Her lips pinch together in an amused smile as she meets my gaze, and that Southern lilt still softens her words as she says, “Oh, I know. That’s just what my mama would tell you if you asked her why she and my daddy cut me off. But oh, if I found myself a fancy billionaire to put a sparkly ring on my finger so I don’t have to work anymore, they’d welcome me back with open arms.”
No matter how hard I try, I can’t picture Savannah playing the demure housewife. She’s too stubborn. Spunky. Sassy. “I’d hate to see your fire snuffed out just for you to get your family’s approval,” I tell her with all the sincerity I can muster. “Maybe there’s a billionaire out there who’d see your drive as a good thing.”
She laughs. “Too bad you’re just a millionaire, huh?”
I freeze. There are two important conjectures I can make from that comment, and I gape at her for a second as I process them. One, she knows—or made a suspiciously confident guess of—my net worth, which likely means she’s donesome research. Two, there’s a chance she’s imagined a future between the two of us if she’s disappointed that I don’t make the cut.
You’re going back to Aus in a few months, a voice in the back of my head tells me, but it’s easy to ignore. “You looked me up,” I say. “You came to my match, figured out what position I play, and now you’re telling me you looked deep enough to know what I earned back in Australia.”
Savannah’s expression is perfectly disinterested, but she can’t hide the blush creeping up her neck as she stares back at me. “Can’t blame a girl for being curious,” she mumbles.
“There’s curious, and then there’s interested. You’reinterestedin me, Savannah.” It sounds more like an accusation than the question it should be; I can’t fully believe my own words. After all my idiocy, I haven’t scared her away.
Savannah’s jaw drops open. “I amnotin—”
“Youlikeme.”How?
“Let’s get back to talking about the event tomorrow.” She’s full crimson-cheeked now, and I notice she doesn’t deny my claim about her affection.
But what am I supposed to do with that? It’s one thing to accept that I’m in deep water where my interest is concerned, but if she’s going to reciprocate, then… Then that makes this all so much harder. I can survive unrequited feelings, but how do I walk away if Savannah wants me to stay?
It’s going to hurt.
Hurt us both.
“And no,” Savannah says before I can come up with a response. “I don’tlikeyou, Logan. Not yet.”
Not yet.I can’t decide if that’s better or worse, but I’m going to stick to her assertion, regardless if it’s true. “Good,” I grunt and stuff my hands into my pockets. “I’d be a terrible person to like, and I think too highly of myself as it is. Don’t need to go thinking I’m in your league.”
She bites her lip a third time, and desire burns through me, complete with imagining taking that lip between my own teeth. Wrapping my hands around her waist. Kissing a line from her jaw down her neck.
More than that, I want to carry her heavy things. Make her life easier. Give her whatever she needs to make her business thrive so I can see her smile more often.
She doesn’t do that enough.
“Logan.”
Whatever she might say, I can’t stick around to listen. Not unless she’s ready to help me turn my fantasies into reality, which she isn’t.Not yet. “I’ll be your assistant tomorrow,” I tell her, taking two backward steps toward the door. “That’ll work, yeah?” Realizing there’s still a cat draped on my shoulders, I grab him and ignore his yowling complaint as I set him on the ground. “Tell me where to go and when to be there.”
Then I slip through her door and pull it shut behind me, keeping my hand on the doorknob as if she might come chasing after me. I came here tonight to apologize and make sure she’s on her way to get everything she wants, but I’m leaving with a feeling foreign enough that I’m almost afraid to put a word to it:
Hope.
Chapter 13
Savannah
Ittakesmelongerthan I’d like to realize why my conversations are going nowhere.
The event is made up of local small businesses that Mrs. Shafer’s marketing firm hopes to work with in the future, and each company has their own table or booth to show off what they do and connect to the other businesses. It’s not exactly the right space for someone like me, given the more personal nature of True Fuel Kitchen, but I’ll take any connections I can get. Plus, everyone who has come by my table has mentioned how incredible my food tastes as they try the samples I brought.
That’s about as far as I’ve gotten in terms of conversation before the people scurry off to other tables, and I was thinking it was a problem with my intro or my pitch. That is until one woman throws a wary glance over my shoulder and darts away while I’m mid-sentence.
I turn to see Logan leaning against the back wall, his arms folded and a fiery scowl on his face as he scans the crowd. “Are you kidding me?”
His eyes jump to me. “What?”
“You’re a terrible assistant. No wonder no one’s sticking around to talk to me if you’re standing back there looking like that.”
