His elbows smashed into the icy road; his stomach hit with a breath-robbing thump.
Drinda landed right on his head, driving his chin into the road.Son of a pile of smoking rubble. He groaned as his breath rushed out.
“Mphf,” he grunted. Cold dampness seeped into his jeans, chilling him through in seconds. He shivered and struggled to get out from under her. She was heavier than she looked.
Drinda scrambled off him. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay? You totally should have let me fall!” She offered her hand as he rolled over.
Mistake! Now his backside was cold too. Shivers danced down his spine and back up the front of his entire body. Grabbing her hand, he struggled to his feet. His chest ached as he gasped for breath. “You’re an accident looking for a place to happen,” he ground the accusation out.
“How is it my fault?” She stomped her foot and glared.
“You … ran off … without thinking … about the ice.” He gasped. “I tried to save you.” He bent over, put his hands on his knees, and sucked in a breath. Why did it take so long to breathe after you had the wind knocked out of you? He wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts, but by all that was safe and good, he wanted to shake some sense into her.
“What’s the big deal? I’d have landed on my backside. Maybe bruised my tailbone. Frankly, Ford, you need to loosen up. Your spine’s so stiff you probably can’t bend enough to tie your shoes.”
She stomped further into the street, picked up her cookie box, brushed it off, and kept right on going. He hobbled behind, massaging hisaching elbows. He wasn’t wet, just danged cold. He might as well go to the meeting. There would be coffee and cookies … at least there would be cookie crumbs. Since Drinda had baked the cookies, even the crumbs would be delicious.
He was not going to the meeting because she fascinated him with her good looks, her skills, her confession of shyness, or her ability to laugh and play. It wasn’t because she was a good businesswoman either. He was doing this to shut his grandmother and boss up. Wasn’t all the lawn mowing and snow shoveling enough community service?
Why was Drinda going? Her shop was getting busier by the day. That proved she knew what she was doing. If she was messing up orders, or the drinks were bad, nobody would come back. Except maybe his grandmother who was bent on getting Ford and Drinda together. His grandmother was something else. Exasperating at times, but always good-hearted.
He had the irreverent thought that maybe Drinda’s last name was Christie, because like the old ads said, “Mr. Christie, you make good cookies.” She made exceptional cookies. Naw. Drinda Christie didn’t have the right ring to it. Maybe she was a Keebler Elf.
He shook his head at the ridiculous thoughts. Something about Drinda made him scatterbrained and curious.
Drinda was seated beside his grandmother, a steaming mug in front of her by the time he arrived. Okay, so he’d deliberately delayed his entry. If he showed up with Drinda, his grandmother would get all kinds of ideas.
“Ford, about time you got here. I didn’t hear any sirens. Was there an emergency at work?” Grammie L. asked, in herwhat are you trying to pulltone.
“No. Just enjoying the evening weather. The stars are amazing tonight. You can see them even with the streetlights.” He wasn’t lying … at least not about the stars.
“And you held us up for that? Everyone else made it on time. Punctuality is important, dear.” She nodded as if putting an end to the discussion. A few choice words, in that tone, and she made him feel like a naughty schoolboy.
He slipped into the only available seat at the folding table serving as a meeting table. He wedgedhimself into the tight space between his grandmother and Drinda. Whoever set it up should have used two tables. It was so cramped his shoulders kept brushing Drinda’s; that, and her strawberry-coffee scent was alluring and distracting.
“Let’s call this meeting to order,” Nathaniel Brooks, committee chair, declared with a smile. His brilliant white teeth shone against his dark skin. “Since we’ve all tasted Drinda’s baking, it’s safe to say she has the contract for dessert. What are you planning?” The committee chair turned to Drinda.
“Oh. I haven’t put much thought into it yet. I’d like to go somewhere different with dessert. A lot of these events serve pie, or cake, like Black Forest cake. I was hoping to do something different. Tiramisu, a torte, maybe something chocolate-based, like truffles.”
“What’s wrong with traditional?” Ford interrupted.
♥♥♥
Drinda glared at Ford. “What’s wrong with mixing it up?” she asked, trying not to glare or grit her teeth. This was why she didn’t like interacting in groups.Disagreements always came up and she detested them because she had no idea how to react.
“What’s wrong with traditional?” he repeated his earlier question with a mocking smirk.
Heat rose in her face. The man was infuriating. He annoyed her every time they interacted. “There’s nothing wrong with traditional, but a change can be nice.”
“True,” his grandmother put in. “We’re skipping the traditional roast beef dinner, and steak and lobster, this year. We’re going with Beef Wellington, which we’ve never done before. It was a toss-up between that and fondue. Why not mix everything up? It might draw in a bigger crowd.”
“We have plenty of time to plan dessert,” Nathaniel said. “In fact, we’ll leave that to Ford and Drinda to work out. We’ll get you two to bring back a plan when we meet in two weeks. Now, let’s move on and talk decorations.”
Drinda fumed. Not only was Ford her inspector, but now she had to work alongside him fordessert planning.
When everyone pushed back their chairs to leave, she realized she’d been so busy fuming she hadn’t heard a single word that was said. She had no idea what plans had been made and what decisions had been postponed.
“Franny, can you stay and catch me up? I got lost thinking about desserts,” she said.
