Chapter 10 #3
“You know,” Lilian offered, “we wouldn’t be so worried about it if someone wasn’t pressuring us to fill time slots.”
It was said with some light teasing, but she was serious. To her surprise, Hawk nodded. “I can see that. But this time, I’m saying it’s all right. Try not to have an aneurysm.”
“Everything is fine because you said so?” Lilian couldn’t stop herself. She knew this man had come over and was apologizing with soup, but the arrogance was staggering.
Hawk kept his eyes on the pot in front of him, his hand stirring its contents in a slow, methodical fashion. “I’m one of the managers, so yes?”
It wasn’t said cruelly or in his usual haughty tone. Almost like a question itself. She wished he would turn around so she could look at him, try to decipher what was going on behind those cutting dark eyes.
“Fine, and how was the bookshop?”
He turned to give her a long, solid look. “I put up a closed sign, but I didn’t see much of an uptick in visitors from previous weekends.”
The air left her lungs in a rush. She knew not to expect much; after all, it was Food and Wine Weekend. At least that was something to be grateful for. If she’d been sick on Romance Weekend, she would have missed a major opportunity for her shop. “Thanks for checking on it at least.”
Hawk turned the heat down and grabbed two bowls. “Don’t worry about that right now. Focus on feeling better so you can tackle the bigger problems you have. That’s all you can do.”
Bigger problems. Right. She could feel him judging her for caring so much about her small side project when Ten Cents still needed an entire overhaul. She hated it when he was right.
“For now,” Hawk continued, handing her a steaming bowl of soul, “try to eat this without throwing up.”
She inhaled the soup. After an entire day without eating, nothing tasted better than chicken soup and Ritz crackers.
As they ate, she asked Hawk how the rest of the Food and Wine Weekend had gone.
Luckily, there had been no other reports of food poisoning, and the Food Network was none the wiser about their close brush with death.
“Did you tell your parents?”
He snorted. “No. Those two can’t keep a secret to save their lives. I had everything under control.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. “You can’t control everything. It’s the faire. Bad food is part of the experience.”
“Hush.” He pointed his spoon at her. “As far as the Food Network is concerned, we serve authentic Renaissance meals of the highest caliber right beside those deep-fried monstrosities everyone seems to crave.”
Lilian snorted. He sounded like his father for a second, emphasizing the accurate historical meals over the more prevalent cheap meals.
It wasn’t that the french fries and funnel cakes were something Lilian adored, but what was the faire without them?
Nothing. Even the poisoned turkey leg was part of the experience. “Sure, one weekend a year.”
“And it is a glorious weekend.” He smiled. “For most.”
“For most,” Lilian agreed. “I can’t believe I missed it. I missed the tavern crawl.”
Hawk’s brows scrunched in suspicion. “You enjoy that?”
“Of course! It’s one of the best parts of the Food and Wine Weekend!”
“Uh.” A familiar arrogant tilt touched his lips.
She recognized it immediately. “Uh? What’s uh?”
“I guess you don’t hate everything about me if you like the tavern crawl.”
“What do you have to do with the tavern crawl? You don’t lead it.”
“No, but I’m the marketing genius behind it.”
Lilian’s mouth fell open. “You are not.”
“I am.” He laughed, showing off a row of perfectly white teeth.
He waved a hand at his hoodie as if it explained something and said, “The revamp that happened a few years ago? That was me. I’m a beer-loving college grad who knows a good marketing scheme when I think of one.
Plus, I know a lot of the local breweries. ”
She couldn’t believe it. This man, who despised everything she held dear, was the mastermind behind the tavern crawl. She almost considered hugging him. Almost.
Scooping up another spoonful of soup, she eyed him as if he were a tiger; a creature as dangerous as it was beautiful. “I guess you’re right,” she conceded, “I don’t hate everything about you.”
A loud roar emanated from the television, reminding her that she had left it on. Both she and Hawk looked over to find a new show had started.
“Oh, The Lions’ Den, I love this show.” Hawk’s face lit up in interest, making it look softer.
Lilian stared at him. “You like crappy reality TV? I would have pegged you as the kind who watches sports… and stock market numbers.”
“Sports, yes. Stock market numbers, not so much. Plus, this is not crappy reality TV.” A beat passed before he amended, “Okay. But it’s reality TV I can get behind. Four of the best CEOs in the country hearing half-baked business ideas. Sign me up.”
Lilian snorted into her next spoonful of soup. “You’re right. It actually makes perfect sense when you put it like that.”
She’d only ever caught the show in passing and never paid close attention, but from the kitchen, she and Hawk had a perfect view of the television. They ate their soup and watched the show unfold together.
To her surprise, Hawk understated his interest. The man didn’t like the show.
He was invested. He quickly explained the premise to her: people came up to pitch their businesses in hopes of getting investors.
They gave a presentation while the CEOs (a.k.a the Lions) negotiated terms. If the idea was good enough, the CEO would agree with a corny phrase: “I’ll bite. ”
She probably would have watched it half asleep if Hawk hadn’t shown up, but his interest was infectious. Within minutes of a new contestant being introduced, he determined if they would get a deal. He was right every time.
“You are really good at this,” Lilian observed.
“Well, it is my job, so I would hope so.”
“Clearly, I picked the right guy to help me with my business problems.”
Hawk stared at his soup, but in the kitchen light, his tan looked much deeper than she’d noticed outside. It was almost red. “But not the right guy to get you a turkey leg.”
“Definitely not. But you are first on my list if I ever need soup.” She laughed, raising a spoonful in his direction.
“Yeah.” He lifted his as well and said, “I’ll bite.”
They shared a smile at that. Their spoons came together, the metal clang sealing their private business deal.