Chapter 7
Seven
CAITLIN
Founder’s Day.
The small town’s annual festival was a bustling, vibrant affair—a mix of nostalgia, opportunity, and pure chaos. It was the one day a year when permits were tossed aside in favor of old-fashioned entrepreneurial spirit. If you had something to sell, all you needed was a table, a dream, and enough determination to make people stop long enough to consider buying whatever it was you had to offer.
For Caitlin, this day was a potential goldmine.
It was a chance to gather second-hand treasures to decorate her tiny place—odds and ends that carried the weight of someone else’s memories but could find new life with her. It was a chance to indulge in the small, simple pleasures she used to love, like honey-dipped spoons for her tea, the same way she had as a child. There were silent auctions, food trucks offering everything from deep-fried absurdities to homemade preserves, a dunking booth—always a crowd favorite—and, of course…
More .
That infamous, unspecified more .
And wouldn’t you know it?
Her table—meticulously arranged with freshly baked loaves of sourdough, wrapped in waxed cloths she'd stitched herself—was right next to the kissing booth.
For charity, of course.
Because nothing screamed wholesome fundraising quite like swapping spit with strangers in the middle of town square.
Caitlin groaned internally as Matthew Baird swaggered toward her, his easy grin plastered across his face like he’d just stumbled upon the best joke of the century. He had that glint in his eye— the one that meant trouble —and she knew, without a doubt, that whatever had put that look on his face was about to become her problem.
Matthew was always up to something .
And she knew him. Had known him since he was nine. Knew the exact brand of mischief that brewed behind that smirk and the way his mind worked when it got stuck on an idea he found particularly amusing.
No.
No, no, no.
She had worked too hard to let him—or whatever scheme he was cooking up—ruin her perfect day.
Caitlin refocused on her table, pushing Matthew’s impending nonsense aside. She had spent days baking, kneading dough until her arms ached, coaxing it into something beautiful. The loaves were rustic, golden-crusted, and carefully wrapped—designed to catch the eye and hopefully, the wallets of passersby. If she could sell enough, she could finally splurge on some much-needed tools.
A new dough scraper. A proper sourdough whisk. An earthenware mixing bowl that would hold warmth and allow the dough to rise properly.
And, if she dared dream big enough, a banneton basket for proofing. Maybe even a fancy cutter for intricate designs instead of the razor blade she currently used.
Not to mention the colored additives she had been itching to experiment with?—
Beet powder? A deep, rich pink loaf.
Butterfly pea powder? Blue— blue ! Maybe with a hint of purple.
Matcha? A delicate green.
Rainbow bread.
For Easter, maybe? She could braid it like a challah, but with sourdough…
She exhaled dreamily, picturing the swirls of color, the delight on a child’s face when they tore into a loaf that looked like a sunrise?—
“Earth to Caitlin?”
She jumped, blinking up to find Matthew waving a hand in front of her face, his grin widening at her obvious distraction.
She frowned.
If Matthew was here… was Jason?
Her stomach tightened, a mess of nerves she didn’t ask for.
“You know your brother is a real twerp…” she muttered, her eyes darting around as if Jason might materialize out of thin air.
Matthew raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying whatever this was far too much. “Which one?”
She shot him a look.
He knew darn well which one.
“The biggest one.”
Matthew sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, like a referee about to call a foul. “ Oof .” His mock innocence was about as convincing as a fox claiming to be a vegetarian. “Why is that?”
Caitlin crossed her arms, scowling. “None of your beeswax…” She hesitated, then added, “He’s just a twerp. Like you.”
Matthew clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow. You wound me, Caitlin. Really.”
She rolled her eyes, turning back to her loaves, checking the folds in the wax cloths as if her life depended on their precise symmetry.
“Well, someone woke up in a foul mood.” Matthew leaned against her table, looking far too at ease for her liking. “I actually came to buy a loaf of bread from you, you know. To support my dear, sweet friend .”
His tone was pointed, laced with the kind of exaggerated patience that made her immediately realize that she was being a crappy friend.
Caitlin sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.
Because, yeah. Maybe she was.
And the worst part?
Matthew knew it.
That infuriating, cocky grin of his stretched across his face, so smug, so sure of himself, and Caitlin wanted nothing more than to wipe it away, preferably with a stale loaf of her unsold bread.
“Hi,” she grimaced, barely able to meet his gaze.
“Hi,” he grinned—like a cat that had not only caught the canary but had also convinced it to sing him a tune before swallowing it whole.
She narrowed her eyes. “I hate when you do this.”
“Because you know I’m right.”
“Which is completely annoying.”
“Oh, I know it is—which is why I do it,” Matthew laughed, all easy charm, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks.
