Chapter 4 #2
My sales were gangbusters. I made enough to pay Lane for my car and fill up the loaner Karl found for me before I return the tiny Ford Focus to him. It was handy around town, but it wouldn’t have worked for this weekend. That thing would’ve been full past the windows just with my cupcakes.
Cruz slides a sidelong glance my way but doesn’t say anything else.
He has to have noticed my tone. He seems more sensitive to it than anyone else in my life. More considerate. But then he does that for everyone. Just like he said.
Only he made the claim in regard to his job. He was so animated and knowledgeable when he walked me through the samples, I felt special.
He does it for everyone. At least he’s open about it.
I could’ve been more exuberant about his comment. The weekend was phenomenal. I nearly ran out of business cards. I sold so much on Saturday that I baked over half the night to haul more goods in today. I dug into my stores of frozen cookie dough to sell that too. I ran out.
I’m going to be a baking machine tonight into tomorrow. I’m going to hustle frozen cookie dough hard since it’s a proven seller. With those sales, I should have the payment I need for the end of the month.
Nineties country music plays quietly from the speakers.
Does he keep it turned down because he’s normally visiting with his passenger?
The dashboard is still dust-free. Other than the bottle of water in his console, there’s no garbage of any sort.
Does he vacuum every day too? For a guy who lives on gravel, this pickup is too clean.
I’ve studied everything I can in the cab, but I’m not getting any new insight into him.
I could stare at him for the next forty-five minutes, which I’d love to do, or I can gaze out the window.
The silence gets to me.
“My frozen cookie dough was a hit.” To think I used to be so smooth I could’ve sold timeshares along with my cupcakes. I’m not just out of practice. This man scrambles my thoughts. “I was racking my brains last night to come up with more items to sell, or I would’ve been sitting in an empty booth.”
Surprise lifts his brows momentarily and his smile is polite. “Yeah? An unplanned offering?”
“Yes. I keep it for backup when something doesn’t turn out or I get behind, but I didn’t think of selling it as-is until last night.”
“You could offer it for one of those fundraisers, like what my niece’s preschool does.”
I blink at him. Blink again. I had to peddle cookie dough once when I was in volleyball in middle school. It’s easy to make. Quick to package. Just as simple to store if I have enough space. “Holy shit, Cruz. That’s genius. I’m sitting on a gold mine.”
His laugh rumbles right through me, but there’s a slight pink tint to his cheeks. Does my admiration embarrass him? “What do the sellers get, like fifty percent?”
I run calculations through my head. I know how much a batch of each type of cookie costs and what I profit from each one sold, but I wouldn’t be baking them.
So much time saved. What I get from that, I’d need for mass production and packaging.
Then there’s storage, but I’ve been looking at a new standing freezer. “How do I get started in that?”
He lifts a shoulder and turns off the interstate. “I know it’s not her exact area, but Campbell might have some ideas.”
“I can’t afford to pay for her consulting.” I gnaw on my lower lip. I had a bumper of a weekend, but I’m penny-pinching.
He slants another look at me and maneuvers onto the highway that’ll take us to Huckleberry Springs. “I can ask around.”
He would do that? With his charm, he could get me all the free consultations I want. No, I need to earn this. “You run two businesses already. You’re a busy man.”
“It’s okay to have someone help you.” He doesn’t say it loud, like he’s afraid I’ll dive out the car door, roll into the ditch, and take off running at the idea.
I might. I don’t deserve anyone’s help. A knot tightens between my shoulders. “I know, but it’s fine. It’s just an idea at this point.”
I suck at being nonchalant.
We’re quiet all the way to the bakery. He backs the pickup to the door, and with each load he hauls in, I feel worse. He’s done so much for me today. I’ve been weird with him, yet just like the night my car broke down, he isn’t ditching me and running.
I hate how he’s so reserved around me. I hate that I need him to be, as much as I wish he’d joke around with me again. I hate how much I like him.
He carries in the last of the empty containers that were once full of cupcakes. I can’t stand to watch him walk out of here. Our next collaboration is the Taste of Springs street fair. Will he be my contact or give up the chore to Lane because I’m so temperamental?
“Would you like a snack?” I blurt out as soon as he sets the last box down.
“Nah, I’m good—”
“At least a drink.” I push my fingertips to my forehead. Has my game slipped that far? No, it didn’t slip. I ran from it. “I have that buttery whiskey you brought me.”
“You don’t like whiskey.”
“I didn’t like the other whiskey.”
He studies me for a moment, a confused furrow in his brow. I have to seem like the hottest and coldest woman at the same time. I am, but only with him.
“Sure,” he finally says. “But not a lot. Can’t have your cousin picking me up.”
My cousin is the area’s most well-known deputy. Relieved enough to ignore the anxious knot in my stomach, I grab the bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. He takes a seat at the little table, making it look like I’m serving a doll’s tea party there.
The man is so pleasingly big. I should be pushing him out the door.
