Page 10 of Take the Bait

Tucker.

It was a nice name. She tried not to replay how he’d said he thought she was cute in her head. Surely, he was just being nice to her. There was no way he thought she was cute—no way he was attracted to her, not when both times he saw her, she was either burping louder than Shrek or spilling coffee all over a random stranger.

Nope. No way.

But…what if hedidlike her?

Maybe she should go back to his restaurant. See if he really meant what he said.

“All done!” Bradley shouted, then laughed hysterically and ran away.

Hanna’s heart pounded. That surely wasn’t a good sign.

She was alone in the face painting area, thank God. She nervously picked up the mirror.

And her blood went cold.

Because Bradley had not drawn a butterfly, or cat whiskers, or hearts, or any of the other things she’d painted all night.

No, Bradley had taken the creative freedom any preteen boy would.

He’d drawn penises.

All. Over. Her. Face.

She gasped, then dropped the mirror suddenly and covered her face with her hands.

What the actual fuck?

She was going to murder that kid. But first, she needed to find a bathroom and clean up this nightmare before anyone saw her.

She peeked through her eyes and charted a route for herself through the tents.

Frantically, she stood up and walked as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself, praying nobody saw her.

Tucker was thrilledwith how the Fall Festival was going so far.

It was his first year having a booth, and he was already sold out of po’boys and crab cakes. He’d started giving away 10% coupons to his restaurant as an apology for not having enough for some people, even though he still had French fries, onion rings, and fried shrimp bowls left.

He grinned to himself as he headed to the back of the tent to grab some more cutlery and napkins to put near the registers, when he saw a familiar figure speed walking in his direction.

No shit, he thought to himself as his smile stretched wider.

It was her.

Shortcake.

Burp girl.

Her hands were covering her face, which he thought was odd. But then again, every encounter he’d had with her was odd.

“Ms. Taylor! Ms. Taylor!” A couple of pre-teen boys chased her. “Can we see what Bradley painted on your face?”

She didn’t turn around, but instead increased the speed of her walking.

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but she seemed stiff and uncomfortable. So he didn’t think.

Tucker jogged toward her.

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