So yeah, I had a crush on the sexy blueberry farmer with the million dollar smile. So what? I wasn’t hurting anyone. I wasn’t being a nuisance to him or others. It was my dirty little secret.
It wasn’t as if I had the guts to go after him. He was a ten and I was…well, I was a mess. Definitely not boyfriend material.Definitely not life partner material. Definitely not functional human material, but I was good at pretending at least.
So, all I really had were these almost daily interactions, the bare hints of his touch, and the wonderful belly laughs that filled me with everything that was nice and warm. And the view. Front or back, he was quite the sight. And since that was all I had, I’d enjoy every moment of it, damnit. Lines and disgruntled customers be damned.
I took him in, all of him, walking with so much certainty, so much confidence. That was a man who knew who he was, what he wanted and how to get it.
I sighed. If only I could be half as much of a man as him.
“Ahem,” someone coughed, and I looked down at the next customer trying to get my attention.
“I’m sorry, Winifred. I was away with the fairies,” I said to my regular and took a deep breath, focusing solely on her and not the silhouette of the man that made it hard to breathe and yet gave me life at the same time. “What will it be today?”
Winifred pressed her lips into a smirk and with some hesitation dragged her gaze away from me and onto the glass display filled with cake.
“Well, I was going to go for the carrot cake, but Dare’s blueberry pie is calling my name,” she hummed after a moment.
“I can’t blame you. His pies are finger-licking good,” I said.
“Just his pies?” she raised an eyebrow but if she was suggesting something else I simply ignored it.
The worst thing you could do with a mature busybody like Winifred was give them an inch. I may not have had much experience with them in my old life, but I’d learned a lot in the past year since settling in Mayberry Holm.
It was impossible not to learn that lesson after ending up with a reputation last Christmas when I decided to give dating a try.
It hadn’t been a bad reputation per se, but it had taken a long time to get people off my back about being in love with Carson, the local grill owner I went on one date with. And what a dull date it had been. He hadn’t been interested in me or my jokes, but it made sense given that he’d been in love with someone else. Even so, the date had stung, and I still couldn’t help but feel it was my fault.
I’d tried dating since, but nothing serious came of it. I guess Victor had ruined me for anybody.
A shiver went down my spine at the mere thought of the man.
I looked around outside the truck for any sign of him while preparing Winifred’s order, but he wasn’t there. It had been a week since I’d seen him—or thought I’d seen him—in this very place. I was starting to believe I’d imagined it. Maybe it had been someone who resembled my ex. If that was the case I’d feel even worse for having Donovan here wasting his time protecting me from figments of my imagination.
“Thank you, Winifred,” I said, passing the elderly woman her pie and tea, before trying to tackle the line the best I could.
It was Halloween though, and everyone had a craving for pumpkin spice and a nice hot java so naturally it was impossible. But still, I refused to call Teddy.
He and Wesley needed the time alone to enjoy life, and each other, and to spend some quality time with little Bear, Teddy’s nephew who lived with them.
And anyway, I’d been doing this all on my own since I got here. What was one more day?
Dare’s blueberry pie was gone within minutes, and I was grateful he’d brought two and I’d kept one for myself. I would take offense that people preferred the pie over my cakes, but I couldn’t blame them. It was mind-blowingly good, with an unbeatable farm-to-table quality. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t get my blueberry pies to taste remotely as good as his and I was too much of a wuss to ask for the recipe.
By the time the pie was gone I was sweating buckets, and I was thankful to my past self for wearing a lighter outfit underneath the cat costume because I couldn’t have stripped it faster.
Someone whistled. I snapped my head. Was it someone on the line? Was it him?
It was him, wasn’t it? He was watching me. I could feel his leer sticking on my skin like grease and nicotine.
Smoke flooded my nostrils, invaded my lungs, constricted my throat. A cigarette cloud that wasn’t even there.
I coughed, covering my mouth, looking, searching, gasping for air.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart beat in my chest like a bass at a nightclub making me feel sick.
Bile peppered my throat. My eyes stung. My stomach sank.
