Page 20 of Engaging with Her Enemy

“Wednesdays then. I can help you prep for your test and maybe study ahead at what you're going to learn.” A weekly date for the next two months. Could he get her to see him as more than a friend? “And you will pass your midterm. I promise.”

“Is that like a warranty I can turn in for cash if I don't pass?”

“If you don't pass, then I'll pay for you to retake the class.” And he would. Without hesitation. He wanted this success for her.

She smirked. “Ah, a new personality trait. You like to pay for painful torture for your friends.”

“Only for you.”

Becky sipped her wine, watching him a moment.

“What?” What did she see?

“I'm wondering why you're willing to help me. I basically kicked you out of my life, and now you're going to waste all your Wednesdays on me.” She reached for the bottle wine, but he got it first, pouring her a second glass. The truth of his feelings for her wouldn't work. Not yet.

“I don't like seeing you struggle. Never have. You're smart, Becky. You simply learn differently.”

“Smart isn't exactly a word I use to describe myself, and accounting has been a major struggle, but surely you have something better to do. Somewhere to go? Or someone to see?”

“I spend a lot of time on the road. Various project sites around the state. I see most of these guys two hundred days out of the year. Having an excuse not to see them one night of the week and not lie about having plans will be a nice change for me.” He laid his arm across the back of the sofa. “And I'm not seeing anyone.”

Her expression didn't change. She didn't move. Didn't make a sound, but the air between them shifted. Maybe it was a one-sided reaction, that he was the only one that wanted more than her study buddy.

She finished her glass and shook her head when he reached for the bottle. “I better not. I already hate mornings, and I’m going into the diner early tomorrow. I still have to ice the cakes tonight.”

“You mentioned once about wanting to be a baker. Why didn't you go off and do that?” He grabbed the plate littered with cookie crumbs and followed her when she rose, taking her glass and the bottle of wine to the kitchen.

She rinsed her wine glass. “Oh, you know, this or that.” He leaned his hip against the kitchen sink, bending down close to her until she peered up at him. “What?”

“Why didn't you go, Becky?”

She shut the water off with a little more force than necessary. “Why does there have to be a reason? Maybe I enjoy living in Statem. Most of the people I’m friends with from high school are back here now. I don't see you giving them the third degree.”

“I would if they decided to ignore a talent like yours.”

She motioned to the baking pans lined up in the drying rack. “I don't seem to be ignoring it.”

Moving away, getting his irritation under control, he picked up his keys from the table and slipped his phone into his pocket. “If getting your associates degree in business is what you need to prove that you can handle the diner, then I'll help you do that.” He turned to face her, nothing but an open swirl of emotion in her eyes. “But I never expected you to settle.”

She put her hand on her hip. “You've just come back to Statem after almost fifteen years, and you think you know me and what I want in life?”

“I know the dreams you had back then. I want to understand what happened.”

“Dreams change.”

He pointed at the six cake layers cooling on the counter. “Not dreams like yours. You spent hours perfecting your recipes. Passion like that doesn't die. Not in fifty years.” Her spine straightened, but he didn't want to fight tonight. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“But—”

He left before he walked over to her and kissed some sense into her. He hadn't lied. She had an incredible talent baking. At least she'd finally taken the chance and gone to college. He didn't care if it was only to get a juggling degree. She'd managed to put herself out there. Risk it.

But he’d give her the space she wanted for now. Because the quickest way to end their raw friendship was to tell her exactly what her problem was.

Becky Gallagher was scared.

* * *

“How is it only March?”Becky stood by the door to the kitchen, wishing a cool breeze would waft in and pull some of the heat from the stoves and oven outside. They had a full crowd for lunch. Mr. Hugh had swept Ms. Iris away for a surprise trip to Valdosta. With their impending marriage, Mr. Hugh had declared his bride-to-be's house to be too feminine and needed some manly furniture. Too bad that left the diner short-staffed. Again.

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