island so I could assemble the plates.
While I sliced the pound cake, Hank grabbed the plates and silverware he’d just washed.
I turned around to get a spoon for the berries, but when I turned back around, I caught Hank red-handed, sneaking berries from the bowl.
I quickly rapped his knuckles with my free hand.
And people accused me of being the naughty one.
“What?” he asked, all fake innocence. I wasn’t fooled.
“Stay out of my berries. I’ll put them on your plate, then you can eat them.”
“But I have to sample them first. What if they’re not good?” He winked.
“Sir. You seriously think my dessert wouldn’t be delicious? The audacity. I know what I’m doing here.”
Hank at least had the decency to look sheepish. “You’re absolutely right. What was I even thinking?”
“Exactly. I know what I’ve got, and what I’ve got is a super yummy dessert.”
I pulled the whipped cream from the fridge. I cheated with it from a can—because nobody has time for that—and gave each plate a generous squirt. Then I grabbed the two extra forks he’d laid on the counter and handed the plates off to Hank, who carried them while I opened the porch door.
I looked from the bistro table to the swing. “Where do you want to sit?”
He followed my gaze and didn’t hesitate before heading toward the swing and sitting down. I handed him his plate and settled beside him.
The swing wasn’t big, and he hadn’t sat on the far end, so there was no avoiding the contact.
Our thighs touched because his legs were in full man-spread position, and I was starting to think that was entirely on purpose.
The place where our skin met sent a wave of heat and sparks through me.
My successful efforts to control the excited shivers made me proud. I could do this.
My brothers used to laugh about how easily I fell in love. The right smile, the right pickup line, the right touch…and I was in love until I wasn’t.
When I came down here, I made a promise: no flaking out.
No getting distracted by hot guys. Rowan claimed my problem was falling in love before thinking about whether I should.
But not this time. Not in Comfort. I was going to be a proper businessman with a proper business—and not get tangled up in a sexy cowboy who lived next door.
But damn, I could appreciate the view.
“Did you make this dessert by yourself? Like—not store-bought?” Hank asked, clearly impressed.
“I did. All by my lonesome. The honey for the berries is local. I picked up a bottle when I got the goats and wanted to try it.”
“Oh yeah? Did you get the goats from the Delgado’s place?”
“I did! How’d you know?”
“’Cause they’re the only ones around here with goats and local honey.”
“Small towns are wild. I thought it might work for the B&B. Maybe over French toast or pancakes or something—not just syrup. I wanted something different that was local to the area.”
“Makes sense. I think I’d put this on anything and be happy to eat it off.”
Oh. Dear. Sweet. Baby. Goats.
The visual that popped into my mind had me shifting in my seat.
Hank gave me an odd look, but I returned it with a bright smile.
There was no way I would tell him that I could see him dropping dollops of sweet, sticky fruit on my body and cleaning it off with his tongue.
I cleared my throat and worked on thinking pure, innocent thoughts. Kittens. Clouds. Whipped Cream. Dammit.
“The cider you brought was really good.”
“I’m glad you liked it. It’s my favorite of theirs.”
“For guests, I was thinking of doing something for an afternoon snack. Dinner, except for maybe special occasions, probably doesn’t make sense, but some afternoon snacks with local products might keep my guests happy. I could maybe whip something up with that cider.”
“And a great way to make good with other businesses in town.”
“Yes,” I said with a sweet smile, “that occurred to me too.”
Hank’s small laugh at my pretend innocence warmed me all over.
The air felt charged with electricity, and I wasn’t sure where to go with it.
Well, I mean, I knew where I wanted to go with it, but I also knew that would totally and completely derail my plans.
Getting distracted by a guy was my usual downfall.
There was no reason in the world to mention that the manager—the guy who screwed me over completely—had also been my Daddy.
And what he’d done was a very un-Daddy-like thing to do.
“Your guests are gonna be damn lucky to get your cooking.” He shook his head. “Still think it’s bullshit that guy stole from you. But karma’s a bitch.”
It was like Hank could already read my mind. Jasper, stop it.
“It is. But it’s out of my hands. I refused his bribe because I didn’t want his dirty money. I walked away with clean hands and revenge fantasies from Sissy. Believe me when I say that woman was bloodthirsty. Too bad neither of us is a writer because she could lay them out.”
We ate the rest of our dessert in a quiet, easy silence.
When the plates were empty, I didn’t know what to do next. Normally, I’d be climbing him like a tree, trying to get him back inside and into my bed. But that wasn’t the plan anymore.
I wasn’t going to fall in love. Or lust.
I wasn’t going to get wrapped up in a man.
And if I gave in to what I wanted, I knew exactly where that would go. I was going to stay hands-off and unattached…but oh my god, Hank was so damn sexy. I wasn’t sure I’d even make it twenty-four hours. Eighteen, maybe. With prayer and a little more luck than I’d ever had.
Hank solved part of my problem when he took my empty plate out of my hand and set them on the porch, though out of the way of our feet. He settled back right next to me again. It could’ve been my imagination, or maybe wishful thinking, but it felt like he was even closer than before.
“You’re lucky your porch faces away from town,” Hank said conversationally. “No light pollution.”
“Is that a problem at your place?”
“Yeah. Mine faces toward town, which makes it harder to see the constellations.”
“Really? I only know one.”
“Let me guess. The Big Dipper?”
“Ha! Of course it’s the Big Dipper. I think we all learned that in fourth grade, and it’s literally the only thing I remember or know about astronomy.”
“I had to take a science elective in college. The only thing that fit my schedule was astronomy. I still don’t know shit about astronomy, but I remember a couple of constellations.”
“You mean…besides the Big Dipper?”
“Yeah, besides that one.”
He slid his arm around my shoulders—casual—then lifted it just enough to point at a star off to the left.
“See that bright one, surrounded by the smaller clustered ones?”
With his hand guiding mine, I followed his line of sight.
“Yeah.”
I tried to keep my breathlessness to myself, but I was way too aware of the press of his thigh against mine. Of the weight of his arm on my shoulders. Of the heat from his body. Of the scent of honey and berries still on his breath. Of how freaking good his skin felt when it brushed mine.
When I’d thrown on another pair of cutoffs earlier, I hadn’t factored in what it would feel like to get this close to him. As it turned out, it felt incredible.
“What constellation is that?” I asked, voice quieter.
“The bright one’s Regulus. That’s Leo’s heart. The surrounding stars make the Sickle.”
“They kind of look like a backward question mark.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s really cool. Do you know any others?”
“Not a damn one.”
He said it so dryly that I glanced up to see if it bothered him—but he winked at me, and my bones melted.
I wasn’t gonna make it to eighteen hours.