“I knew there was a reason you and Clem are my favorites.”
My sister, Clementine, and I are his only nieces. He has no nephews and no kids of his own. It’s why my dad’s sister left him, but Uncle Karl couldn’t leave his congregation. “You’re my favorite uncle.” I have more uncles, but he really is my favorite.
He gives me a quick once-over. “No apron. You headin’ somewhere or do you want to stop by and enjoy a roll with me?”
“I’m leaving right after you. Thank you, though.”
“Something’s actually getting you out of that bakery?”
“I work almost as much as you,” I joke. The church would have to hire two pastors for all the work Uncle Karl does, but he can’t sit still and he loves his job. Retirement is a curse word for him.
I get a quick hug before he climbs into his car. I smile and wave at him as he drives away.
My stomach sinks. I would love to have lunch with him or just stop in at his house for coffee. I’d be overjoyed if I could meet my sister for dinner. As it is, I only see her when she comes to help me.
My sigh comes out on a long exhale. There’s work to do and I have bills to pay. Some more unexpected—and larger—than others.
The lick of icing I had earlier curdles in my stomach. The next payment is due at the end of the month. The local food fair Campbell Hawthorne thought up to boost tourism, Taste of Springs, isn’t until the second weekend in August. I’ll need that influx of money for whatever bullshit amount I have to pay at the end of that month too.
I lock up the bakery and trudge to my beater of a car. The damn thing needs new tires; there’s a grinding noise when I turn, and the engine knocks. The shape it’s in is karma biting me in the ass.
It was my money too.
Repeating the mantra doesn’t help.
I get behind the wheel and gaze at the bakery. Dirty money.Mymoney. I clench my teeth together. If it was purely my money, I wouldn’t be trying to do right by it, to even the balance before my precious business pays for my misdeeds.
Driving off, I roll the windows down until I hit the highway.Knock, knock, knock.
Damn. I have to get this thing looked at. I roll the windows up and turn the music louder. Thumping bass fills the cab, barely blocking out the noise. I’m heading toward the distillery for Hookers and Booze. It’s my favorite day of the month and the only hours I’ll give myself off for the months ahead. I need to bake and cook and do cartwheels with my finances to make enough money to cover my ass.
As I turn into the parking lot, the distillery looms large, all timber, glass, and rock. Large, inviting windows allow a peek at the tall stills inside. The shiny copper columns are my favorite over the steel stills. I should design a cupcake tower for the fair to resemble them.
Is vodka made in the copper ones? The frosting I made with their huckleberry vodka turned a nice blush. It’s not exact, but it might be close enough.
I park and suck in a deep breath to prevent my heart from racing.He’snot here. He’s never here for crochet club.
This is only the third crochet club ever.
I look in my rearview mirror and my pulse jumps. His silver-and-blue pickup is parked right behind me, and it looks like it’s vibrating thanks to the music rattling my windows. I let my eyelids drift shut. His mischievous smile should be repellent.It is.I just have nowhere to go when he’s in the bakery.
Then he caught me dancing last week. I was sure I had plenty of time before Lane showed up. But I spun around and there was a tall man with sexily rumpled dark hair that brushed his ears, wearing an obscenely tight T-shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots.
His eyes are the same blue as the denim he wears.
It’d be easier to ignore him if he weren’t unfairly handsome. Panties burn off when he walks down the street. Women throw themselves at him. He’s always smiling at them and joking around. Then he comes in and asks me questions, like about what baking soda does for muffins. Or how to get the perfect moist cookie. His questions are never innuendos and he listens to my answers. It makes him endearing, dammit.
There’s a light knock on my driver’s window. I bark out a cry and turn the music off. A large shadow with biceps I could lick looms on the other side. I didn’t notice him while I was staring in the rearview mirror at Cruz’s truck.
The man hinges at the waist and it’shim.
His mouth moves and I cock an ear toward him while turning down a song much like the one I was grinding to when he caught me. My cheeks warm as he grins. Is he remembering the scene too?
“Can I help you carry anything?” he calls, that easy smile in place.
He can help by not being so nice. It’d assist me a lot if he weren’t the hottest guy I’ve ever met. I’d find it so useful if I didn’t get so acutelyawarewhen he’s around.
“No,” I mutter. He cocks an ear. He can’t hear me. I push the door open and he backs up, but all I get is a window full of rugged man. Powerful thighs and a long-legged stance. The slight scruff on his face sets my heart beating faster. I have to look away before the tingles all over my body announce how epically long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid.
