And she must be thinking the same thing because she pointedly looks at where Adam’s arm is around my waist—a public claim that leaves no room for argument.
I sigh but put on my own polite smile.
“What have we got here?” Adam asks, and I’m glad he’s none the wiser. Or if he is, he’s good at ignoring the tension.
“First, we have a Fire Roasted Beet and Goat Cheese Crostini, drizzled with local honey and topped with microgreens sourced from the Wilsons’ farm.”
We both pick up the small piece of toast.
The crunch is perfection mixed with creamy cheese and firm beats.
I barely bite back a moan as I chew.
This time Amy’s smile turns a little more real. “Next is our Autumn Harvest Bites, roasted squash cubes with sage brown butter, apple chutney, and spiced pecans from Old Man Peters.”
This one is even better, flooding my mouth with saliva. I cover my mouth as I chew, delighted.
“And the last one is a Carrot-Ginger Soup Shooter, which we make all fall and winter long, always sourced locally.” It’s served in a shot glass, which is a great touch.
Shooting it back gives me a warm, silky vibrance that brings the rest of the flavors together.
“That’s a fine pairing,” Adam acknowledges.
I nod my agreement, not sure I can get out the complimentary words without any snark.
I’m still working on my reactions, and Amy does not bring the best out in me. I go with a simple, “Thank you, Amy.”
She bows her head and moves on to the next patron seeking a taste of our small town.
Before we can make it out the door to try something else, locals step up to shake Adam’s hand and congratulate him on the success of this event.
The way he gestures to me as the mastermind has me flip-flopping from pride and embarrassment.
It happens again as we reach the entrance, then again on the sidewalk.
People don’t pay me this kind of attention.
Not without Adam beside me.
His arm stays firmly around me, like he’s not afraid for others to know about us. It’s so different from what I’m used to.
Next, he steers me into the bookstore—one of my favorite spots in Pinebrook—and it’s just as I remember.
Stacks of books, the warm scent of leather and paper, and the well-polished counter where an old school metal register sits.
I love the way it clinks and chings when an order is wrung up.
As a teen, I spent all of my time here when I wasn’t at school, the bakery, or playing sports. Gabe used to bring me in the summers, and it kept me out of trouble when Gabe was away at college.
“Bringing back old memories?” Adam’s whisper in my ear has me spinning half toward him. His grin prods a smile out of me.
“Yes. This was one of my favorite places…” Before I left.
“Well, let’s have a look around and see what’s changed.”
“They don’t often open the connecting door to the antiques shop, even though they’re in the same family.” The Tate Sisters have owned both since I was a baby.
I like how it looks with the center doors open, they’re sliding doors, so it’s almost like the opening appeared out of nowhere.
