“I really want it,” I admit, not just to him but to myself. Waitressing is fine and all, but I can’t see myself doing it forever. I need something to work toward. Something to reach for. Something that makes me wake up every morning excited to start the day. I want to make something of myself, at least a little bit. I know baking isn’t anything like what Landon does—really helping people—but it makes them happy, at least, and I know I could do it forever and never get tired of it.
“People thought I was crazy when I quit my IT job to bake full-time, but I couldn’t imagine my life now if I hadn’t. Just ignore the hate comments, forgo other people’s judgment and opinions, and focus on your passion.”
I almost tell him that ignoring other people’s opinions isn’t one of my strong suits but I bite my tongue. If I want this badly enough, I’ll have to learn how to tune out everyone and do what makes me happy. No backing down. No giving in. No giving up.
“Thanks, Carter. Those tips were really helpful. I think that maybe…I can do this.”
“Of course, you can. You just gotta believe.”
* * *
I find Landon sitting at the hotel bar, his shoulders hunched forward in aleave me alonesort of way, and his fist closed around a glass of bourbon. He’s tuning out his surroundings, but he’s the only one. As I scan the room, I realize just how many women have him in their sights—the brunette in the corner who keeps glancing over, a redhead who can’t tear her eyes away, a group of girls in the back giggling over martinis, shooting him conspicuous glances.
I don’t blame them, of course, but it doesn’t make me feel great. I like to think Landon exists in a bubble—it sure seems like that at home—but in an environment like this, I realize that everyone can see what I see, everyone can admire him the way I do, andI don’t like it.
I don’t like it at all.
Ignoring them all, I make a beeline for him, strutting purposefully through the bar and taking the vacant seat to his right.
“Hey, stranger,” I say in an obnoxiously sultry voice. “Wanna buy me a drink?”
Landon’s dark head snaps up, shoulders tensing further, but when he realizes it’s only me, his entire body relaxes, and he leans back in his chair. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but the anxious lines across his forehead seem to soften. When his mouth twitches up at the corner, I feel just a little bit smug. “I would, but I don’t want to get arrested.”
I smack him on the arm. “I meant Diet Coke.”
“That I can do.”
I hang my complimentary Sugar Spectacle tote on the chair as he flags down the bartender and orders my drink, along with another for himself. When he angles his body toward me, I can’t help but glance over at the brunette in the corner, snickering to myself when I realize she’s absolutely fuming.
“What’s funny?” Landon asks.
“Oh, nothing. You just have quite the little fan club. I think the women in here might actually fight over who takes you back to their hotel room.” Landon’s brow furrows, and when he starts to glance around the bar, I grab his forearm. “Well, don’tlook.”
“I’ll take your word for it then.” He smirks and takes a satisfied sip of his drink. “Can’t say I blame them, though.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
“So how was day one of the Bonanza?” he asks. “Was it everything you dreamed?”
“It was more,” I gush, forgetting the women and focusing on the day. “Incredible. Exciting. Informative. I’m so glad I came. Thank you again for taking me.”
Landon’s eyes soften, and he gazes at me with such warmth that my heart aches. “Tell me more.”
I delve into the details of the day, excited to show him the few souvenirs I purchased at some of the stands, though my enthusiasm wanes a bit when Landon informs me I won’t be able to bring my new frosting knife through TSA.
“I didn’t think about that,” I mutter, frowning at the arguably dull blade.
“It’ll be fine. The hotel can ship it back for you.”
“Oh, good,” I say, relieved. The knife is super cute, with a colorful sprinkle pattern wrapped around the pink handle, and I tuck it back in the bag. I relay the tips Carter gave me after his talk, everything from the videos to the mailing list to the merchandise idea.
“I know you probably don’t approve,” I say carefully, “but he even suggested trying to create my own line of bikinis to sell on the site.”
Landon frowns, his brows drawing together. He seems confused by my statement. “Why wouldn’t I approve?”
I blink at him. I was expecting Landon to be adamantly against the suggestion to lean into the bikini angle, especially after how he reacted to the comments on my photos. We never did talk about his meltdown. “Because of that day in the kitchen when I showed you the account. You were far from thrilled.”
“Violet, I wasn’t upset about the photos,” he says, shaking his head. “It was those asshole guys. Those comments are scary. I don’t want you to get hurt or anything.”
