Page 12 of Resisting the Grump

But it was also an irresistible rush.

Never before had I felt such an electric draw towards someone. It was as fun as it was frightening, though only my sense of fear increased as he wove his way through the tent, inching ever closer to my humble table of good intentions.

I didn’t want to be attracted to him. I was determined not to fawn. But deep down, the fact that he’d made grown men cry with nothing but his words made me feel like a wild bird who can’t help but be dazzled by the peacock feathers before her.

I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders back, collecting my composure as best I could. The last thing I wanted was to give him the impression that I was giddy to meet a celebrity when it was actually his ruthlessness that fascinated me. But I couldn’t let his pheromones distract me from my reason for being here. My mission was to favorably represent the Cake Café, to sing the praises of the caramel-infused double chocolate brownies I’d been making three times a day for the last week, and to muster up a few donations for the Hudson House for needy kids.

I was not here to get laid.

I was not here to find a husband.

I was not here to sink to my knees and worship at the punishing feet of this sinfully attractive Satan.

I was Queen Brownie Bitch, and it was more important than ever that I act like it.

E I G H T

- Oliver -

It was like going to Willy Wonka’s factory without the olden ticket nonsense and the spoiled brats. At least, everyone I’d met so far was absolutely lovely. The women running the event all had the same cheery disposition you’d expect from Mrs. Claus, and once I accepted the fact that I was going to be fawned and fussed over, I actually started to enjoy myself.

Regrettably, I hadn’t quite mastered the right words for giving feedback on desserts yet, but I was relieved to find that almost all of the desserts were excellent. There were only two I hadn’t sincerely enjoyed so far, a banana crème pie that was a little too chunky for my liking and peanut butter cookies that were far too dry. But on both occasions, the warm smiles plastered to the bakers’ beaming faces made it surprisingly easy to shun my inner ogre and find something inoffensive to say.

Granted, it frustrated me that I didn’t know enough about dessert to give the contestants advice on fixing lumpy pie crust or dry cookies. But I wasn’t in the habit of making things up as I went along. So I bit my tongue and behaved as if my mother, who would’ve loved the whole affair, was right beside me.

And while it was too early to call it, the experience was turning out to be more pleasant than I anticipated. That said, I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the rest of the day. After trying a small sample of everything in the first two rows, I was already starting to feel full, and it seemed like every dessert was richer than the last. It didn’t help that I was decidedly partial to the offerings with a chocolate component.

As I rounded the corner into the third aisle of offerings, a different kind of treat drew my attention as suddenly as unexpected birdsong. All it took was one glance in her direction for a fire of anticipation to spark within me. I don’t know if it was her dark red pigtails or something else, but my appetite returned instantly, along with the motivation I needed to eat my way to the end of the row.

I didn’t make a beeline for her, of course, because that’s not my style and I had a job to do. But as I took a deep breath and bit into a gingersnap at the next table, I felt an excitement bubbling inside me that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Time seemed to slow down as the distance between us decreased, but I scooped up an extra detail every time my eyes drifted askance. She was definitely one of the youngest women in the tent, that’s for sure, and she was wearing the standard issue T-shirt as a dress. It was belted around her thin waist, so it fell midway down her thigh and… By the time I was two tables away, my mouth was watering at an accelerated rate, and it wasn’t because of the peach cinnamon muffins I was sampling, which were forgettable at best.

“Hi,” I said, stepping up to her table and doing my best to pretend I wasn’t picturing her in one of my own T-shirts.

“Hello,” she said.

There was a cheeriness to her tone that intrigued me. I wouldn’t say it felt forced exactly, but it felt like there was far more to her. Some of the other women, for example, had that saccharine, shallow cheeriness that made them seem sort of two dimensional. But this woman had a fieriness in her caramel-colored eyes that made every part of my body feel awake and alive and… hungry.

“I hope you have some room left,” she said, the corners of her cat eyes smiling. “It can’t be easy tasting so many moreish morsels.”

So she’d noticed me earlier, too. “Moreish?” I asked, my chest tightening as my lower body registered the perfect bow of her top lip. Fuck she was hot. Where had this brownie babe been all my life?

“Things you can’t help but want more of,” she explained.

There was only one thing I wanted more of in that moment, and it wasn’t melted butter… though I suspected it would feel just as decadent on my tongue. “What do you have for me today?” I tore my eyes from hers and looked down at the table, realizing the stupidity of my question.

“Double chocolate brownies with seven layers of caramel heaven,” she said, fanning her wrists out. “Would you like to try one?”

I appreciated that she hadn’t answered me sarcastically, though maybe she wanted to but was too committed to keeping her game face on. “Please,” I said, removing my suit jacket, which had become unbearably hot all of a sudden. Maybe it was the tent. Or all the sugar. I don’t know what came over me. All I knew was that everyone was wearing far too many clothes. And by everyone, I mean me and the woman whose presence seemed to make everyone else fade away.

As she cut a rectangular bite of brownie that looked so gooey I suspected it would feel wet to the touch, I admired the way her lashes fanned across her cheeks. Then I dropped my eyes to her delicate forearms as they floated over her wares, revealing a delicate tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It appeared to be a small bow.

“So is this your first time entering something in the festival?” I asked, taking the brownie she offered me on a napkin.

“Personally, yes,” she said, studying my face as I bit through seven layers of chocolate and caramel.

Not that I was counting. I simply took her word for it. To be honest, I was ready to believe anything her pretty mouth said.

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