“My frozen cookie dough was a hit.” To think I used to be so smooth I could’ve sold timeshares along with my cupcakes. I’m not just out of practice. This man scrambles my thoughts. “I was racking my brains last night to come up with more items to sell, or I would’ve been sitting in an empty booth.”
Surprise lifts his brows momentarily and his smile is polite. “Yeah? An unplanned offering?”
“Yes. I keep it for backup when something doesn’t turn out or I get behind, but I didn’t think of selling it as-is until last night.”
“You could offer it for one of those fundraisers, like what my niece’s preschool does.”
I blink at him. Blink again. I had to peddle cookie dough once when I was in volleyball in middle school. It’s easy to make. Quick to package. Just as simple to store if I have enough space. “Holy shit, Cruz. That’s genius. I’m sitting on a gold mine.”
His laugh rumbles right through me, but there’s a slight pink tint to his cheeks. Does my admiration embarrass him? “What do the sellers get, like fifty percent?”
I run calculations through my head. I know how much a batch of each type of cookie costs and what I profit from each one sold, but I wouldn’t be baking them. So much time saved. What I get from that, I’d need for mass production and packaging. Then there’s storage, but I’ve been looking at a new standing freezer. “How do I get started in that?”
He lifts a shoulder and turns off the interstate. “I know it’s not her exact area, but Campbell might have some ideas.”
“I can’t afford to pay for her consulting.” I gnaw on my lower lip. I had a bumper of a weekend, but I’m penny-pinching.
He slants another look at me and maneuvers onto the highway that’ll take us to Huckleberry Springs. “I can ask around.”
He would do that? With his charm, he could get me all the free consultations I want. No, I need to earn this. “You run two businesses already. You’re a busy man.”
“It’s okay to have someone help you.” He doesn’t say it loud, like he’s afraid I’ll dive out the car door, roll into the ditch, and take off running at the idea.
I might. I don’t deserve anyone’s help. A knot tightens between my shoulders. “I know, but it’s fine. It’s just an idea at this point.”
I suck at being nonchalant.
We’re quiet all the way to the bakery. He backs the pickup to the door, and with each load he hauls in, I feel worse. He’s done so much for me today. I’ve been weird with him, yet just like the night my car broke down, he isn’t ditching me and running.
I hate how he’s so reserved around me. I hate that I need him to be, as much as I wish he’d joke around with me again. I hate how much I like him.
He carries in the last of the empty containers that were once full of cupcakes. I can’t stand to watch him walk out of here. Our next collaboration is the Taste of Springs street fair. Will he be my contact or give up the chore to Lane because I’m so temperamental?
“Would you like a snack?” I blurt out as soon as he sets the last box down.
“Nah, I’m good?—”
“At least a drink.” I push my fingertips to my forehead. Has my game slipped that far? No, it didn’t slip. I ran from it. “I have that buttery whiskey you brought me.”
“You don’t like whiskey.”
“I didn’t like the other whiskey.”
He studies me for a moment, a confused furrow in his brow. I have to seem like the hottest and coldest woman at the same time. I am, but only with him.
“Sure,” he finally says. “But not a lot. Can’t have your cousin picking me up.”
My cousin is the area’s most well-known deputy. Relieved enough to ignore the anxious knot in my stomach, I grab the bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. He takes a seat at the little table, making it look like I’m serving a doll’s tea party there.
The man is so pleasingly big. I should be pushing him out the door.
I set a glass in front of him and splash some amber fluid into it, doing the same with mine. I sit and shoot it back, letting the buttery flavor coat my tongue for a second time before swallowing and reveling in the light burn. Then I fill my tumbler halfway.
His steady gaze is on me. “You sure today went well?”
“It’s not today that’s bothering me. Today was amazing. I wish every street fair was like this one.” I put the cork in the bottle and push it to the side. Warmth from the drink fills my chest and tension drains from between my shoulder blades. “It’s a whole bunch of yesterdays that are fucking with my tomorrows.”
A dark brow of his arches. He takes a slow sip, keeping his gaze on me.