Caitlin gritted her teeth. If there were an award for being insufferable, he’d win it in a landslide.
“So,” he continued, rocking back on his heels. “How are you doing on your sales?”
She exhaled sharply. “Well, better than I thought.”
“That good, huh?”
“I’ve sold one,” she admitted, arms crossing as she prepared for the inevitable teasing.
“Two now,” he corrected, fishing out a few bills and handing them to her.
She didn’t take them. Instead, she met his eyes, unwavering, unimpressed. “No,” she said, voice flat. “I’ve sold one— officially —now.”
The grin slid from his face like butter on a hot skillet. He hesitated, eyes scanning hers, searching for a joke that didn’t exist. “Oh,” he murmured, the playfulness in his tone vanishing. “Dang, Caitlin— really ?”
“I’m trying,” she shrugged, lowering her voice as she leaned in slightly. “Look around, though.” She gestured with her chin at the bustling crowd, at the way people clutched greasy paper bags filled with pork cracklins, fried pies, and funnel cakes—food that smelled sinful enough to make someone forget their diet and their dignity.
“People are in line for all the good stuff. And me? I’m stuck down here in the dead zone. Oh, and bonus—I’m getting plenty of side-eyes from the people waiting for the kissing booth.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
Matthew followed her gaze, frowning as he took in the setup. “Ohhh,” he echoed, drawing the word out like he’d just now put the pieces together. A small line creased between his brows, and for the first time since sauntering over, he looked genuinely concerned. “I guess they didn’t think about that when they planned this out.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, studying his face carefully. “I guess next year I’m gonna have to ask to be near the Morrisons so I can push my bread with their homemade honey butter.”
“That would be smart,” he nodded, but then his expression shifted, brightening. “But you’re near the kissing booth,” he pointed out, far too cheerful about this fact.
She turned her glare on him. A glare so sharp it could have peeled the label off a soup can.
“That’s a good thing,” he pressed on as if his optimism could outlast her patience. “I mean, when ol’ Mabel gets done puckering up—you could step in.”
Her face twisted in disgust. “I’m not kissing anyone.”
“You could kiss my brother.”
And just like that, her already frayed patience snapped. She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flashing with something dangerously close to fury.
“And have my heart trampled on further? No, thank you.” The words came out like venom, hot and bitter, and she nearly slapped the loaf of bread right out of his hands when he started waving it around like a magician’s wand.
Matthew stilled. He had the decency to look at least a little sheepish, but not enough to make up for what he’d just said. Her stomach twisted. A new, far more unsettling thought took root.
“You didn’t have anything to do with me being down here—did you?”
Silence.
The kind of silence that said maybe he had.
Her heart thudded hard in her chest.
“Did you?”
And this time, when Matthew didn’t answer right away, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Oh, he was in so much trouble.
Caitlin barely had time to react before Matthew thrust the loaf of bread toward her again, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper, thick with incredulity.
“It’s the kissing booth,” he hissed in disbelief, holding out his hand again – with the loaf of bread – and hit the mayor in the shoulder without batting an eye as he continued speaking to her in a hushed voice as he gestured wildly. “Kissing. Kissing , Caitlin. People love kissing, heck, I love kissing, and kissing booths make people happy . Happy people buy bread. Happy people spend money . My brother spends money when he’s happy, and if you kissed him then…”
Caitlin’s breath hitched, and she shoved her hands onto the counter of her makeshift stall as if grounding herself.“I’m not kissing Jason.”
Matthew’s head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing.“Why not?”
She clenched her jaw, feeling the heat crawl up her neck.“We’re not talking about this.”
Matthew took a deliberate step closer, pressing the issue with maddening persistence.“Why?”
Her fingers curled into her apron .
“Because people are listening.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes.“So? Let ’em listen. They should be buying your bread and then getting in line for the kissing booth—where you should be puckering up.”
Her frustration boiled over, making her voice sharper than she intended.“Why are you doing this to me? Why do you even care?”
Matthew’s playful grin softened for just a moment, sincerity flickering beneath the mischief.“I’m doing this because I care…”
Her heart twisted at that, but she shook her head, refusing to let him get away with it.“No, you don’t, because if you did, you’d drop it and let the matter rest.”
He heaved an exaggerated sigh, then extended the bread toward her again.“Sell me another loaf.”
Caitlin stared at him, utterly unimpressed.“No. I ought to refund you for the first one, but I’m too stubborn.”
Matthew smirked.
“You are stubborn.”
She crossed her arms.
“Fine.”
“Fine.” His eyes danced with amusement.
They stood there, locked in a ridiculous staring contest, until his smirk deepened.“You’re halfway cute when you get mad—in a weird, sisterly way.”
She made a face.“You’re the weird one.”
