Page 21 of A Touch of Spring Magic

“You can’t give me advice,” she objected. “You don’t even know my vision.”

“Do you?”

“It’s my property. My business. Or it will be, and I share ownership with my sisters of course, and I won’t do anything without Grandma Millie’s approval,” she qualified, practically rolling her eyes at herself. For someone intent on being the boss of their own life, there sure was an impressive line of people she had to check with.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“And you can walk right out the door again,” she sniped, making a walking motions with her fingers.

He caught her hand. “If we’re going to go a few rounds, can I at least have some coffee?”

“We are not going to go any rounds,” she said, tugging her hand free and heading to her espresso machine. “Latte or drip?”

“Fancy.” He walked over to check out the machine, terminating the brief reprieve she’d had from his energy and the scent of cedar and something dark and spicy. It would be bergamot if this was one of those historical romances that Chloe loved so much. “Looks commercial grade.”

“Housewarming gift from Meghan when I moved back in here about eight months ago. She’s a coffee fiend, but the company was one of her clients, so I’m hoping that she got a discount, but that might be a conflict of interest. I don’t want to think about how much it cost.”

“Know how to use it?” He looked at her, one dark brow raised, and it might have been fifteen years ago squaring off about one thing or another at school.

She proceeded to show him, even as she acknowledged that she’d fallen into his effortlessly laid trap.

“I’m onto you,” she said handing him a vanilla latte with a dash of cinnamon, and because she could, a frowny face with the foam art.

Storm laughed before he took a sip.

The laugh did something unacceptable to her tummy. It was like she was in high school all over again and the popular boy was paying attention to her.

Stop. You’re being ridiculous.

Storm had always gotten under her guard.

“This would never work.”

“Define this.” He looked curious rather than put out, and then he sipped his drink again, his eyes drifting shut as if he were savoring the flavors.

“This. Us. Working together.”

“Define working.”

“You are still not funny. I don’t need help to build my business.”

“You don’t need help, or you don’t wantmyhelp?”

Her gaze jerked to his. A muscle twitched in his angular jaw. She’d thought his intensity was so hot when she’d been a senior in high school.

Grow up.

She couldn’t expect him to understand if she didn’t explain herself. To give herself time to think, she made herself a latte, and then plattered some sugar and spice star-shaped cookies with a dap of apricot jam in the middle. She walked out to her sun porch that overlooked part of the garden she hoped to rehab and also turn into a display for the plants she wanted to sell in her nursery. She sat at a bistro-style table and indicated the other chair. She pushed the cookies toward him.

“Your bach days are safe.” She smiled. “I did not use that book for this recipe. I modified this from something off the internet.”

“Good.” He palmed a couple of cookies. “Because I was worried. Not.”

“My aversion to the book is silly, I admit,” she said, after stifling the unexpected urge to confess to Storm, no Brent, what she had done at Christmas. “My sisters are curious about the origins. Meg’s in detective mode.”

“Sounds like a lawyer.” He took a bite, chewed, and she found herself holding her breath. Dumb. She didn’t care what he thought, except she thought she might like to offer some cookies at her nursery—not for sale, but for a treat along with a sample of the teas she blended using the plants she grew.

“Delicious, Jay.”

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