Page 53 of Sweet Rivals

“For what?” he asked.

“For this,” I said.

“Giving you a ride?”

I shook my head and glared at him. His lips pulled into that stupid grin of his. “You are such an ass, you know that?”

“I’m just confused is all.”

“You could just appreciate the credit I am trying to give you.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” I said.

The smile fell from his face, and I wasn’t. “You deserved it. You also don’t need me to give you a chance. You are talented.”

I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. I couldn’t possibly let Jared see just how much his words affected me. He was selfish, pompous, flippant, arrogant, and most importantly, in my way. He certainly wasn’t compassionate and thoughtful. He couldn’t be. I wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t be sexy, smart, talented, rich, and kind.

Although as soon as I thought it, the stupid part of my brain that hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his hands in the walk-in and what they could do wondered why not? Why couldn’t he be all of these things? Maybe we could live happily ever after. It was a strange and uncomfortable thought that made my body run even warmer than the August air.

“Looks like things are progressing nicely,” Jared said as he pulled into a spot in front of the bakery. I felt bad for the men in jeans and long-sleeved tees moving in and out of the hot sun to work on the bakery overhaul as they carried flooring and fixtures to the large dumpster that took up a parking spot along the street. With the town ordinances, that was the closest they could get it. But Jared was right. As we approached, I saw that they had cleared out all of the old stuff and were starting on the new flooring.

“Guess using the office today isn’t an option,” he said. “I’ll head back to my place and tally these numbers.”

Until that moment, I hadn’t considered where he was staying. Had he rented a house? Was he in a hotel? In my mind, he just stopped existing when he wasn’t at the bakery.

“Shouldn’t we tally it together?” I asked.

“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.” He brought his hand to his chest as if holding a wound.

“I worry about your observational skills if you somehow missed how much I don’t trust.” I barely finished my thought before he turned halfway up the stairs to the boardwalk and started heading back to the car.

With the car door half open, he turned to me, “Well? Are you coming?”

“Where?”

“To tally our sales,” he said.

Getting in that car and going back to his place sounded like a terrible idea, and yet my feet dragged me to the passenger side, and I climbed in before my brain mounted a strong enough protest.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Look at you, Mr. Fancy Pants,” I said as I stepped up onto the front screened-in porch that wrapped around his side of the large, beautiful duplex. A comfy sofa and chairs sat on what looked like original hardwood planks. If you angled your head just right, you could see down the street directly to the ocean.

“What were you expecting?”

“Something that looked like it matched your truck,” I said.

“A dilapidated shack?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said as he pulled open the front door and a very round English bulldog waddled out and licked my calf.

“A dog!” I shouted.

“That’s Mr. Potato. Don’t worry, he won’t bite,” Jared said.

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