“She named the cake, Bryce.” Brock shook his head. “Gave it a whole lecture. But now she needs to grab some stuff to redo it,” he added.
Bryce grinned. “You driving her?”
“Yeah. Figured it’s safer than letting her balance cakes on a bike. I’ll swing back after and take Mom to the loft so you can stay as late as you want.”
“Appreciate it,” Bryce said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help earlier.”
Brock waved it off with a lazy hang ten as he turned back toward the house. He’d barely stepped inside when he almost collided with Lynn.
“You giant oaf!” she said, skidding to a halt. “Move.”
“Nah. Let’s go. I’m driving you to the store,” he said, extending a hand toward the front door.
“Why?”
“Why not?” His grin was all easy mischief. “Maybe I just want to spend a little more time with you.”
She snorted. “Look, you might be cute…” Her eyes did a slow, deliberate up-and-down. “And yeah, you’ve got that whole ‘surfer-god-who-accidentally-walked-into-a-pulpit’ thing going on.” She turned to proceed him, her voice tossing over her shoulder. “But you’re a preacher—and I don’t date holy men. However, I will let you give me that platonic ride.”
“Not sure if that was a compliment or an insult... but I’ll take it.” Brock chuckled and followed her, unbothered.
“So, is this an anti-clergy thing... or are you just morally opposed to dating anyone who owns a Bible in more than one translation?”
Lynn looked over her shoulder. “Let’s just say I don’t do that whole God-thing. And I’ve got no interest in dating one of His spokespeople.”
Brock raised his brows, clearly surprised.
She caught the look as she slid into the passenger seat of his rental. “Ahhh, that face says it all. Lemme guess—nobody warned you about the black sheep in the family.”
He gave a slow grin as he started the engine. “Nope. But I’m starting to think I should’ve asked for a playbook.”
“Take a left out of the driveway,” she said, buckling up. “And a playbook wouldn’t help you... I’ve never been one to play by the rules.”
Their banter continued on the short ride to the store. Once the car was in park, Lynn was out and powerwalking toward the doors.
“We’re in. We’re out. No detours. You touch a beach ball or walk like you’re on a Sunday stroll, I swear I’ll leave you here.”
Brock came up behind her, keys jangling, pushing the cart like he was on Supermarket Sweep. “You say that, but I’m the one in the lead.”
“Only because your legs are longer!” Lynn shouted, breaking into a jog to catch up.
“Better hurry up!” he called over his shoulder, weaving through aisles with reckless joy.
Laughing, she raced after him, nearly sideswiping a display of canned soup. She caught up just as he spun around, and she tossed bags of powdered sugar into the cart like a pro baller.
“I have some extra frosting at Mom’s and lots of butter. I’ve got decorating tips. I just need layers, piping bags, and peace. Inner peace, preferably.”
Brock nodded solemnly. “God can provide inner peace.”
Lynn skidded to a halt in the aisle and gave him an annoyed look.
“Thanks Friar Tuck, but I’ll take the baking supplies and leave the sermons in aisle four.”
He grinned, completely unoffended.
“Piping bags... piping bags...” She turned to scan the shelves.
When she looked back, Brock was gone.
