More importantly, she’s not putting on any fake airs.
I find myself liking it.
I’m drawn to her and how expressive she is. How honest.
People are always trying to get something for me.
Or they are intimidated. Afraid to tell me what they really think. That’s not true here.
It’s intoxicating. Intriguing.
I’ll be no less honest with her.
I nod to Kathy as she opens the window, and I lean in to order two of her original burritos.
They’re packed full of flavor.
Drew will like them.
Kathy smirks as she peers over at her and lifts a brow.
I give her my charming smile in return and send her a wink.
Kathy shakes her head, takes my money, and bustles off to make our burritos.
Drew ignores me, intent on studying every word on that menu. Is she always like that?
Kathy hands me two foil-wrapped burritos with a small laugh under her breath.
I hand one to Drew.
Her eyes narrow at me, but she takes it.
Mine is unwrapped, and I take a bite before she’s caught up, but she does follow me as I start walking again.
“Why are you being nice to me right now?” I rather like the way she can meet my gaze and tell me what she thinks.
“Because you seem like you could use a bit of nice.”
That softens her up a little, and she takes her first bite. The flutter of her lashes is an absolute pleasure to witness. And the bliss she points in my direction guts me.
I want this woman.
“What were you doing before you came home?”
She eyes me some more, dissecting my motives. And she’s right to question my intentions because they’re selfish. “Event planning and logistics for authors. You know, setting up signings and meet and greets. Speaking engagements.”
“So finding venues, ordering catering,” I proffer because I could use someone like her to help. Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to spend more time with her. I can invent some holiday events to keep her occupied.
“Setting up tables and chairs, getting banners, books, special prizes, sound systems, keeping readers entertained while the author is actually signing, keeping the lines moving, breaking down…”
The way she morphs into a professional has me grinning at her. “I’m guessing you don’t want to go back to working the counter at your parents’ bakery.”
“Not even a little bit.” The disdain in her pointed look speaks volumes. How old is she now…early to mid twenties?
A small panic spikes in my chest before it settles. I’m not sure it matters.
“I could use some help organizing the holiday events at the Lodge. If you’re interested.” Already, a list is forming in my head.