Matthew gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest.“It’s a shame you don’t make my toes curl because I really like you and would do anything for ya, Caitlin.”
A pang of something—gratitude, affection, maybe a bit of sadness—settled in her stomach.“We both know fate has a sick sense of humor, and it was like kissing a potato when we kissed.”
Matthew perked up.“Mmm… potatoes.”
A beat of silence stretched between them, and then, as if choreographed, they both burst into laughter. The kind that made their stomachs ache, the kind that earned them more than a few puzzled looks from passing festival-goers.
Caitlin wiped at her eyes, still chuckling.“You know I mean this in the most platonic way, but I really love you, Matthew.”
He beamed, leaning forward.“I love you too, Caitlin—in the most platonic way ever.”
“Best friends, always.”
Without thinking, she leaned across the table, and he met her halfway, wrapping her in a warm, solid hug. And for a moment, everything felt simple. Easy. Right. Because Matthew was a light in her life, an anchor, the person she could count on no matter what. He was the best person ever and had the most wonderful outlook on the world with a carefree sense of joy that seemed to call to others – and it was true. She loved him with her entire being, but as a friend.
Now, Matthew's brother?
… Oh mannnn.
Forget sparks —Jason could incinerate with a single glance. He radiated heat, that slow-burning kind that smoldered beneath the surface, waiting to ignite at just the right moment. And that was what had been missing with Matthew.
She had tried—oh, how she had tried—to convince herself otherwise. Matthew had been sweet, kind, and predictable. But Jason? He could flash a smile, and she’d hand over a kidney without hesitation. No questions asked. And wasn’t that just the most humiliating realization of all? Because no matter how much she might have built him up in her head, he wasn’t interested.
Not in her.
That sting was still fresh, still raw, and as Matthew stood before her, the weight of that knowledge pressed against her ribs, making it hard to breathe.
"Don’t push things," Caitlin blurted out suddenly, hugging Matthew tight, as if she could squeeze the words into his stubborn brain. "Don’t push things or try to set me up with him because it won’t work."
Matthew leaned back, his brows furrowing. "Did you find someone else?"
Her laugh was short, humorless. "He’s not interested."
"How do you know that?"
She stiffened. The answer lodged itself in her throat like a piece of stale bread. How did she know? Maybe because Jason had never texted her. Never called. Never come back to Pizza Palace after that night, after she had—stupidly—thought something might be there.
After she had started to hope.
"I don’t want to talk about it," she said, forcing her tone to remain steady.
"Caitlin—"
"Matthew. Please." Her voice dropped to a whisper, thick with the embarrassment she could no longer swallow down. She had misread the signals. She had convinced herself there was something, when in reality, Jason had probably been bored, polite, or worse—just killing time.
And she? She had been waiting.
She clenched her jaw, blinking furiously.
This was pathetic.
She was pathetic.
"I don’t want to talk about it," she repeated, sharper this time, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "Your brother isn’t interested, and I’ve got loaves of bread to sell."
Matthew studied her for a beat, the sympathy in his eyes making her want to throw the entire bread stall at him.
"Well, sell me another," he said, offering a sportingly casual nod, like they hadn’t just wandered into dangerous territory. "I’ll send people your way and just mention the farm when you talk to anyone. Jason and Luke made a batch of Dad’s barbecue seasoning to sell and?—"
Caitlin’s ears perked up despite herself. "Oh really?" She crossed her arms, feigning disinterest but failing miserably. "Dude, take your loaf and get me a small jar, please?"
"Come have barbecue at the farm," Matthew countered, his lips twitching like he knew exactly what he was doing.
She rolled her eyes. "No—Jason’s there."
"He’s been there before," Matthew pointed out, shrugging.
"But I’ve never been rejected like this before," she muttered, and the moment the words left her mouth, she clamped her lips shut.
Too late.
Matthew’s expression shifted. A flash of something—guilt, realization, regret—crossed his face.
"That... uh... might be my fault," he hedged, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
Caitlin narrowed her eyes, the slow, creeping understanding making her pulse spike. "Excuse me?"
Before he could escape, she grabbed a crusty loaf and smacked him upside the head.
"Are you kidding me?!" she hissed, her voice laced with fury as several heads turned their way. She didn’t care. Let them watch. Let them gossip. She was ready to start launching loaves like missiles if Matthew had interfered.
He lifted his hands in surrender, wincing. "Look, I might’ve... sort of... said something to him?—"
"Did he ask for my cell number?" she cut in, eyes blazing.
Matthew took a slow step back. "Uh..."
She grabbed another loaf.
"Matthew, I will beat you to a bready-pulp!" Caitlin had never wanted to murder her best friend more than she did at this moment. Matthew stood there, shifting on his feet, his guilty expression confirming what she already knew.
