Page 3 of Too Sweet

“No time for small talk,” I hear Summer say as they walk away. “We gotta set up fast. Cocktail hour is about to start, and after that, there won’t be any point in handing out free booze.”

Free booze? Does that have something to do with the “bottle girl” thing, or are they at the wrong event?

Almost immediately, the men begin lining up at booth Number 10, and the women haven’t finished setting up. Cooper moves around their table, helping unpack as if he knows what he’s doing.

Part of me is relieved he’s there, placing himself between the girls and the dudes lining up to stare at those women.

The looks on some of their faces set my teeth on edge. The women, and Cooper, are oblivious.

But I can’t abandon our booth. Can I?

Aw, to hell with it.

Before I know what’s come over me, I’m out of the booth and headed toward Table Number 10 in the corner.

I don’t know what I’ll say when I get there. I don’t have a plan, and that scares me. This is not how I behave. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t let Summer out of my sight.

chapter

two

Summer

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into these things,” Harmony mutters as we set up our booth an hour later than when we were supposed to start.

I’ve explained how this works a dozen times to my sister, but I remind myself that she needs extra patience. So I don’t respond to her complaining and instead think about how frazzled I am in the moment.

“Excuse me, I need to get around you.” It was nice of the cute guy’s brother—or twin, maybe—to haul some of our supplies through the expo hall for us, but now the lumbering dude is getting in the way. I’m unsure why he’s still hanging around, gaping at us. Or at Harmony, specifically.

Never mind that. I have cups to fill with frozen treats and sprinkles to…sprinkle. And the lineup in front of our booth is ten people deep.

We’re so far behind, but hopefully, once the masses taste our product, the rest of this event will be smooth sailing.

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your way.”

“Thanks for your help,” I say, shooting him a smile, wishing he was his brother, the one I flirted with earlier.

I shoot Harmony a look that reminds her to be polite and say thank you, but she’s barely making eye contact with anyone. Instead, her face is crimson, and she’s elbow-deep in the ice chest, helping me.

People are getting restless. I can’t focus on her being rude right now.

Scoop, sprinkle. Scoop, sprinkle. Ignore the comments. Smile and say hello and try to compensate for Harmony’s sour puss.

I’m so flustered about being late that I’m not paying attention to what I’m doing, and I end up accidentally mixing up the mojito flavor with the Paloma.

One potential investor, boasting a famous New York investment firm on his lanyard, tastes a sample and comments, “Interesting choice to mix grapefruit and mint.”

Right. He doesn’t find the flavor interesting at all. He means it’s terrible.

The man tosses the sample in the trash bin and leans in too close to me. “So, where are you girls from?”

“Oh,” Harmony pipes up. “It’s a small town not far from here called I’ll Kick Your Ass If You Call Me Girl Again. You’d hate it.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as the guy walks away, probably with an assload of cash the likes of which Harmony and I have never seen in our lives.

Sigh.

“Harmony, you can’t say stuff like that,” I scold my sister.

---