“I’ll move it up the list.” The plumbing overhaul wasn’t part of his initial remodel—he’d planned on making the place livable, not thrive-able. However, living here brought up new issues.
Maybe if it was just him camping out, he could string the loose pipe issue out longer by showering at James’s. He couldn’t ask that of Maggie, though. She deserved to shower at her leisure and not have to drive to his buddy’s house to get the flour out of her hair. He wanted her to have a house she loved, one she felt at home in. And to do that, she needed warm showers. He smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked as she opened a package of napkins and began fanning them out on the countertop.
“I was just thinking about how long it used to take you to get ready. You don’t shower; you steep.”
She blushed. “That was a long time ago. I’ve got it down to science—especially when I don’t do my hair.” She pointed to the bun on her head. “Okay, what flavor do you want to try first?”
He pointed to the glazed. “Let’s start with a plain one and then work out from there.” His phone buzzed. Maggie put the doughnut on a napkin and passed it to him. “James just pulled up,” he told her.
He took a bite, and the treat melted in his mouth. The bite happened so fast that all he had to judge off of was the sweet flavor of the glaze lingering on his tongue.
“Tell James to get in here. I need opinions.” Maggie pulled a gallon of milk out of the fridge and poured him a cup.
Cash took it. “He’s got a bunch of guys with him today.”
“Good thing I’ve got a bunch of doughnuts.” She winked as she opened the fridge and pulled out another gallon of milk. “I’ll grab my notebook so I can ask questions while they eat.”
“Are you sure? These guys aren’t food critics.”
She came back around and stood beside him. “They’re my target eaters. I’d love to see which doughnuts they like most.”
He hesitated and then just decided to go for it. His guys were a rough crew, motley and uncouth in the best of times. Maggie was all upper-middle class, single child, manners and social graces—look at the napkins, for heaven’s sake. They were set out as if a bridal shower were about to take place. Maybe he should call this off …
“I—” he started, but he was interrupted by the sound of work boots on the wood floor and booming voices.
Maggie turned, clasping her hands together behind her back and smiling like a hostess. “Good morning,” she chirped.
The guys tripped over each other to stop in the doorway. They stared at the pretty platters and pristine white napkins as if they’d walked onto an alien ship.
“Come in. Come in.” Maggie motioned for them to step forward. “I’m sure there’s enough for everyone. Thank you so much for taste testing for me. I mean, for my cookbook. I promise everything is at least edible.”
The guys looked at Cash for help. They were all out of their normal territory of a pastry box on a tailgate.
Cash picked up a chocolate doughnut. “If you don’t want them, I can finish them off.”
The group surged forward, and Maggie quickly backed out of the way, her eyes wide. She went to the other side of the counter and grabbed a notebook and pen.
James came running in. “Save me some!”
Maggie beamed at him. “I’m sure there’s enough.”
Something inside of Cash growled at the way Maggie looked at James. There was some admiration in her eyes, a friendliness and open way about her that wasn’t there when she looked at Cash, that made him want to take the guy out back and pummel him. Instead, he shoved James away from the lemon-blueberry plate and took the first doughnut. No one else had tried them yet, and he wanted to be the first.
Maggie was talking to Vic, who sprayed crumbs as he noted the dryness of the pastry, adding that he didn’t mind. It worked with a cup of milk.
Maggie wrote as quickly as she could. “Thanks. I thought they were dry too, but it’s good to have a second opinion.”
Vic grinned like he’d won an award.
It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for them to decimate Maggie’s beautiful display. Every guy tried every flavor, and Maggie did her best to get their reactions on paper. Cash noted that she didn’t shy away from Timmy, the guy who respectable women crossed to the other side of the street to avoid. He wasn’t dangerous at all. He’d done some time in prison when he was eighteen for stealing food at a gas station to feed his younger sister and mom. Prison changed a person—especially when they went in at a young age. He’d been tatted up and shaved his head and bench-pressed 250 pounds, but his heart was even bigger than he was.
Maggie tapped the end of the pen on her chin as she looked up at Timmy. “So you think it needs more cinnamon?”
He nodded. “I get a lot of the sugar, but I want more bite.” He snapped his teeth at her to demonstrate.
Cash cringed, ready to make his apologies for his employee.