“Maybe?” he said sheepishly.
That one word sent her over the edge. With a growl, she swung the same crusty loaf of bread at his head again. He ducked, but not fast enough—she still managed to graze his shoulder.
“What?” he yelped, his arms flying up in a pitiful attempt to protect himself. “He needs to work for it, you know? I don’t just go tossing my friends under the bus?—”
“You tossed me !” she shrieked, punctuating each word with a jab of the bread.
“I protected you!”
Caitlin let out a disbelieving laugh, stepping closer, her heart pounding with frustration. “I don’t want your protection from him—I wanted him to text me! And in football terms— so you understand exactly what I’m saying —” she jabbed a finger into his chest, eyes blazing, “you blocked a pass, bro. And lost the game for me.”
Matthew rolled his eyes like she was being dramatic, and that only made her blood boil hotter.
“Ugh, drama queen,” he muttered under his breath.
Oh, that was it!
She hauled back and swung the loaf at him again with enough force to rival a Hail Mary pass. This time, the crusty bread snapped in half against his arm.
Several people nearby burst into laughter. She barely heard them over the rush of anger in her veins. Without hesitation, she chucked both halves at him. One bounced off his chest; the other smacked against his thigh before falling to the ground.
Matthew gawked at her. “It was more like there was a flag on the play, and you lost first down, okay? Sheesh.”
Caitlin made a strangled sound of frustration. “You sacked my quarterback.”
“Your quarterback was outta the game already,” he shot back, arms spread wide in exasperation.
“Then put him back in!”
“I’m trying!” Matthew yelled, pointing toward the booths. “Why do you think I put your table near the kissing booth?!”
Her eyes widened. “Ah-ha!” she shouted triumphantly, pointing at him in the exact same way. “I knew it!”
They glared at each other, mirroring each other’s stances, breathing hard from the verbal sparring. Then, in a move as familiar as breathing, they grabbed each other’s hands—index fingers still extended—and started slapping them together in an old, childish game they hadn’t played in years.
“Eeenie, meenie?—”
“That’s you—the meenie,” she cut in.
“Miney—”
“I’m gonna kick your hiney,” she threatened.
“Mo—”
“You pronounced it wrong, Hoe ,” she smirked.
Matthew snorted. “My mama told me?—”
“Didn’t matter, ’cause you didn’t listen,” she shot back, eyes flashing.
“And you are not it?—”
“Oh, I’m it ,” Caitlin interrupted, voice dropping into something fierce, something raw. She yanked her hand away and slapped his with force. “You just feel weird about it—which is why you’re sabotaging things!”
Matthew hesitated, rubbing the back of his hand where she’d smacked him. His usual quick wit faltered just for a second, and in that split moment, she saw something—regret, maybe, or guilt.
“It’s because you’re my bestie that I did it…” His voice was softer now.
Caitlin swallowed hard. That anger she’d been holding onto wavered, shifting into something more vulnerable, something she hated letting Matthew see.
“It’s been six weeks , Matthew,” she whispered, voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “Do you know how I felt, thinking?—”
She cut herself off, shaking her head. No. He didn’t deserve to know. Because then he’d just try to fix it again, and she was so darn tired of him meddling. “You know what? Never mind. I’m not telling you. Because then you would have had to fix it, and I don’t want you messing with me like that. I never comment on your traipsing around, and you made sure I never got the chance to do the same with the one person I’ve watched since I was a teenager.”
Her words hung between them, raw and exposed, and for once, Matthew didn’t have a snappy comeback. After a long beat, he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I don’t get what you see in him.”
Caitlin let out a breath of laughter, but it wasn’t amused—it was hollow. “I don’t either.” She sagged, her arms wrapping around herself as her frustration melted into something sadder, something more resigned. “I can’t answer that, and I can’t explain it.”
Matthew was quiet for a moment, watching her in a way that made her feel seen, even when she didn’t want to be. Then, finally, he sighed and bent down, scooping up the broken loaf of bread from the ground. He held it out to her.
“Wanna bash me once more?” he asked, a crooked, apologetic smile on his lips.
Caitlin stared at him, at the stupid loaf, at the stupid boy who had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. Then she snatched the bread from his hands and smacked him upside the head with it.
“Idiot,” she muttered.
Matthew just grinned.
Caitlin forced out a chuckle, the sound wobbling with an emotion she refused to name. It sat thick in her throat, an unspoken weight pressing against her ribs, threatening to spill over in the form of frustrated, unshed tears. She hated how easily he could do this—how one simple act, meant to shield her, could slice through her carefully built armor. It wasn’t fair. He was trying to protect her, she knew that, but in doing so, he’d only managed to wound her instead.
