“Great, so we’ll have professionally catered food and a home bake sale.”
“Bite me, Reid. My cookies are spectacular.”
“Probably not nearly as good as my bruschetta.”
“I’m willing to bet they’re even better,” I snap back.
Amusement gleams in his eyes, but it doesn’t meet the stern line of his full lips. “Want to bet on it?”
“What, are you going to leave out a survey for guests to ask which they liked better?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What do I win when everyone likes my cake better than your appetizers?”
He scoffs. “Obviously nothing because that’s not happening.”
“You’re awful at betting.”
He releases an exasperated sigh, the amusement gone from his annoyingly handsome face. “What would you like from me if you win?”
“I would love a compliment. In writing. No, I want it recorded so I can see the pain in your eyes as you have to say something nice about me.”
“I’ve said nice things about you.”
I snort. “Sure, Reid.”
He rolls his eyes. “WhenIwin?—”
“Fat chance,” I interrupt.
“You have to come to my restaurant as a guest, alone, eat dinner, ask for the chef, and pay me the loudest, highest compliments you’ve ever paid a chef in your entire life.”
“That hardly seems like a fair wager.”
“You chose your way of compliments, I chose mine.” His eyes are alight with amusement again as he rests his forearms on the table and leans closer to me, lemon and rosemary overpowering my senses. “Which do you prefer, by the way? Table or booth? Just so I can make sure you get seated in the busiest area with your preference.”
I mimic his pose, leaning toward him with a glare in my best effort to intimidate him. “Okay, King Reid. I get it. You think you’re far superior to me, a mere peasant with a penchant for freshly baked bread.”
“Go ahead, Jane. Bring your homemade desserts on your cute little plastic serving trays.”
“They’re ceramic,” I interrupt. “And I will.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Can’t wait to try one.”
“It’s going to be the best dessert you’d had in your entire, miserable life.”
His nostrils flare slightly. And because the universe hates me, my mom chooses this exact moment to breeze in and set her purse on the table as Reid and I are mid-glaring contest.
“Jane, what have I told you about wearing that color?”
Spectacular introduction, mom. I’ve grown used to the backhanded compliments from her to the point that I barely register them anymore, but saying them in front of Reid leaves me painfully aware of them all over again. I sigh, all my resolve for beating Reid evaporating as my mom makes me feel like a poorly-dressed, very small person.
“Hi, mom. So glad you could make it.”
