She didn’t even turn around, just grabbed her bouquet and gave a wave with her hand. “Nope. Not doing this.”
The fact was, they had.
And he didn’t have any idea what to do about it.
6
Chapter Six
Heather had kissed Jase. And he’d kissed her. And she needed a huge volunteer project or something to shift her attention off him. There was only so much prom planning needed. Maybe she should look at opening a second shop, so she could burn the candle at both ends and avoid thoughts of Jase’s tongue and the way he felt so good pressed against her. The way his deep voice, with just a touch of sandpaper, mesmerized her.
“What happened shouldn’t have happened.” She stopped just outside the door of her shop, turning to him to break the silence. She hadn’t said anything since they’d left the cowboy bar. He hadn’t tried again once they were outside.
They hopped on his bike and, penis cookies in her grip, he brought her back.
On the sidewalk outside her shop? He’d had the audacity to look hurt.
That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t look hurt. Looking hurt meant feelings, and they were not doing the feelings thing.
“I trust you are as committed to our fake breakup as I am,” Heather continued. “We’ll just keep moving forward, like two people who are pretending that nothing happened.”
“Heather…”
Ugh. He kept saying her name.
She pushed open the door to the shop. He followed her inside. It was immensely hard to ignore whatever was going on between them when he wasright there.
Candy met her right at the door. “Okay, hear me out. I know I’ve been texting you that she’s still here and she won’t leave, but”—she tossed her hands out wide—“I just tried her cookies and they are ahh-mazing. I think we should let her work here.”
“Her cookies are pretty damn good,” Jase concurred.
Heather made a low gurgling sound in the back of her throat. No. Absolutely not. Heather gave her sister her best no-way-in-hell look and hurried through the shop toward the kitchen.
Candy and Jase were right behind her. Not that she turned around to see that they followed, but she could hear Jase going on about his love for Babushka’s tea cookies as they moved behind her.
Heather shoved open the swinging door to the kitchen.
And there she was. Babushka. Hairnet in place, apron tied around her neck, with what appeared to be a flour bomb detonated on the countertop in front of her.
“Good, you have arrived.” With a finalthwackto a lump of dough, Babushka brushed her hands together.
The flour particles in the air tickled Heather’s lungs. What this day needed was hard alcohol and carbs. On that thought, she reached for a cookie from one of the baking sheets.
Babushka edged the tray away from Heather’s grasp. “They are not ready. They must cool.”
Heather rubbed the throb starting in the center of her forehead.Chin up. Be strong.“I really appreciate your offer to help me out here in the kitchen.”
Deep breath.
“I have a plan, and it’s already in place.” She tracked Babushka as the old woman shuffled around the counter to the cooling rack next to Heather and snagged a half-dollar-size cookie. “I really cannot take on another employ—”
Babushka shoved the cookie into Heather’s open mouth.
“Is good, no?” The old woman’s eyes shone with pride.
The powdered-sugary shortbread crumbled against Heather’s tongue in the most delightful dance of nutty, buttery goodness. Dammit all. The cookie wasn’t good. The thing was extraordinary.
That wasnotthe point.