She inhaled sharply, willing herself to hold steady, and to keep her voice light despite the storm brewing inside her.
“Kissing booth,” he murmured, voice low and rough enough to send an unwelcome shiver down her spine. He tilted his chin toward the garishly decorated stand draped in heart-shaped bunting, where a line of hopefuls waited their turn. His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else there, too—something unreadable that made her stomach twist. “You should take a few turns, sneak in a few smooches, and…”
His words hung between them, teasing yet weighted, a challenge wrapped in casual suggestion.
Caitlin arched a brow, refusing to let him have the upper hand. If he thought she was going to stand here and let him rattle her, he had another thing coming.
“Oh, sure,” she smirked, lifting her hand and pointing down the bustling row of booths where thick clouds of smoke and the rich scent of slow-roasted meat filled the air. “And while I’m at it, why don’t you go get my barbecue seasoning?”
The look he shot her was priceless—equal parts exasperation and reluctant amusement.
“Uh-huh,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his body language all lazy defiance. But there was an edge to it, a flicker of something raw beneath the teasing. “And if I try to sneak a chance at the kissing booth, just make sure it’s not you in line.”
Caitlin’s smirk deepened. “Ughhh!”
They both made exaggerated faces, their noses scrunching up like kids forced to eat their least favorite vegetable.
* * *
Hours later, Caitlin sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she surveyed the dwindling crowd. The afternoon had dragged by, leaving her stall mostly untouched, save for the three loaves of bread she’d managed to sell. The absence of one particular person gnawed at her more than she cared to admit. Matthew had never returned with her barbecue seasoning, nor had she spotted him in the crowd again.
Beside her, the kissing booth had been an overwhelming success. The orphanage would certainly benefit from the town’s enthusiastic generosity—especially with Mabel in charge. The older woman had taken her role quite seriously, doling out kisses with flair, sometimes even dipping the braver men backward as the crowd whooped and cheered. It was entertaining, heartwarming even, watching the town come together like this.
But now, as the sun began its slow descent, shadows stretched long over the tables, and the festival started to wind down. Vendors packed up their goods, folding tablecloths and stacking crates. The scent of fried dough and barbecue still lingered in the air, mingling with the crisp breeze, but the energy of the day had shifted. Soon, folks would filter into the community hall for bingo or the spades tournament, and the lively fairground would be nothing but scattered remnants of laughter and trampled confetti.
“Last call!” Mabel’s voice rang out, loud and commanding as she shook her donation jar at the remaining stragglers. The coins inside clinked together, but she didn’t seem satisfied just yet. With a sudden pivot, her sharp gaze landed on Caitlin.
“Caitie, you wanna take a crack at this?” Mabel gestured toward the booth, an impish grin curling at the corners of her mouth. “I bet some boys would love to kiss a sweet young lady like yourself…”
Caitlin’s stomach flipped. Her face burned so hot she was sure she’d glow like a lantern in the dusky light. She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head quickly. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she murmured, attempting to wave off the suggestion. “You want them to give money to charity, not ask for a refund .”
Mabel scoffed, crossing her arms. “Honey, ain’t nobody getting their money back once it hits the jar.”
Caitlin chuckled, but her discomfort lingered. She nudged a loaf of bread forward on her table as if that might distract them both. “I haven’t sold hardly anything today, and I can tell you for a fact that these thin lips are not what guys are looking for.” She pointed at her own face, trying to make light of it.
“Maybe they’re the wrong guys then.”
The deep voice cut through the air, steady and deliberate, and Caitlin’s breath hitched.
Her head turned slowly, almost unwillingly, her pulse stuttering in her throat. Jason Baird stood there, broad-shouldered and unreadable, a small jar of barbecue seasoning in his hand.
Oh.
Mabel’s sharp eyes darted between them, her lips twitching as if she’d just won a bet no one knew they were making. Without another word, she stepped back, waving a hand toward the booth like a game show host presenting the grand prize. Then, with her donation jar tucked securely under her arm, she sauntered off, leaving Caitlin utterly alone with Jason.
The moment stretched taut, every sound around them fading into a muffled hum. The clatter of folding tables, the murmur of fading conversations—all of it blurred as Jason stepped closer, setting the small jar on her table with careful precision.
“How’d it go today for you?” he asked.
Caitlin willed herself to sound casual. “Great,” she lied, her voice just a touch too bright. “And you?”
“Great,” he echoed, though his gaze remained fixed on hers, unreadable and unwavering.
She swallowed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She should say something, make some excuse to leave, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away.
“Caitlin…” Jason’s voice was softer now, a rough edge scraping against the syllables of her name.
“Don’t,” she said quickly, raising a hand as if to physically stop whatever was about to come next. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain or say anything.”
