Page 5 of Too Sweet

I hit him with, “Never mind, sweetie. What can I get you? Sweet, rich, or tart?”

No hint of a smile forms on that sexy, masculine mouth. What’s his problem?

“Are you…the caterer? I’m confused,” he says, eyeing my outfit.

Adorably gloomy and thick-headed. Exactly the opposite of me. I can work with this.

“My sister and I are frozen yogurt entrepreneurs. You might have seen the article about our business, Little Spoon, in Gold Hill Lifestyle magazine,” I say.

“I don’t read magazines,” he says, staring intently at my face, clearly trying not to let his eyes wander down to my cleavage. Good luck, pal. There’s a lot of cleavage to wander into.

“Sometimes, when people are networking, they pretend to know what the other person is talking about just to play nice,” I say.

“Why?”

Behind me, Harmony snorts, and I want to kick her, but my ankle is killing me.

I put on my best smile and say, “I don’t know. Maybe we’re all psychotic.”

Why did I say that? Oh god…why? Why am I so weird?

To my relief, this glowering fellow cracks the faintest smile.

He says, “You pick.”

“I pick what?”

“The flavor.”

As he says this, his eyes rake down my body and back up, and hell, if that doesn’t give me the fanny flutters. Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate.

“Hmm, let’s see,” I say, eyeing him up and down while Harmony hands out samples to other visitors to our booth. I should not be out here flirting, but there’s just something about this guy—short-cropped hair, a rumpled button-down shirt hiding his physique. The slightly askew tie and those nerdy wire-frame glasses are the icing on the cake. The glowering stare and the juicy lips make him look like a male stripper dressed in a nerd costume. “I think you like melons.”

His gaze dips down pointedly. “They’re fine, I guess.”

Was that…was he making a comment about my boobs? No way.

Yeah, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt because the alternative could get him slapped. And I don’t want to cause a scene.

“I meant the fruit. Like cantaloupes.” Flustered, I turn away and hiss at my sister, gesturing wildly. “Harmony!”

“What?” Her eyes bug out in annoyance.

“Get me the Midori mint!”

She looks doubly annoyed. “I’m. Busy.” She says this through gritted teeth. So she is. My eyes briefly glance at the wall of chest across the table from her—the other MacKenzie twin. She’s getting the hang of this mission after all.

With no other choice as people crowd around our table, I turn around and hobble to the cooler, where I dig around until I find what I’m looking for. The cantaloupe mint frozen yogurt with melon-flavored liqueur. Perfect.

And now I don’t know how I’ll stand back up in these heels with a throbbing ankle.

Grunting, I manage to peel off my stilettos and haul myself back to my feet. A little unsteady now, I smooth my hair, lean over the table, and hand the sample to the guy. “Try this and tell me what you think?”

“Are you hurt?” he asks, that beautiful brow furrowing again.

Be still my heart.

“No.”

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