Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cruz
The first day of the street fair is hot enough to melt frosting. Elodie’s freezer must be pumping away. A Friday evening fair still puts us in the sun, but the most brutal strike of the rays is over and some shade from the buildings creeps over us.
Elodie’s booth is set up right outside of the bakery, and our booth is a half a block down in front of the insurance agency. All the agents from inside came out to get samples after closing time.
Haven’s working next to me, selling three bottles of juneberry vodka and two liters of Golden Nugget whiskey that are going to be future Christmas gifts.
I line up two small plastic cups for a couple. Only the wife is drinking. I splash some lavender gin in one and huckleberry vodka in the other. I run through the script of each spirit, how we make it, and what notes they’ll taste. I can recite the details in my sleep.
She wrinkles her nose with the whiskey, but smiles after the vodka. “Much more my speed. I’ll take a bottle of that.”
“Absolutely.”
“But it’s Foster House.”
I pause while reaching for the bottle. “Excuse me.”
“You said ‘absolutely.’ Absolut Vodka? The brand? Bad joke.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “It can’t be bad. I plan to use it myself someday.”
I package her purchase, and just as I hand it off, a guy gets in line behind her. He’s wearing aviator shades and an arrogant smile. When he sees me notice him, he smiles, a slow, sly spread of his punchable lips.
Fucking Dean. “What do you want?”
Haven’s busy with the girls from the tasting room the other night. They’re sampling everything we have, but they mostly want a taste of Haven. I saw Allison, the girl who’s maybe stalking him, walk by a few minutes ago, and the women scared her off. Good.
Dean’s smile gets even bigger and more smashable. The sun gleams off all the product in his hair. “A taste. What do you recommend?”
He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into the pocket of his polo. He’s wearing khaki shorts again and resembles the insurance agents more than the tourists.
I grab one plastic tasting cup and barely cover the bottom with a splash of gin. I should be nice and ooze the charm Elodie used to hold against me, but there’s something about this guy, and it’s only gotten worse since I first saw him looming over Elodie. “Here.”
He throws back the sample, and his brows draw together. Shaking the cup, he tries to get the two drops I poured out. When he does, he smacks his lips. “Gin was never my thing.” He narrows his eyes. “How ’bout some whiskey?”
I give the same amount of the cheapest whiskey I brought, which is still a damn good product.
He rolls the tiny amount on his tongue. “Mm. I have to concede. You know what you’re doing.”
“And I know what you’re doing.”
One golden brow arches. “And what is that?” He looks around the booth. “You’re Cruz, right? The founder’s brother?”
I don’t answer him. People like to use personal details as leverage. No part of my life has that sort of power and he needs to know it.
His smile fades, and a hard glint lights his eyes. This is the real Dean. “I’m going to stop by and see Dee.”
The way he uses that name rankles me. “It’s Elodie.”
He cocks his head. “Is it?” He gets a faraway look in his eye. “I feel like I’ve met her before.”
Again, something in his tone settles like lead in the gut. Does he know her? Does she know him? “And I feel like you’re messing with her. The folks around here won’t let you do that.”
“Nah, I’m not messing with her. I’m just a fan of that apricot bread. The whiskey glaze is new. Are you the inspiration for that?”
I don’t give him an answer.
He rubs his stomach. “I might just have to go get some now. Do you know if she’s single?”
Anger sears across the back of my neck. “I can’t see where it’s your business.”
“Eh, I can ask her.”
Dean is being a dick because he can be. He wants me to be flustered, get angry, and damage my own business. Anything I do will spill over to the Dee’s Sweets booth.
I flip out another tasting cup. “You say you’re not a gin guy. You’ve gotta try this.” I ooze some of that charm I’m known for.
This time, I fill the damn thing with our strongest gin. The botanicals slap a person right across the palate. Only major gin lovers will enjoy it. I packed it today because a few people in town are gin aficionados and will be stopping by.
Distaste turns down the corners of his mouth, but he’s not backing away from the challenge. He shoots the whole thing and his mouth twists. “It’s like drinking a juniper bush,” he wheezes.
“Ain’t it great?” Elton, one of the mechanics who likes to come into the tasting room and geek out on engines with Lane, lets out a guffaw. “Is that the Dry?”
“Foster House Dry,” I tell him. “Just for you.”
Dean shakes his head and tosses his cup in the trash we keep by the booth. “You can have it.” His expression darkens like he remembers he stopped by to get me worked up. “Well, I might have to save the sweet treats for tomorrow.” He smirks. “Can’t wait.”