A flicker of something—hurt, regret, something raw—passed through his expression. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair before speaking again.
“I was going to ask if you were working the kissing booth.”
Her stomach twisted. “Me?” she croaked, glancing around. Most of the festival was packed up now. The few people left were too far away to overhear, making the moment feel even more charged.
“Why would you ask that?” she finally managed, though her throat felt tight.
Jason hesitated, then stepped closer, closing the small space between them. He was close enough now that she could see the way his jaw flexed, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“Because then I might participate.” His voice was barely above a murmur, rough and uneven. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again, the weight of his words settling between them.
Caitlin couldn’t breathe.
Jason cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “I’ve never done this,” he admitted, voice quiet, uncertain. “But I know both of my brothers love it.”
Her chest ached at the vulnerability beneath his words. There was something else there, too—something unspoken, something unfinished. The air between them crackled with it.
Caitlin’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her pulse pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to look away.
“I saw Luke kiss ol’ Mabel—but it was on the cheek,” she offered, testing the waters, seeing how he’d respond.
Jason barely blinked. “He’s a good kid.”
She scoffed. “He’s twenty-three.”
Jason shrugged, completely unfazed. “Still a kid to me.”
Caitlin smirked at his response but didn’t push it. Jason had always been stubborn, and she’d long since given up on trying to change his mind about anything. Instead, she watched as he stepped closer to the booth, his eyes flickering toward the structure like he was trying to make sense of it.
“So, um, how’s this go?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you just stand here or something?”
Caitlin’s breath hitched slightly. It was the first moment he actually seemed unsure of himself, and it sent a strange warmth curling through her chest. He was serious.
“You don’t have to do this…” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.
“I know.”
She hesitated, measuring his expression. “Matthew told me what he did.”
Jason exhaled through his nose, a mix between a chuckle and a sigh. “So you know I asked him then.”
“Yeah, but it’s not that big of a town. You could have found me over the last six weeks or something.”
Jason gave a rueful laugh, rubbing at his jaw as he shook his head. “You know, for it being a small town, you’d think it would be easier to run into you casually so it didn’t come off as creepy, right?”
Caitlin arched a brow, tilting her head slightly as she stepped toward the booth. “I don’t think a girl would take it as creepy if a guy was interested in her,” she whispered, her voice low but laced with meaning. “I think a girl would find it flattering if he was brave enough to ask for her number or wanted to talk to her.”
Jason held her gaze, the warmth in his eyes intensifying. “What if the guy was really scared because she intimidated him?” His voice had dropped, quieter now like he was confessing something he didn’t even mean to. “I mean, hypothetically, of course…”
“Of course…” Caitlin murmured, though her heart was pounding.
Jason swallowed, watching her closely. “Let’s just say that this guy asked her out twice, and she turned him down, so he was really nervous…”
Caitlin could feel her pulse thrumming in her throat. She licked her lips, her voice softer now. “I guess maybe it says a lot about both of them.”
“How so?”
“Maybe he was scared and ran—and maybe she said no because she was frightened too.”
Jason exhaled slowly, considering her words. His gaze never wavered, never broke from hers. “Hmm,” he mused, nodding. “That’s a pickle.”
“Yup,” Caitlin agreed, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “A tough one to get past.”
Jason crossed his arms, tapping a finger against his bicep in thought. “I guess they have a history, which is why they might both be frightened to take the next step.”
“Sounds like it.”
“And then there’s the third wheel who keeps throwing both of them off the scent by interfering…”
Caitlin rolled her eyes dramatically, stepping even closer, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of sawdust and spice clinging to his shirt. “Ah yes, the third wheel,” she muttered.
Jason grinned. “Someone should put a spoke in his wheel.”
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I have it on good authority that he was beaten within an inch of his life by a loaf of sourdough today when it was discovered,” she whispered like she was sharing the town’s best-kept secret.
Jason’s smile widened, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest, and for a moment, they just stood there—locked in a stare neither one of them was willing to break. The air between them was thick, charged with something unspoken, something neither of them seemed ready to say aloud.
Jason finally cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “So… how did the bread sales go for you today – really .”
Caitlin let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Terrible. You?”
“Awful,” he admitted, still grinning. “We’re going home with a piglet and some baby chicks, but we sold most of Dad’s seasoning. I was hoping to go home empty-handed.”
“I’ll take a baby chick or two.”
Jason’s brow lifted, amused. “You can have them,” he said, his voice lower, softer. And then, after a beat—“In exchange for coffee.”
Caitlin’s heart stumbled over itself, and she knew, without a doubt, that they were no longer just dancing around the past. Jason Baird had just taken a step forward. And now, it was her turn to decide if she’d meet him there.
