Page 12 of How Sweet It Is

“Sure.”

I motion to my motorcycle. “Want a ride?”

She looks like she actually is considering it for a second before she frowns and shakes her head. “No.”

“Come on, Spreadsheet. Wind in your hair, arms around me. It’s like therapy, only louder.” I grin at her as I pull my helmet off my handlebars.

She stares at me, and I can’t tell if I’ve convinced her or not.

“Just promise you won’t fall for me,” I tack on. I give her a playful wink to see if I can make her cheeks turn red again.

“I’ll follow you in my car,” she says flatly, and I’m not rewarded with any flushed cheeks, which is too bad. I like making her blush. I take it as a challenge.

“Suit yourself.” I pull on my helmet and hop on my motorcycle. I kick-start the engine and rev it. Miss Spreadsheet jumps at the sound, and I hold in another chuckle as she snarls at me.

She slides into her Volkswagen, and I wait for a second before taking off to make sure she’ll follow me. I head to the other side of the island, where my favorite Mexican restaurant sits by the ocean. I pull into the parking lot of La Cantina del Sol.

Amelia pulls into the space next to me and cuts her engine. She pulls out her phone and types on it for a moment before getting out of her car.

“Texting someone?” I ask.

She slips her phone into her purse. “Just my cousin.”

We walk up the sidewalk to the restaurant, and I open the door for her.

She shoots me a glare. “This isn’t a date. You don’t have to open doors for me.”

I glare right back at her. “I’m not opening it because it’s a date. I’m opening it because you’re bossy and I’m slightly afraid of you.” I motion for her to walk forward.

She laughs, and my goal shifts. Now all I want to do is make her laugh again.

We get a table on the back patio overlooking the ocean, and Amelia’s face glows as she looks out at the water. I pick up my menu, but she doesn’t even glance at hers. She just sits there, staring out at the waves.

“You like the ocean.”

She smiles. “Yeah. I love how peaceful it is.”

I watch her instead of perusing my menu. She’s prettier than I first thought, and I’m not sure if it’s her expression as she takes in the view or if I just hadn’t taken the time to notice the curve of her cheekbones or her perfectly proportioned lips.

A strand of her hair has come loose from her bun, and it blows in the breeze, softening her somehow. Before now, I had thought of her as a human calculator, all numbers and hard edges. But as her deep-brown eyes reflect the sunlight, I see something different in her. There’s a beauty there I missed.

I set my menu down. “What was living in Kansas like?”

“Kansas?” she asks, almost absentmindedly, like she’s not really listening to me.

“Yeah, that state you lived in before moving here.”

She turns to me, blinking. “Oh. Yes. I lived in Kansas before I moved here.” Her bottom lip twitches, and she won’t look me in the eye.

Why is it I feel like she’s lying to me again? I fold my arms and try to figure her out. “I asked what it was like.”

Her face flushes, and it’s not the kind of blush I wanted to see. It’s the kind that tells me she’s a liar, liar, pants on fire. “It was fine. Lots of farms. Pretty boring, actually.” Another lip twitch.

What the ever-loving heck? Why is she lying about where she’s from? I sit quietly for a minute, and she goes back to looking at the ocean. I wait until she’s not thinking about me anymore, then I quietly ask, “Have you worked retail before?”

She doesn’t look at me. “Yes. My family owns a business, and I worked the register a lot.”

I slowly nod. That was the truth. “What kind of business?”

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