“Goldie…” Rían pivoted toward her. “No.” He dragged a hand over his eyes. “Whatever this is, no.”
Willing to hear the pitch, I flattened my palm on his lower back, and a shiver rippled through him. About to snatch my hand away, cursing myself for taking liberties when I ought to know better, I lost the ability to think as he pressed into my touch, welcoming it.
A knot formed in my throat, hot and tight, but I kept my hand right where it was, trying not to react as the axis of my world tilted a few degrees more in his direction.
“You haven’t even heard my idea.” Ignoring her brother, a talent she had perfected, she zeroed in on me. “What are you going to do with three dozen blueberry tarts?” A calculating gleam lit up the blue eyes she inherited from Fayne. “I could take, say, two dozen off your hands.” She referred to an oddly specific-looking list, comparing it against the figures on her chart. “I’ll pay for ingredients and split any profit after that with you.”
“Is that…?” I ditched Rían to gawk at the paper. “That’s my recipe.” I kept the handwritten index card in the original tin box, along with the rest of the set a client’s son had given me after her passing. “How did you…?”
“Please tell me you haven’t been rooting through Ana’s things.” Rían dug his fingertips into his eye sockets until I worried he might pop his eyeballs like boba. “You’re not allowed to snoop on our guests or paw through their belongings. Behave yourself, or I won’t have a choice. I’ll have to send Ana and Sloane to stay with Fayne.”
The tug in my chest I blamed on her crestfallen expression, not the idea of Rían showing us the door. But, I had to admit, I would be lying if I claimed to know whether the idea of losing cash or guilt over us couch-surfing elsewhere was responsible for the pinch of Goldie’s features.
Curiosity won out, and I had to ask her, “What wouldyoudo with that many tarts?”
Clearly, there had been a plan. I was interested to hear the details. The kid was always two steps ahead.
“There’s a bake sale in the park today. It’s too late for me to sign up for a table, which saves me thirty dollars—” and sounded like a deliberate choice, “—but I could wrap the tarts, put them in a basket, and hand sell them.” Her fingers twitched like she was already counting money. “I’m sure they’d be a hit.”
“All proceeds from that sale go to your new school,” Rían cut in. “You can’t just pocket yours.”
“I won’t misrepresent myself.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I’ll even stick to the edge of the park.”
“I’ll go with her.” Liam slung an arm around her small shoulders. “I’ll make sure she doesn’taccidentallyslip behind a table during someone’s break oraccidentallyname drop how much her big brother—our beloved magnus—would love it if she sold out oraccidentallyhand out samples she then charges for.”
“Samples cost money to make,” she grumbled, “so they should cost money to eat.”
“You have to tell people,” Rían drawled in a tone that promised this wasn’t his first bake sale rodeo, “your samples aren’t freebeforethey swallow them.”
“Timing is a key factor in marketing.”
“Come on, Girlboss.” Liam tugged her against his side. “Cut your brother some slack.”
“Fine.” Wriggling free of Liam, she homed in on me, the weak link. “What do you say, big sis?”
Liam pressed a fist to his mouth, forcing his laugh down, but he trembled with the effort of holding it in.
Rían’s skin tone warmed through an impressive array of ombre colors ranging from white to pink to red.
For someone who craved belonging, I was being fed what I had been starved for. She was manipulating me, masterfully, but knowing that didn’t make it any less effective as a watery veil slid across my vision.
To hide the effect her words had on me, I turned my back on her and Liam. “You can have them.”
Sadly, that gave Rían a front row seat as the first tear fell. I was grateful when he let me slip past without remarking on it, and I hid out at the sink under the guise of washing the dishes I had dirtied until my face quit leaking and Liam had escorted Goldie from the room.
“Where did she get the berries?” Rían nudged me, making room for him to rinse and dry. “From your house?”
Fresh betrayal stung me at the reminder of the house I no longer felt safe living in and the large garden I had all but abandoned after discovering a tunnel Carmichael had dug beneath it to ensure he always had access to me. Such a waste. I would have to spread word anyone was welcome to the veggies and herbs. I wouldn’t eat them. I couldn’t. All I would taste was bitterness.
“No.” I bit my bottom lip when his fingers slipped over mine, palming a measuring cup. “She picked them on Midhurst Street, across from Fayne’s house.”
“Are you sure they’re safe to eat?”
“The lot was a U-Pick Berry Farm. Blueberries, blackberries, strawberries. Some muscadines, a few scuppernongs. The owners retired to Florida, and no one bought the place. The town has let it run wild over the last two years. Mostly because everyone picks a pint or two sometime.”
“And Goldie brought a gallon of fruit home out of the clear blue sky?”
“She might have overheard me mention wanting to bake for you.” I busied my hands in the sudsy water. “As a thank you, for letting Sloane and me stay here.” I fished around for stragglers but came up empty. “Now that I think about it, Sloane and I might have been flipping through the recipe cards at the time.”