“Ahhh,” she smiled hesitantly, eyes flicking between him and the table. “Would this be a clucky kinda hostage situation?”
“The cluckiest ,” he agreed smoothly, his grin sharp and knowing. His easy confidence sent a ripple of something unexpected through her—anticipation? Amusement? Maybe both.
Jason tilted his head slightly, considering her as if trying to decipher exactly what she was thinking. “So how do you do this?” he asked, nodding toward the setup between them. “You’re distracting me.”
“I think there’s an ‘X’ on the ground for you to stand on—” she started to explain, but her words trailed off as he took two measured steps forward and, without a second thought, tossed his wallet onto the table like he was placing a bet he knew he’d win.
Her stomach tightened.
“What are you doing?” she asked, genuinely confused, though her pulse had already picked up speed as if it somehow knew exactly where this was headed before she did.
Jason leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to something low and intimate. “Whatever it costs, I’ll donate it for a chance to kiss you.”
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t joking. There was no teasing lilt to his voice, no hint of hesitation. Just that steady, unshakable determination she’d always admired about him—except now, it was directed squarely at her.
“I sent Matthew and Luke home with the first trailer, so they can’t screw this up for me,” he continued, his tone lighter, but his eyes… oh, his eyes were dark, unwavering. “So take your time deciding how much you want me to donate and get ready because I’m not leaving without a shot at whatever this is.” His fingers flexed at his sides like he was holding himself back. “I want your cell phone number and a kiss, Caitlin.”
Her throat went dry.
The weight of his words settled deep, something warm and thrilling twisting in her chest. She had never seen Jason like this—so forthright, so open. And oh gosh, was it ever flattering.
“And I meant it about the coffee, too,” he added, as if trying to soften the moment, though there was an edge of nervousness in his voice now. The great and confident Jason Baird was just a little unsure.
She stood there, momentarily frozen, her mind racing through a thousand different responses but settling on none.
Instead, she took a slow, measured step forward.
Jason didn’t move.
Not at first.
Then, like some unspoken signal had passed between them, he reached up and yanked off his cowboy hat, the motion almost instinctive. Her eyes flickered to his hair, the way the brim had flattened parts of it, leaving soft waves curling at the edges.
Would it feel as soft as it looked?
She barely had time to entertain the thought before she noticed the way his gaze dropped—to her mouth.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Her lips parted almost on command like they somehow knew what was coming before her brain could fully catch up.
“Are you really sure about this?” she managed to strangle out, her voice an uneven whisper.
Jason’s eyes flicked back up to hers.
“Don’t you want to kiss me?”
Her heart pounded.
“It’s not about me,” she hedged, her pulse rioting in her veins. “It’s about what you…”
She didn’t get to finish.
Jason moved, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he tugged her toward him in one fluid, effortless motion. His lips met hers, and for a fleeting second, a ridiculous thought hit her— this can’t possibly be real.
But then?—
Heat.
A slow-burning fire that started at the base of her spine and roared through her like a backdraft exploding into life.
Her prom kiss with Matthew had been stiff, awkward, forgettable – and they had laughed and laughed about how bad it was.
This was not that.
This was something entirely different—something that curled her toes and made her breath hitch.
A noise she didn’t recognize rumbled from deep in her throat, and before she even realized what she was doing, her hands fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. Jason didn’t hesitate. He angled his head, parting his lips to deepen the kiss, and everything else—her nerves, her doubts, the entire world—vanished in a haze of warmth and the intoxicating scent of him.
She was lost.
Utterly, wonderfully lost.
Caitlin stood frozen, her mind a swirling blur of thoughts and sensations. The kiss, the one that had just happened, still reverberated through her lips, a hot, electrifying echo that refused to fade. She couldn’t believe what had just transpired between them. Was this real? Her head buzzed as though she were standing at the edge of a cliff, her body trembling with the lingering charge of his touch.
“Wow.” The word escaped her mouth on a breath, but it felt like it came from someone else entirely—someone who couldn’t quite grasp the depth of what had just occurred. She glanced up at him, Jason, and found him standing there, just as shell-shocked as she was.
He looked at her with wide, slightly dazed eyes, like he had just stepped out of a dream, his hand still hovering near his face as if he wasn’t sure where to place it anymore. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps, his gaze locked onto hers in stunned silence. The two of them were like two tornadoes that had collided, both reeling from the aftermath of something powerful and life-changing.
Neither of them moved, both caught in the quiet aftermath of that kiss, unsure of what to do next, as if a stiff wind could knock them off their feet at any moment. Finally, Jason broke the stillness, his voice thick, almost uncertain.
