“For now,” Hunter says. There’s a subtle shift in his posture, a slight release of his shoulders. He pulls out a credit card, but Mom waves it away.
“First one’s on the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely! If Richard is going to make you come here every day, the least we can do is let you off with one freebie.”
“If this is half as good as the cake Lou brought me yesterday, he won’t bemakingme do anything.” Hunter is charming and at ease with my mom, and it makes my stomach go sour. Why is he so guarded, sorudeto me?
“That’s so kind of you to say! I’ll be sure to let the chef know.”
“Please do,” Hunter agrees, affable.
My mom’s smile turns coy, and she looks past him to where I stand glowering at them, still clutching my Windex and paper towels. “Livvy, didn’t you make theprinsesstårtathis week?”
“Yep.” My lips pop on thep.
Hunter only partially turns, his posture stiffening again, like he’s already formed a reflex to guard against me. “Well,my compliments to the chef.” His eyes flash to mine and then away. “I better get back to work. Thanks for this.” He holds up the box, and before I know it, the doorbell jingles, and he’s gone.
“Interesting.” Mom watches him stride away.
“What?” I snap.
Her gaze moves to me, and her eyebrows lift.
“Sorry.” I exhale, forcibly calming myself. “How can he be so nice to you and such a jerk to me?”
“Probably because he isn’t attracted to me.”
I laugh, a hollow sound lacking any humor. “Oh, trust me, that isnotit. He’s made itabundantlyclear that he’s not looking for anything with me, not even friendship.”
Mom’s pale-blue eyes—the same as mine—narrow. “What did he do?”
I shrug, not wanting to repeat the whole humiliating encounter. “He didn’tdoanything, don’t worry. But he was a jerk. Let’s leave it at that.”
She leans forward onto her forearms on the glass counter. “I’m sorry, sweetie. He’s clearly been through something terrible. And Richard told me he’s had a tough go the last year with a girlfriend and his business. I’m sure he’s feeling pretty low and insecure. But I saw the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching.”
“When could you have possibly seen himlookingat me likethat?He was only in here for two minutes and talked to you the whole time.”
“I have my ways,” is all she says with a wave of her hand. “I also happen to know he has a degree in marketing and has a reputation of being really good at it.”
She’d better not be hinting at what I think she is. “Must not bethatgreat if he’s working at his uncle’s loan office now.”Before she can respond, I continue, “I’m going to go finish washing the door, and I might as well do the windows while I’m out there.”
“Sure, honey,” she says with a knowing look. This conversation isn’t over, but I’m avoiding it for as long as possible.
I escape to the quiet solace of the hot afternoon sun sweltering down from above and rising in waves from the concrete. Worry slips down my spine like sweat—a creeping concern that my mom and Richard are conspiring to get Hunter to intervene with the bakery’s struggles.
Maybe if Hunter had been nice, I’d consider it. I’d even be willing to overlook his beingstandoffish—he’s been through a lot, after all. But I’m the one who has been repeatedly warned—by Hunter himself—that he’s not interested in even being friends, let alone anything more.
Other than one sort of friendly-ish interaction in the kitchen this morning, he’s been nothing but cold. Which makes me anythingbutwilling to work with him—if my suspicions end up being right.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out to a text from Lou.
WCG tonight for dinner, dessert, and dishing on my date?
YES, I quickly reply. I’ll never say no to dessert at The White Chocolate Grill.
Perf. I made a reservation for 7. We can all ride together.
