His expression darkens, fills with something that looks a lot like hunger.
Startled, I walk a half circle around his desk, putting space between us, dialing down Cupid’s mischief-making. “Though, unfortunately, this evening, I have work for starters, not to mention the growing list of things that need to be fixed at my grandmother’s house. Last week, it was the plumbing. Well, still is. This week, a light keeps flickering.”
Concern replaces whatever bloodlust I thought I witnessed in Patton’s features. “Do you know electrical wiring?”
“Video tutorials know how to fix wiring. I’m just along for the ride. But if you could spare your crew for a few days, I bet they could make quick work of the repairs,” I joke.
He wears a faint smile, a tease of what it could be. Suddenly and without warning, I understand why Mindy and half the women in this town walk into walls and forget their names when he’s around. My mouth is suddenly dry. I’m starving.
“You’re resourceful,” he says, breaking me out of the moment.
“I have to be.”
“But you don’t always have to do everything yourself.”
“Says the man who was single handedly working a full-time job, building a business on the side, and trying to negotiate supplier accounts before I stepped in.”
“Touché.”
Our phones buzz at the same time. Grandma Joyce writes a long missive about the ongoing brownie battle (it started at the Summer Street Fair last year and there is no end in sight—allegedly, this comes after the resolution of the decade’s long Christmas Sugar Cookie Scrum), how Judy Waples launched an offensive, and that she’d like me to send reinforcements.
I groan.
“Problem?” Patton asks.
“Other than being locked in here?”
“Is it so bad?”
I look around. It’s peaceful, quiet, and organized. The company is fine. And I mean that in the traditional sense, not the slang way, as in Patton is attractive, handsome, hot …
I fan my face. “The Great Brownie Battle has entered its next phase.”
He chuckles. “It now has an official name?”
“This iteration does.”
I explain about the Fire & Ice Fest brownie sundae station, about Grandma Joyce’s innovative approach with espresso powder and sea salt, and Judy Waples’ traditional family recipes and deep suspicion of store-bought shortcuts. “They’re in a fierce competition. I have to taste-test both and declare a winner while navigating their baking feud.”
The tease of a smile on Patton’s lips has grown into a slight grin. It’s unfair how good-looking he is. I mean, objectively speaking. Still tan from a summer spent outside. Large callused hands. A little bump in his nose, suggesting it was once broken.
“This town,” he says, shaking his head.
“Right? Everyone has opinions, history, stakes.” I pause and glance out the window as a weird fantasy of him rescuing me and carrying me down the ladder attached to the big engine plays quickly through my mind.
As if reading my damsel-in-distress thoughts, he says, “I’d love to know more about your time as Parks & Rec Princess.”
It takes me a moment to piece together what he means. “You mean being Miss Nevada?”
He nods, and I can’t tell if he’s curious or setting up another joke.
Either I’m about to give him more ammunition or set him straight. “I competed and won the state title.” I pause, waiting for his reaction.
His eyebrows lift as if he’s impressed.
“Took the runner up place at Miss America.”
“That’s a big deal.” The edges of his voice soften as if he now realizes what this means to me and that I’m not a paper doll.
