“Nope. That’s the last.” I watch the frown droop the corner of his lips.
His hands press against his shirt, dragging the last of the flour down his belly.
“Don’t do that. Wash.” Sheesh.
When he turns the water on, he scrubs in silence.
“Hey, Val? Did you really mean that? Like, you need help, right?” Paper towels bunch between his broad palms.
The only other person I’ve even contemplated was Elena, and I just got a very clear “no” from her a few minutes ago.
I really could use some, especially weekends and restocking.
“You strong enough to carry cases of booze? Hell, are you even old enough?” I’ve never really paid much attention to him, but his shoulders are wider than I remember, his forearms have a wiry bulk that screams lots of hard work.
He’s a farm boy, of course he’s built.
“I’m twenty-two. So, yea. And I pack fifty pound sacks of grain two at a time. Does that count?” His fists shove into his pockets. “It’d be a nice change sometimes from home.”
A small ding signals the last pizza is done.
Stacking the boxes, I push them at him. “How well do you take direction? When I say ‘jump’, I want your feet off the ground before you even ask ‘how high’.”
He chuckles, tilting his hat back over his wavy dark hair. “Ever worked cattle? When Dad yells, wealljump.”
I push the swinging door to the main room open for him and spot Sophia standing next to the register with her credit card. “Let me think about it. You practice kneading and I might give you a shot.”
It might just be easier training someone with no prior experience thanre-training some of the older applicants I’ve already passed over.
I’m not arguing with anyone over my system. It works for me and that’s all I care about.
“Tell Scotty I said ‘hey’ and am sorry I missed him.” Sawyer balances the stack as Sophia pays.
“Were you back there slowing her down?” she scolds him, then signs the receipt.
“No, he was a good boy and helped.” I flash her a big smile.
And I don’t miss the flush of pink that tinges his cheeks before he turns away.
Chapter 3
Sawyer
“Son, what the hellare you doing?” Dad leans against the kitchen door, his arms crossed as he watches me.
“Practicing.” I suddenly notice the spray of flour on almost every surface. “I swear I’ll clean it up.”
“Practicing for what?” One of his brows arches. “I bet your grandma would love to help if you asked her.” His hand untangles to point sternly. “Notfor cleaning up behind you.”
“She and grandpa are sleeping. I wouldn’t do that.” I try not to jut out my bottom lip. “I just like pizza.” I shrug. “Figured it’d be cheaper to make it myself.”
Dad tilts his chin appraising me.
I ain’t gonna look. Instead I focus on the newest batch in front of me. I finally have the consistency like the stuff at the bar.
Now, what did Val do again? It was like a flick of her wrist, and—
“Sawyer,” Dad grunts. “It’s time to start dinner. Lori will be up from her nap soon and doesn’t need to see all of this.” His fingers wave in a broad arc across the splattered counter. “I appreciate your efforts, but there’s also three loads of hay sitting outside that needs to be unloaded into the barn, not counting the one you still have to fetch from Wade’s place.”