I set a glass in front of him and splash some amber fluid into it, doing the same with mine. I sit and shoot it back, letting the buttery flavor coat my tongue for a second time before swallowing and reveling in the light burn. Then I fill my tumbler halfway.
His steady gaze is on me. “You sure today went well?”
“It’s not today that’s bothering me. Today was amazing.
I wish every street fair was like this one.
” I put the cork in the bottle and push it to the side.
Warmth from the drink fills my chest and tension drains from between my shoulder blades.
“It’s a whole bunch of yesterdays that are fucking with my tomorrows. ”
A dark brow of his arches. He takes a slow sip, keeping his gaze on me.
The alcohol hasn’t had time to affect me, yet my tongue loosens. “I’m sorry. About how I am.” I down another big mouthful. “God, this is good. I could become a whiskey girl if you kept making this.”
“Butter Barrel is one of my favorites.”
I nod without looking at him. “I didn’t . . . There was a guy— You’re nothing like him.” Have I gotten that lightweight? My whole past is ready to spill out after bubbling away for years, but I only need to explain why I get weird with him.
“What’d he do?” Cruz’s tone is low, almost dangerous.
A shiver traces over my skin. No. No. I cannot go down this road again. “He was a loser. You clearly aren’t a loser.”
A ghost of a smile passes over his lips, but there’s something slipping through his blue eyes I can’t identify. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
His dark brows lift. “I appreciate the apology.”
My heart twists. He didn’t, nah, you never did. I hurt his feelings, and he’s forgiven me as easy as that. Unless he thinks he doesn’t measure up to everyone around him? No, he has to know that the problem is me. Right?
He swirls the fluid in the glass, seeming to study how it rolls along the edges with each turn. “Do I intimidate you?”
I owe him honesty. “You scare me.” I toss back the rest of the whiskey. Just like the old days. “But I miss you flirting with me.”
Oh god. I said it. That’s a confession for the dead of night when I’m alone.
I shoot to my feet and take my glass to the sink. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I must sound unhinged. It hasn’t even been that long since I bit your head off.” I spin around. He’s right there. “Oh my god!”
The guy moves like a panther, and I’ve never wanted to be prey more. I need to get my wits about me. I’m not losing them over some dude.
Cruz is not some dude, and that’s what scares me.
“Now, Elodie,” he says in a voice as smooth as the drink we just shared, “you might need to elaborate. Because you fascinate me, but the closer I try to get, the farther away you push me.”
He’s right, but how do I answer? How do I keep my brain functioning when I’m close enough to soak up his body heat?
He lifts his hand slowly, like I’m a skittish pony he doesn’t want to scare away, and slips a few strands of my hair through his fingers.
A low rumble leaves his chest, and he tucks them behind my ear, his rough fingertips brushing against the shell of my ear. “I’ve been dying to know how soft your hair is. Just like silk.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Give me something. Give me a reason to keep shoving.
“Back in the day, I didn’t need sweet platitudes to get a girl in bed with me.
” A crease bisects his brow just as his own confession sinks in, and it only makes me want to yank him closer.
He clenches and releases his jaw. “I might be a flirt, Elodie, but I only ever say what I mean. There was a time I didn’t.
I’ve worked hard to be a good man, and I’d like to show you. ”
My lips part, but no sound escapes. If he tried to convince me what a great man he was, I would’ve retreated to the corner—after showing him the door. His admission about his past and then his request to prove he’s better?
I want that too. Yet at the same time, it’s the worst scenario I could be in. I need to make money and stay under the radar. I need to figure out how to get rid of my financial problem.
“We can take it slow.” He moves a step closer. I can’t back up, but I don’t try. My ass cheeks are brushing the edge of the counter and he’s a wall of rugged cowboy in front of me. “Starting with a date. Will you let me take you out, sugar?”
The endearment yanks me out of the trance he’s putting me in.
Just as I open my mouth, he brushes his thumb along my lower lip. Desire explodes inside of me. Why is there a direct connection between that and my pussy? I squeeze my legs together as need rides me.
“I knew I messed up as soon as I said it,” he murmurs. He drops his head lower, still stroking along my lip with the pad of his thumb. “But I have this feeling that you’re just so sweet.”
His whiskey-laced breath caresses my skin. I rock forward ever so slightly. Is he going to kiss me?
“What do you say?” he asks softly. “Can I take you on a date?”
“You shouldn’t.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “There was a time I did a lot of things I shouldn’t.”
Confessions are apparently a kink of mine. My curiosity swells as hot as my desire. “You can take me for lunch on Monday. I work every other day of the week.”
He lifts my chin higher with his knuckle. “I’ll come pick you up. We’ll go to La Taqueria for lunch. See you at eleven on Monday. And, Elodie?”
Our lips are millimeters apart. “Yeah?”
He drops his hand and takes a deliberate step back. “I might flirt a lot, but you’ll see that I’m very serious when it matters.”