Page 77 of Perfectly Grumpy

His lips twitch. “So this is a professional courtesy?”

“Absolutely.” I take a second look at him before I finish polishing the lenses.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he says, looking back at the bowl. “That you like me better without glasses. Every woman I date tells me I should wear contacts more.”

“Then clearly, you’ve been dating the wrong women,” I say. “You look good in glasses.”

He frowns slightly. “Really?”

I hold them up to the light, checking for any missed smudges. “You know what’s strange? Everyone always makes such a big deal about Superman, but honestly, I always thought Clark Kent was the more interesting one.”

Tate’s grin widens. “So what you’re saying is, I have potential?”

“I’m saying you should stop listening to women who tell you to get rid of something that suits you.”

He watches me carefully, like he’s turning that over in his head. “Well, if I can’t be Superman, does that mean you’re going to keep calling me Sheriff?”

I shrug. “Why not? Cops are hot too.”

“Good to know where I rank on your hotness scale,” he says with a laugh.

As I hold out his glasses for him, he lifts up his flour-covered hands. “Could you do the honors? I’mkind of a mess here.”

“Sure. Just hold still,” I say, sliding his glasses back on. Tate watches me the entire time, and I suddenly feel all warm inside, like bread baked fresh from the oven.

“Thanks.” Then he grins, showing off those dimples again. For a moment, I totally forget we’re supposed to be baking.

“Wait,” I say, blinking at the bowl. “Have we added the eggs yet?”

Tate frowns. “I don’t actually know.”

“Oh, my word, we cannot forget the actual baking part,” I say with a laugh. “We’re supposed to be making a prize-winning chocolate peanut butter cake.”

Tate leans in. “Well, pulling off that little flour heist with you? I already feel like we’ve won.” Then he smirks again, before heading over to scrounge more eggs. My stomach dips like I just got off a reckless merry-go-round ride at the playground. I can’t remember when I’ve ever had this much fun baking.

When I competed in this baking competition with Bart, it was so stressful. He kept snapping at me for not knowing things. He didn’t understand that I’m a marketing professional who barely has time to cook dinner, let alone become a pastry chef during my free time.

But Tate? He’s just here, making this fun. And suddenly, I don’t mind being here either, even if we lose to Bart and Abby.

“Hey,” Tate says, returning with some eggs. “Wanna see my egg trick?”

“Tate, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to toss this egg in the air, spin around, and catch it behind my back.”

“I think that’s a bad idea,” I warn, eyeing the ceramic tile floor.

“Which only makes me want to prove to you I can do it,” he says, tossing the egg upward with careless confidence.

“Okay, Sheriff,” I say, facing him. “Show me whatyou’ve got.”

He throws the egg in the air, turns in a full circle, then easily catches it, never fumbling once.

“Impressive. Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, I’ve done it hundreds of times with a hockey puck. I can also do it under my leg.”

“Okay, but can you combine them all in one move?” I challenge.

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