“Your husband.” Sam kissed her, quick and light as a hummingbird flutter. “It’s okay. I’m not jealous. And take your time about falling in love with me. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his lips to hers, more firmly this time, and a fire ignited down low in her belly, sending a warmth through her veins.
As Chloe deepened the kiss, Ruby charged into the office. “That was the oven repairman. He won’t be here for another week.”
Chloe pulled away from Sam but leaned against him. “Well, according to you, your prayers have healed it. We’re doing okay, right?”
Ruby looked away, ran her fingers along the waistband of her apron.
Foreboding skittered up Chloe’s back. “What now, Ruby?”
“God saidnot no more. The oven done gone and died. Robin is playing taps.”
Sam smoothed his apron. Ruby’s news about the oven had put a damper on his and Chloe’s flirty banter and kisses. He enjoyed teasing Chloe too much, seeing her at a loss for words. “Once we sell out of product, we’ll close, right? Then we need to talk about the town council meeting in a couple weeks.”
“I’ll let you and Ruby cover the front of the store and I’ll call the repair company,” Chloe said. “Next week won’t work.”
“Go get ’em, babe. We’ll take care of everything out there.”
As he strode through the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of Laura Kate, the tip of her tongue just visible as she slathered white frosting on what looked like carrot cake—or maybe apple spice—muffins. She had a glob of the frosting hanging from a strand of hair that had come untucked from her hairnet.
Sam stuck his head back into Chloe’s office and cleared his throat so she looked up from the phone. He tilted his head toward Laura Kate and spoke in a low tone. “Do we need extra insurance to cover her? Or cover potential lawsuits?”
Chloe threw a pencil at him. “She’s a work in progress. Leave it to me.”
Sam got busy pouring coffee and plating donuts and crullers. A guy in khakis and a blue polo shirt took his mug and donut to a booth and watched Sam pulling espresso shots and serving pastries like it was high entertainment.
Mason Delroy. A sports columnist in Nashville. With any luck, he was writing about players and their businesses in the off-season. Maybe a story would remind Titans’ management Sam was healthy and able to work. Able to start the season. That’s the kind of news he wanted to see his name in. Not tweets about partying all night. An article also wouldn’t hurt if it appeared just before the town council meeting.
“Ruby, can you cover the counter?” Sam said.
She waved and nodded.
Sam carried the coffeepot to Mason’s table. “Looking for a story?”
“I got one.” Mason held out his mug for the refill. “Talk to me about the banquet this Friday.”
“I’ll make it an exclusive if you include Haven’s fight against Donut Heaven.”
Chloe emerged from the kitchen with a tray of tarts, each topped with a swirl of caramel threads. She caught his eye and shook her head. No luck getting the oven repairman out. After moving the tarts to the display case, she brought two to the booth where he sat with Mason.
“How’s it going out here?” If the tart crusts were baked earlier, she’d probably made the custard on the stove top, he was guessing. It wasn’t like he knew what they could make without an oven.
“Mason, this is Chloe LaRue. She’s the manager of Haven’s Bakery, newly arrived pâtissière from Paris.”
Mason cut off a hunk of tart, forked it into his mouth, then leaned back and moaned. “This may be the best thing I’ve eaten all year.”
“Sheisthe best and can you believe it? A Donut Heaven is coming to town with their frozen pastries and coffee pods. Wouldn’t it be heartbreaking for them to put Haven’s out of business?”
“A tragedy.”
“Besides the best pastries and baked goods in a hundred-mile radius, Haven’s—” Sam gave Chloe a wide-eyed look. He’d thought of this while serving the high school kids and young moms but hadn’t had a chance to run it by her. “—is open early on Saturday mornings for families on their way to Pop Warner or Little League or soccer games.” Panic crossed her face. Probably wondering how they’d be serving those families when they didn’t have an oven. But that was a temporary problem.
Mason pressed the last of the crust crumbs into the back of his fork, licked it, then appraised Sam across the table. “What’s your stake in this?”
“I’m a silent partner in Haven’s. You’ll write the story?”
“Maybe.” Mason swiped at his phone. “Okay if I record this? I’m here to do an article about the Nashville Foundation’s banquet this Friday night.” He placed the phone on the table. Mason asked questions, Sam answered. He was honored to be honored. He was proud of the Sam Hardy SportsWorld Foundation’s work.
“What happens if you become a free agent? Will your foundation stay here or go with you?”