He strolls away and I glare at him.
“Who’s Slick?” Elton asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Some guy who thinks he’s being smooth.”
“And what do you think?” Elton’s eyes are shrewd. He’s barely over five and a half feet tall, but he’s got swagger and arms as thick as the barrels in our rickhouse.
“I think he’s going to bother Elodie.”
A low growl comes from him. “I like her cannoli.”
To anyone else, that’d sound like innuendo, but I’ve chatted with Elton enough—and I’ve tasted Elodie’s cannoli—so I nod.
“Tell you what.” He knocks on the tabletop. “I’ll go see how the Dee’s Sweets booth is doing. Why don’t you package up my order of Dry?”
“Will do. And thank you.”
“Those city boys gotta learn they can’t fuck with us.” He swaggers away and the crowd parts for him.
I have no idea if Dean is from a city, but he’s got the same I’m better than you attitude that I encountered a lot growing up.
Nor is he an overt flirt who can’t take a hint like the girls in the bar last weekend.
He’s the type to corner Elodie after close.
He didn’t stop by the Foster House booth for the samples.
I was his target. Why? Because I confronted him with Elodie?
The guy waves too many red flags for me to relax while he’s in the state.
The asshole mentioned tomorrow. He’s staying somewhere close enough to return to Huckleberry Springs, and he’s planning to come to the Taste of Springs tomorrow.
I’ll be watching for him.
Elodie
I’m packing away my goods for the night when a shadow falls over me. Before alarm can spike in my veins, Cruz takes one of the cases I loaded the cookies in. “I can haul this for you.”
My grin has to look as tired as I feel. “Thank you. I just have to get these inside and tie my tent shut.”
“In the back?”
“Yes, please.”
I admire the width of his shoulders as he holds his load. He makes it look easy. I catch his eye in the reflection of my window, and he smirks. Doesn’t stop me from staring at his tight ass in his blue jeans. The denim is a darker blue, like his eyes.
He ducks inside and it’s me staring back at myself.
I’m wearing my cupcake shirt and skirt, and my hair is in a sloppy bun.
Comfortable enough clothing. Loose and airy to keep me as cool as my cupcakes.
He fucked the sex siren in the distillery, but he wanted this first. Shoving my glasses up with a satisfied grunt, I finish my closing duties.
Once I’m done securing my little stand, I heft two totes loaded with more sweets and my tablet and cash. Cruz appears and grabs those from me too. “Some of the booths are still shutting down. Want to walk around and see them?”
My excitement surges. “I’d love to. I was hoping to go around when I had Kinley here to help, but we were too busy to leave her alone.”
“Be right back, and then we’ll take a stroll.”
After he returns, I lock the front door. He slips his hand around mine and we start down the sidewalk.
The couple who owns Wok and Rolls are kicked back in their camp chairs with a plate of food in their hands.
A platter of my lemon drop cookies is between them on a small table.
We exchanged a serving of lo mein and sweet-and-sour chicken for my cookies and two cupcakes.
The portable buffet they set up is empty, and steam wafts from the open settings.
They wave, unsurprised to see me holding Cruz Foster’s hand.
People have seen him coming and going from Dee’s Sweets for weeks. And there were our two dates outside of the bakery and his place.
I smile. “See you tomorrow.” And I hope we can make the same food swap.
In between them and the corner is a booth for a butcher from out of town. They have packs of frozen steaks and hamburgers to sell, but they’ve already loaded up and cleared out for the evening.
Cruz continues to lead me the long way around.
Most booths have their shades drawn for the night, but I get to see the setup and what’s available.
It’s exactly as Campbell said. A small but busy affair.
She thinks more visitors will be here on Saturday.
All the cabins and rentals in and around Huckleberry Springs are full.
Our lone motel is booked out, and I had one couple stop by from Texas. They’re escaping their heat for ours.
This is what I want. A quiet evening with my guy, enjoying our small community and the people in it. I have connections with other business owners. They trust me—as long as I keep giving them a reason to.
“How was your day?” Cruz asks.
“It was good, but I hope it’s busier tomorrow. How was yours?”
“Fine.”
I glance at him. A five-o’clock shadow covers the hard slash of his jaw, but there’s an ominous glint in his eyes. Everything was not fine. Will he talk to me when we’re alone?
We reach the Foster House booth. Their sign with the yellow logo is eye-catching and inviting. The whole tent is yellow and three times the size of mine.