Page 34 of Pitcher Perfect

Charity:shit. Maybe he wasn’t part of the layoffs?

Caleb:or he doesn’t want to worry us

Charity:[grimace emoji] let’s give him time

Caleb:but what if he needs money or something?

Charity:he’s an adult. I don’t think he’d appreciate either of us swooping in like Robin Hood

Caleb:sure

Charity:Caleb, don’t do anything

Caleb:I gotta run. Some people walking up. Talk to you soon

* * *

“Hey,man, I ordered my sandwich with ham, but you gave me bacon.” A guy placed his partially wrapped sandwich back on the counter of my truck.

I groaned internally. Another fuckup, and it was barely nine in the morning. “Sorry about that. If you’ve got a couple of minutes, I’ll make you a new one and throw in a voucher for a coffee.” I jerked my head toward the coffee shop next door.

“Awesome, thanks.” The guy nodded then moved to stand to the side, busying himself on his phone.

I’d bought the vouchers from Dave to give to people visiting Dahlia Springs to get them to try other local businesses. He’d done the same for my truck as a measure of goodwill. I hadn’t planned to use them to compensate for fucking up people’s orders because my mind was on Austin and not on my work. I needed to pull my head out of my ass and worry about him later. Grateful for the lull, I focused on not screwing up the ham sandwich a second time. I’d already had to give away four coffee cards and didn’t want to blow through any more.

I’d been such an idiot last night. I could kick myself for going on and on about how I’d been inspired by his dad. Not that I knew Henry Hewitt was his dad, but Jesus, top-tier dumbassery. My stupidity hurt worse because of that perfect kiss. Goose bumps erupted on my skin at the mere memory of how it felt to touch Austin like that. It was even more than I’d wished for, in the time I’d allowed myself such hope. It was like I could see things unfolding, the kiss turning into more kisses, more touching, and eventually dates. But as soon as he saw those cookbooks, that possible future cleared like smoke on a windy day. I couldn’t imagine him giving me a chance after learning I basically hero-worshiped a dad who hadn’t been there for him.

Austin hadn’t shared much about his past—how could he, given the few short times we’d spent time together?—but I’d learned enough to know his parents were pretty shitty. It was hard to reconcile the seemingly patient and kind Chef Henry Hewitt who’d taught complicated recipes to celebrities for his YouTube channel with an absent father.

I just wanted to wrap my arms around Austin and tell him I was sorry for everything he went through. No career was worth losing out on time with him, but that wasn’t my place to say, not yet anyway.

He’d seemed okay when I’d texted him last night, but it was impossible to gauge tone from a text. The real test would be when I saw him next. The thought of him acting awkward around me made my stomach turn.

I made it through the next hour only needing to give away one more coffee card, which felt like an unsatisfying win. Focusing on prep and cleaning would hopefully keep my mind busy enough to avoid dwelling on Austin.

“Morning.”

My head snapped up at his voice, and I dropped the bag of bacon onto my cutting board.Oh, shit. I conjured him.“Morning.”

Austin’s smile was shy and a little uncertain.

“Now that you’ve made tuna tartare, the canned shit won’t cut it?”

He laughed, and it deepened the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah. You’ve spoiled me.”

I’d like to spoil you in more ways.“I won’t be ashamed about that. What can I get you? On the house.”

“You don’t need to give me free food.”

The urge to take care of him surged within me. I wanted to make sure he ate good food and encourage him not to work so much it affected his well-being and squeezed out time with his friends. But I didn’t know how he would respond to it.Would he find it pushy? Or would he find it so comfortable he expected more and more until I was a wrung-out husk?“Consider it research for the contest. Maybe it’ll spark something on the beer side.”

He shook his head but smiled. “Sure. Thanks. The gouda one sounds good. I love smoked gouda.”

“Me too.” I started working on what I hoped would be the best damn smoked gouda and ham sandwich of all time.

Right when I was about to ask how he was in hopes of easing into a conversation about last night, a large and noisy group of at least fifteen people approached from the nearby parking lot. So much for trying to do any damage control with Austin.

“I found it! Oh my god, yay!” a young woman said as she did a little hop-bounce thing. “I wondered where you’d moved your truck. I can’t believe they are developing the land your pod was on. Such bullshit.”

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