Then he plants himself squarely between me and Winnie.
“Barrel,” she says, running her hand down his back. “We don’t need a chaperone.”
“Y’all are strangers and you’re making out at the Spring Fling,” Fred asks, staring at us over a tall cup of lemonade. “Maybe you do need a chaperon.”
That’s the downside of living in a small town. Gossip and strong opinions.
“Mind your business,” I tell him. “And making out is a bit of an exaggeration, by the way.”
“Don’t be taking spring fling so literal, folks. And Ian, you’d better remove yourself from the dessert judging panel. I saw that Winnie entered the contest and this is a conflict of interest right here.” He gestures to us both.
“You’re a judge?” Winnie asks. Her fingers brush her lips, which momentarily distracts me.
I nod. “I’m judging the spring crafts too. And the strongman contest. The town council likes a Four Brothers representative since we sponsor the Spring Fling.”
“You’d best withdraw for the dessert round,” Fred says.
“Fine.” Though I’m disappointed I won’t get to taste test everything. There were a lot of incredible desserts on display. “I don’t want anybody taking issue with it.”
Chaos.
That’s what Winnie has brought to my weekend.
As if to prove it, Barrel drags her off again.
“I’ll talk to you later!” she calls out with a smile.
Disappointed she’s leaving, I wave and head in the opposite direction to remove myself as a judge.
“Damn it, these all look really good,” I say morosely to the remaining judge’s panel.
“Your appetite seems a bit out of control today,” Bitsy Parker says, eyeing me over her reading glasses.
“I…” don’t have a clue what to say to that. I am not the town lothario. I have zero social life. Why am I getting called out for one tiny kiss? “I’m a starving man,” I tell Bitsy and stalk off.
When I try to find Winne again, I don’t see her anywhere so I park myself in front of my Four Brothers display and contemplate if it’s wise to get involved with Winnie.
Probably not, but damn, that kiss…
It was fantastic. Perfect. Powerful.
An hour later I’m still sitting there thinking about it—about her—when I hear her name over the speaker.
“The winner of the dessert round is Miss Winnie Roberts, Wanted’s newest resident!”
I stiffen.
That can’t be right.
I saw the state of my kitchen this morning.
I’ve eaten Miss Bettie’s sweets.
There is no way Winnie could have beat out those bourbon caramel blondie brownies.
The rest of Wanted seems to agree.
There is a stunned silence followed by a low hum as everyone starts muttering to each other.
