Sutton #2
We slow our approach to the stall and see an array of donuts, labeled with little boards chalked with writing. The classic flavors are accounted for, as are a few extras, like pumpkin and peppermint.
I step closer to him so only he can hear. “Candy cane peppermint sounds revolting.”
“Doesn’t it?” he mutters in agreement, disguising with a smile as the owner, a man in his sixties, looks at him. Foster gives his energy to the man. “Can I have a chocolate glaze, and for the lady…”
He turns to me, but I shake my head. I’m holding out for something better. He gets his donut in a little paper bag as I attempt to search through the sea of people for our options.
“Hear me out,” I begin. “Might be a tactical error trying to eat a stuffed donut while wearing gloves and freezing, but I spot something delicious over there.”
“I’m up for the challenge. I need to discover your flavor choice.”
I grab his arm and begin to tug him along. “That’s right, Mr. Old Man traditional.” Because I think he has about seven years on me, it’s easy to tease.
“Watch it there,” he chides.
We reach the stall, and instantly I’m undecided, but luckily the line is long.
“Do they have this festival every year?” he asks as I continue my quest to pick the right choice.
“No, actually. We are known for our summer festivals.” I continue to peruse the options. “Calling a donut birthday-cake flavor because sprinkles does the trick.” I point to the option.
“Of course, my assistant brought me a donut on my birthday a few weeks back.”
“A November birthday. Me too. I have a feeling our age is different, though.”
He chuckles. “I’m thirty-seven, and you are…”
“A woman should never say her age, but I’m thirty. I was ahead of Elodie and Savannah at school.” I settle on a coconut cream donut with chocolate icing and place my order.
“That’s your choice?” he double-checks.
I sound doubtful. “It’s a struggle between the tiramisu donut, because eating tiramisu is the way to my heart, but something about today has me craving coconut cream.” His look changes, not enough for people to notice, merely for a second, but I do.
And three minutes later, as we stand by a railing along the iced river, he smiles fondly when I take my donut out.
“Your choice of donut reminds me of my mom. She had this coconut cream pie recipe. It would take hours to make. Nobody ever found the recipe, though. She passed a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear. She had good taste.”
He takes a bite of his donut and seems to be at peace with the memory. Some people turn somber, but not him. “Clara Roth most definitely did. Not much of a cook except for that. Anyways, good choice, Sutton.”
It dawns on me that I haven’t heard him say my name, and when he does, it feels sinfully firm yet playful. I like it.
“I hope you are satisfied with my tour guide skills.”
“Very.” This is the man who struts around the office radiating power, yet is known to be fair, always dressed to turn heads. Except now? I get to see him as the man in dark jeans, eating his favorite donut. Yet, the swagger never leaves him, no matter what version of him you get.
“Hey, Sutton,” I hear a man call out, and I turn to see Danny, a guy I went to high school with. Well, actually, we dated for a bit when we were teenagers.
I dread this conversation, and the impeccable timing that we would randomly cross paths. We have before, since he still lives in town and I come to visit my parents.
I tip my nose up to acknowledge him. “Oh, hey.” He approaches, and I feel a heavy set of eyes to my left. Foster is assessing him.
Danny is wearing a beanie, a plaid shirt, and a body warmer. “I thought that was you. Back for the weekend to see your folks?”
“Yeah, real quick. I have things to do,” I say bluntly.
“Shame. Some of the guys and I are heading to the bar tonight, and you’re welcome to join.”
I smile awkwardly. “All good. I’m too busy.” My tone is bristly.
Danny quickly looks at Foster, hesitates for a second, but then ignores him. “Our loss. Hopefully, you’re not staying in and being a bookworm. Remember back in the day? Always busy with the school paper.”
I swipe my tongue along my teeth because I’m in no mood to have a blast from the past. “Well, good to see you, have fun, and say hi to your ex-wife for me.” I smile tightly.
Danny smiles easily because he takes life in stride. “Will do. See ya.” He walks away, and I blow out a long breath.
When I turn back, Foster is standing there with a smirk, clearly entertained. “Do you always wish greetings to ex-wives of someone who clearly has a thing for you?”
“When it’s your high school boyfriend who had no clue how to use his hands, then yes, I do. I’m not missing out on anything, trust me.”
Foster bursts out with a laugh. “You don’t hold back, do you?”
I shrug and consider one aspect. “Sorry. This is probably wildly inappropriate since you’re one of the higher-ups at the company where I work.”
“I’m off the clock, we can call this our friends are getting married, so we need to familiarize ourselves with each other before that whole wedding of the year takes center stage.”
“Solid point.”
Finally, I take one giant bite of my donut, and I let myself enjoy the sugar load. However, I notice that Foster has one eye squinted, and he seems to be studying me.
I slow the chewing in my stuffed mouth, aware that he is processing something in his smart brain. “Yes?” I mumble.
He lifts a finger into the air. “I’ve figured you out.”
Swallowing, I laugh. “As in?”
“I couldn’t quite pinpoint if you are carefree, bubbly, or hiding. So let me guess.” He rubs his chin, pretending to contemplate. “In high school, you were doing the school paper, probably debate team, too?”
I begin to beam a smile. “You might be right. I needed as many extracurriculars as I could to ensure I got into a good college with a scholarship. Not all of us have parents who give endowments.”
He tilts his head slightly to the side and quirks his lips in agreement. “Exactly. You worked hard and you’re smart, and now you have a career you probably dreamed about. You feel comfortable with your checklist checked, and that’s why you are so laid-back for a lawyer.”
“Only out of the office,” I remind him. “Mr. Psychologist, interesting. Didn’t have that as your hidden skill.”
He crumples the paper bag of his now-eaten donut. “Trust me, I have many hidden skills.”
My eyes grow large because his sentence sounded partly cocky, partly tantalizing, and only makes me curious.
“Don’t put yourself on a pedestal,” I counter.
He grins as the sound of his phone going off breaks our conversation.
“Sorry. I need to take this.” He fishes out his phone from his pocket, still with his mischievous smirk intact as he quickly checks the screen and swipes.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t even bother greeting them.
“No. Why would that be miscalculated? We always overbudget, so tell Mr. Look at a Fucking Weather Map to better read the terms.” He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah, give me twenty, and I’ll check my laptop in the car and call you back. ”
While Foster takes a moment to gather his thoughts, I admire how the man went from easygoing to completely ruthless and irritated in a matter of seconds. Reminds me of myself. It also reminds me that we work together. That can’t really be ignored.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds near tender when he talks to me.
The opposite of whoever faced the brunt of that conversation.
“I’m going to have to run. A client isn’t impressed that their products have to be rerouted and it’s going to cost a fortune.
He doesn’t seem to believe a winter storm front could possibly disrupt their schedule. ”
I grimace at his explanation. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”
He reaches out, and his fingertips touch my shoulder, gently and familiarly. “Thanks for being my tour guide.”
“I was kind of roped into it, but I’ll accept it. Tour guides get tips,” I quip.
“I’ll have to think of one, Sutton.” He winks at me before he walks away.
I stand and watch as he melts into the crowd, feeling lighter than I have in ages. Our morning was effortless, unexpected. Banter flowed, our eyes kept finding each other, and that smirk—well, it’s going to live rent-free in my mind.
For a connection so smooth, it’s complex. Because burying attraction isn’t one of my strengths.
And that’s the trouble—every instinct I have is screaming that Foster is going to be a problem.