“I’m sorry your sales were so bad today.” His words didn’t seem to match the weight of the moment. They were awkward and clumsy, as if he had no idea how to follow up with something meaningful after what they had just shared. “Uh,” he hesitated, his eyes flickering to her lips for the briefest second before he looked away, clearly flustered. “I need your cell number.”
Caitlin’s mind was a jumbled mess. It felt like every thought, every rational part of her brain, had short-circuited. Cell number? What was she supposed to do now? She opened her mouth, but no words came.
“My brain isn’t working,” she muttered, barely realizing she had spoken aloud.
Jason chuckled softly, but the sound was laced with that same unsteady energy, the kind that said he, too, was still processing what had just happened between them. “How about you give me your phone then?”
She nodded dumbly, handing him her phone without thinking. Her hand trembled as she placed it into his, her fingers brushing his palm for the briefest second. Caitlin had never been more aware of the pulse of her own heart than at this very moment. She clung to the wooden frame of the kissing booth as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. She felt like a newborn lamb, weak, unsteady, and on the verge of toppling over. Her knees were jelly, barely holding her upright.
“There,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he handed the phone back. But his eyes didn’t leave hers. Instead, they scanned her table with sharp intent, his brow furrowing as though something had caught his attention.
Without another word, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp, ear-piercing whistle that sliced through the heavy air. Caitlin blinked, startled, as a van in the distance began backing toward them. She watched, dazed, as Jason jogged over without so much as a glance back at her. The whole situation seemed like a fever dream, her heart still thrumming in her chest as if it couldn’t quite catch up with the intensity of everything that had just happened.
Good gravy.
Was she drooling?
She hadn’t meant to, but as she watched him stride off, every inch of his body radiated confidence—too much for her to process. The way he walked, his long, purposeful strides, the way his jeans clung to his thighs, the subtle flex of his back muscles...
Why was she staring so much? She felt like an idiot, her mouth dry, her cheeks heating up. No one had ever made walking look so sexy, and—oh, the boots. The boots, the jeans, the man who wore them... it was like a dream she wasn’t sure she deserved to be a part of.
And then, just like that, Jason turned back toward her. Of course, just as I’m wiping a blob of drool off my face – nice move, Caitlin… smooooooth.
“Caitlin, Sister Mary-Hazel needs some help loading the bread in the van,” he called, his voice cutting through her haze of lustful thoughts.
“Huh?” She blinked, still a little out of sorts. “The bread?”
“All of it,” he said, his tone firm, as though it were a done deal. “Every loaf. They’re having sandwiches Friday at the orphanage, and I’m donating the ham for it.”
Caitlin’s brain tried to process what he’d just said, but it couldn’t quite catch up. He did what? He had donated her bread? Without even asking her?
Her stomach dropped.
She had been planning to sell those loaves—use the money to get her baking hobby off the ground. But in front of the nun who was now giving her the warmest, most grateful smile, she couldn’t very well say that. Not without looking like the most selfish, greedy person on the planet. So, she nodded. She didn’t even know if she could manage words, so she settled for silence as she moved to load the bread into the van.
The next thing she knew, Sister Mary-Hazel was wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug, whispering, “Bless you, child.” Caitlin froze, a lump rising in her throat. This was the kind of thing she had always wanted to be a part of—this was good, this was pure—but it felt so foreign now. And yet, she didn’t have the heart to protest. She couldn’t, not with the nun beaming at her like that.
Once the bread was loaded and the van had pulled away, Caitlin turned back to Jason, who was still standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.
“That was sweet of you to donate the ham,” Caitlin said, her voice tentative. She was still shaken, the kiss still too fresh in her memory, making everything feel a little off-kilter. She had no idea what to say to him now, especially with the way he was looking at her.
“Are you free Friday?” Jason asked, his voice cool but with an undercurrent of something that made her pulse race.
“Maybe,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Jason raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I see.” He took a step back and then smirked again, his voice teasing. “Why don’t you text me and let me know when you get a few minutes—especially now that you have my cell number?”
“I might,” she answered, though she wasn’t entirely sure of anything at this point.
“Wonderful,” Jason said, his smile broadening, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He hesitated, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary, and then, just when Caitlin thought he might leave, he turned back toward her.
“Here,” he said, thrusting a wad of cash into her hand before she could react. “That was a heckuva kiss, so I paid triple what you were asking for the bread. Sister Mary-Hazel only accepts donations, so thank you for playing along with me. See ya Friday, Caitlin.”
And just like that, he was gone—his stride purposeful, his back to her, leaving her standing there, dumbfounded, holding two hundred dollars in her hand like it was the most surreal thing that had ever happened to her.
He bought her bread – and lied to the nun, saying it was a donation? What kind of man was he? And why would he do that for her?
A kind man, that little voice said inside of her – smiling.