Page 35 of Sweet and Salty

I laugh despite myself. “First of all, I don’t think that’s a real concern. And my parents died when I was young.” True, and an allowed part of my curated back story. “My grandma raised me.”

“Oh. Did she teach you about animals?”

“A little. She grew up in the South, and before he died, my grandfather owned a little plot of land with some animals and produce. Cows, mostly.” I’m babbling. Esme hated this nervous verbal diarrhea.

“I like cows.”

“Me too.”

Laura is quiet for a long while, staring at the barn and then at the little collection of acorn shells I handed her. “Thank you,” she finally said, her voice soft. “Thanks for helping my donkey.”

A little part of my heart falls. I’m doing it for her. Doesn’t she see that?

I can’t let her see that. It’s selfish of me even to think it. This is all I can offer her. “Of course, Laura. Any time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Laura

“Wait,so he saved your donkey, he’s living above your garage, and you still haven’t banged him?” Frannie shakes her head, tosses a piece of fondant in her mouth, and grimaces. “I really hate fondant.”

I snatch the fondant tiger she’s making out of her grasp. “It’s not for you. Or for eating, necessarily.” Generally, I prefer marzipan, but Daisy Gustavson hates almonds. So fondant it is.

“Yeah, it’s for that ugly-ass wedding cake.” Frannie stands up from the cake-decorating table and refills her coffee from the pot, adding a little dash of condensed milk and stirring her drink until it lightens.

“Hey!” I brandish my piping bag at her, and she laughs.

“No, come on, Mama Bear, you know your cake is gorgeous. Totally Insta-worthy. But ‘Wild in Love’? What kind of a theme is that?”

“The bride is always right,” I say through gritted teeth as I pipe a row of vibrant yellow-and-purple shells along the rim of each layer.

“Yeah, except in this case.” Frannie sips her coffee and sits down again at the decorating table. She draws the balls of brightly colored fondant toward her and pulls off black and white pieces to make the penguins. “Does anyone say no to Daisy Gustavson?”

“Nope. Especially not when she’s marrying Tanner Michaelson, August Dryden’s nephew.” The wedding is going to be massive. Practically the whole town is invited, which means Chris is probably going to show up. “Is there any way I can not go to this wedding?”

“Why don’t you ask your super sexy neighbor? From what I’ve heard around town, you two are already a couple.” Frannie attempts to sound suggestive, but at the same moment she flattens her penguin body by accident. She swears loudly. “I really, really hate fondant. So, back to Jesse. He saved that stubborn mule’s life by figuring out something was poisoning her and you didn’t even give him a thank-you bang?”

“I’m not banging him. We aren’t a couple. It’s just idle gossip.” That I inadvertently started. Jesse hasn’t brought it up yet, but he must be getting the third degree, too. “I know nothing about him.” Except that he lost both his parents. And he loves animals. He is unexpectedly generous and wears boxer shorts like he’s sex on a stick.

I press too hard on the piping bag, turning the shell I’m crafting into an ugly blob. Gross. I wipe it off before Frannie can see.

I’ve spent the past week doing this weird, awkward dance with Jesse, far too aware of him being so geographically close and yet both of us determined not to acknowledge it. It makes it easier—and also somehow more insulting—that he won’t leave the hardware store to come get coffee at my shop.

He probably would if I could have added bourbon to it. Damn Drydens, messing with my liquor license application.

“You don’t need to know or like anything about someone you have sex with.” Frannie uses a crafting tool to carve penguin wings on either side of her creation. “Look at me.”

I glance up. “Wait a minute. Who are you having sex with?”

Frannie waves her hand in the air as if to bat away the question. “You’re completely missing my point. Jesse is a silver fox. Okay, he can’t be that old. But haven’t you always had some latent daddy fantasies? He’s perfect for that.”

“I don’t have any latent daddy fantasies.” Although now that she brings it up, I have a sudden image of Jesse tucking the blanket around me that stormy night, then sleeping in the chair. Watching over me. My protector. No one cares for me like that.

Ugh, there is that tug in my ovaries again. It isn’t that I’m desperate to have a baby or a family. I just wantsomethingmore.Somethingto go my way.

Frannie finishes crafting the penguin and sets it beside the rest of the fondant zoo we’ve created. “You’re missing out. Everyone needs a good fantasy.”

“I don’t have time for fantasy.” I step back to review my work, which I’m also capturing on my phone camera using stop-motion. It means decorating this cake takes about eight thousand times longer than it normally does. “I have to decorate this cake. The wedding is tomorrow.” It’s beautiful, really. Unique.

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