Page 16 of Sweet Southern Heat

“There’s no need to thank me. I was just doing my job.”

With that, he walked out the door, disappearing into the bright morning sun. But he took the box with him.

Chapter 17

Landon

This was torture.I had to suffer through another short drive to the garage with a box of goodies from Olivia. There was something chocolate in there. I could smell it.

I wasn’t sure what Olivia’s angle was or why she was trying so hard to win me over. She didn’t seem fazed by my gruff exterior and continued to send me out with some kind of treat from her kitchen. Did she think it would make up for the fact she’d never once came to visit Lyle in the hospital after the accident or that she’d never returned his calls? Did it assuage her guilt over skipping town after nearly killing him? There was so much she needed to atone for, and a couple boxes of baked goods wasn’t nearly enough to make amends.

Talking to Lyle was a stark reminder that she’d nearly destroyed us. I’d begun to soften toward her, to let her sweet smile fool me into believing maybe she wasn’t so bad. Feeling her skin on my hands and her body against mine short circuited my brain, and I momentarily forgot the hell she’d put my family through, especially my brother. If it hadn’t been for that accident, he would’ve gone to college and made something of himself. He could be playing professional football right now.Instead, he was stuck in our hometown with no ambitions and no future because he was too busy looking for his next fix.

My stomach growled loudly as I pulled up to the garage, reminding me all I’d had this morning was coffee, but I refused to give in and accept her measly offering. I had to stay strong. If I gave in, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d want to come back for more. But once I was done with the bakery’s renovations, I planned to stay as far away from Olivia as possible. That would be hard to do if I stopped by the bakery every day because I couldn’t get enough of her.

No, not her. Her treats. The little morsels of bliss she sold by the dozen. I had to smell them while they cooked. If Heaven had a scent, it would be the scent of Olivia’s bakery.

I begrudgingly grabbed the box from my passenger seat and stalked into the garage. Just as I did last time, I tossed the box onto the table in our break room and let the vultures descend. It didn’t take long for one of them to open it and peek inside. They each pulled a chocolate-covered pastry from the box. I turned my back to them as I yanked my coveralls from my locker and quickly changed. Little moans of delight sounded from behind me, and I shook my head. This was the only time during the day the guys were relatively quiet. They couldn’t bitch and moan while they stuffed their faces. I supposed I had Olivia to thank for that.

“I don’t know how you keep getting Olivia to send these with you,” Roy said, clapping me on the back with one hand while he lifted a half-eaten pastry in the other, “but whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” He shot me a suggestively sly grin, and I froze. Surely, he didn’t think…

No. Nobody could possibly think that. Everyone knew our history. They would never believe there was something going on between us. Shrugging out of his hold, I gritted my teeth.

“Not sure why she does it,” I replied, pretending not to notice the innuendo. I knew exactly why she sent them. They were an olive branch. But I didn’t need her offering. I wasn’t interested in being her friend or burying the hatchet. I just wanted to finish my work, get paid, and move on with my life.

“Whatever you say,” he replied disbelievingly.

A loud groan sounded from my right, and I glanced up to find Bobby holding up an éclair, a glob of cream smeared across his cheek.

“I can’t believe she sent these with you. They’re my favorite, but I never make it down there in time to get any. They’re always sold out,” he proclaimed through a mouthful of pastry. How could they possibly bethatgood? Guess I would never know since I didn’t plan on eating any.

I finished buttoning up my coveralls as the room cleared. The box lay open on the table, the last remnants of chocolate clinging to cardboard. Just as I suspected, they decimated the half dozen pastries. I moved to walk past the table toward the exit but drew up short when I noticed one last éclair sitting on the parchment. It was like a beacon, nestled in the center of the box like it was just waiting to be claimed.

Glancing from side to side as if I was about to get caught doing something wrong, I reached inside and drew it out. I inspected it, trying to see what was so special about it. Bringing it to my nose, I sniffed and instantly regretted the move. I pinched my eyes closed and fought the urge to devour it in one bite. One little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just so I could see what all the fuss was about and if it tasted as good as it smelled.

Tentatively, I brought it to my mouth and took a small nibble from the end. The sweetness hit the tip of my tongue, and I stifled a moan. No wonder the guys had all been so enraptured. It was the perfect balance between semi-sweet chocolate glaze, sweet cream, and decadent pastry. Before I knew it, I had eatenthe entire thing. The only evidence left was the crumbs on my shirt and the chocolate on my fingers. I even licked them clean.

Glancing down into the empty box, a mix of guilt and shame swirled in my gut. I wasn’t supposed to give in. I was supposed to stay strong.

I shook away those thoughts. This was silly. It was just a pastry. However, I had vowed to hate this woman, and enjoying her peace offering seemed like a betrayal. But betrayal had never tasted so sweet.

Chapter 18

Olivia

Landon was even quieterthan usual this morning. He’d barely said two words to me when he entered the kitchen as I was rolling out dough for cinnamon rolls. I couldn’t even entice him with fresh coffee while he worked on cutting tile. He’d turned down my offer and went back to his task.

I’d just finished icing the cinnamon rolls when I heard Landon go into the bathroom to wash his hands like he did every morning when he finished his work for the day. I quickly placed six of them in a box and plastered on a smile. I was determined to make him talk to me.

When he pushed through the swinging door, I came around my worktable and stepped into his path. He eyed me warily as he took in my cheery expression. I was selling it hard, my dimples on full display and everything.

“How did everyone like the éclairs?” I asked conversationally. I assumed he shared them with his dad or the guys at the garage. That was why I always sent a half dozen of whatever item I made for him that day.

A muscle in his jaw flexed, and he glanced away uncomfortably. What the hell was that all about?

“There wasn’t a crumb left in the box,” he replied, almost as though he was angry about it. His voice was flat, and his eyes flared with irritation. My smile faltered, but I wouldn’t be deterred.

“Well, I hope everybody enjoys these just as much,” I announced, handing him the box of still warm cinnamon rolls. “It’s my nan’s recipe with a few tweaks to make them fluffier.”

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