Again.
Summers are always hot in South Carolina, but summers in Magnolia Point are something else. Making my way to the produce section, I scour the selection of watermelons, noting size and color and finally settling on the perfect one.
My gaze drifts to the side and…gah! Another perfect melon looking for a home.
I’m almost giddy as I grab the first, doing my best to maneuver it so I can pick up the second. We’ve been sellingout of the watermelon sorbet, and I want to make a batch of salsa to change things up. Aspen likes to give me a hard time, but customers love celebrating obscure holidays with us, and National Watermelon Day is no different.
I don’t like being tied down to one menu all the time. Variety is the spice of life, and it is nice to see what works and what doesn’t and to bring back those fan favorites throughout the year.
Our food truck, the Taste of Magnolia, has gained a following in Magnolia Point. The flat black-and-pink paint with white magnolias on it makes it stand out in the heart of the Lowcountry. It also makes my heart ridiculously happy.
Design had never really been my thing, but Aspen listened to my vision for the business and had drawn up the plans. We rotated locations, giving everyone a chance to try out the specials and favorites on any given day. The truck was a dream come true, and I’d worked my ass off with Aspen at my side to make it a reality.
Shuffling to the side, I’m debating how to scoop up the second melon when a shadow falls over me.
A very large shadow.
A very large shadow that smells faintly of motor oil, sunscreen, and pine. The mixture shouldn’t be appealing but it is.
And unfortunately, I know the man that particular mixture of scents belongs to.
My spine straightens as I turn, a watermelon perched on one hip and my hand on the other.
“Nice melon,” Talon says, his eyes drifting down my body and landing on the actual fruit as he hefts the one I was trying to grab. He’s filled out since high school—a lot—with huge muscles and a stupidly chiseled jaw with the perfect amount of stubble and Caribbean-blue eyes.
He’s gorgeous and I still hate him.
“Watermelon with you?!” I screech and then blink as he raises an eyebrow.
“Is that like a new thing all the kids are saying?” he asks, his lips twitching the slightest bit on one side.
And is heteasing me?
I huff as I catch sight of movement behind him, my gaze following the leash in his free hand to the harness secured on a small piglet with black splotches.
Of course, this bear of a man has an adorable little pig on a leash.
Why wouldn’t he?
Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to the man I’d sworn to hate since I was seventeen.
“Imeantto say what’s the matter with you?” He just stares so I add, “For taking my watermelon.”
“But you said?—”
“I know what I said!” I snap, my cheeks heating with frustration. “You took my watermelon.”
“Looks like you already have one.” Talon motions toward the one under my arm that I have to adjust.
Again.
Damn thing is heavy, and I regret not making Aspen wait with the cart.
Not that I’d ever admit that now.
“I needtwowatermelons.” I sniff. “Some of us have a reputable business to run.”
His jaw clenches the smallest amount. It’s the only tell that my comment has hit its intended target. When I’d gotten the Taste of Magnolia up and running, I’d made it known that under no circumstances would I be taking my baby to Lowcountry Automotive.
