Page 60 of Sweet Rivals

“No, I can’t,” I said.

But Jared ignored me and unlocked the door anyway, ushering me inside. The protest died as he turned on the lights. Edison bulbs over the armchairs, old-fashioned, 1970s stained glass chandeliers over the counter.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“What?”

“How did you know my vision for the bakery?”

“Was this your vision?” he asked.

“I can see right through you, you know,” I said. “Cut out the innocent bullshit.”

“How would I have known?”

“That’s the question. Maybe you are stalking me,” I said.

“Maybe,” he said with his grin.

“I need to go,” I said.

“Not until you eat something. If I know you, you haven’t been eating enough,” he said.

“You don’t know shit,” I said.

“I think we established that I know you better than you know yourself.”

“We haven’t established shit.” I realized that I was just being argumentative, but I didn’t plan on agreeing with anything Jared said. We walked through the front-end to the kitchen, where he pulled out a few ingredients, turned on the stove, and got to work. I watched him move through the kitchen in silence. My traitorous hormones turned on by his movements that managed to be both expert and effortless at the same time. The smell was fantastic, and my stomach grumbled, realizing he was right. I really hadn’t been eating enough.

“Eat,” he said, putting a plate of southwest-style eggs in front of me.

I glared at him, debating throwing it away just to piss him off, but then my stomach growled again, and I begrudgingly took a bite.

“It’s awful,” I lied.

He laughed. Then his face grew serious. “I wish you would come back to the bakery.”

“There’s no point,” I said.

“Of course there is,” he said.

“You had to cheat in order for me to have a chance at winning. You told your bother that you needed me for good will with the locals. You also said that your brother only took me to dinner because he wanted to get to you. I am a goddamn joke to you. And I may be just the local girl from the seafood joint, but I’m not fodder for your games. I have enough self-respect to know when to quit. I wish I had recognized not to ever start, but here we are.”

“Jenna, I know what this all looks like. But you have to trust me when I tell you that I do believe in you,” he said.

I scoffed. “You are so full of shit. I have no idea what the hell your angle is, but I shouldn’t have come here at all.”

“Are you going back to The Lobster Tail?”

“I don’t know what I am doing. And isn’t any of your business. Maybe I will travel the world like your brother suggested. He doesn’t think you can be a fully-fledged person unless you’ve country-hopped a few times.”

“My brother is full of shit,” he said.

“I’m surprised you two don’t get along since you are both arrogant assholes who think you know everything.”

He shook his head and had the decency to look ashamed. “Jenna, this whole thing got out of hand.”

“You think?” I asked standing up and putting my plate aside. “You give me this bullshit sob story about your strict dad and the stress of the limelight, then you tell your brother you are using me, then you rig the sale. But worst of all, you gave me goddamn hope. Hope I never had even in my wildest fantasies of owning my own bakery. It was always just that a goddamn fantasy. You were right. It’s my fault that you even had the chance to swoop in under me. And it’s also my fault for ever believing you.” Tears were streaming down my cheeks again. I felt emotional and stupid, so I turned toward the door.

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