Page 25 of How Sweet It Is

I sigh. “It’s just really hard to make a business like this work. My family’s business struggled for years. It’s still struggling. I was spending long hours at my family’s business until I had to—” I stop midsentence when I realize what I’ve said.

“You had to what?”

CHAPTER 12

LEVI BARRETT — TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1

Iwait for Amelia to answer me, even though I’m pretty sure she was going to say she had to leave. And if I put that together with the beefy guy sitting in his car outside of my bakery, that tells me someone is after Amelia. And she might not be able to talk about it, because she’s in danger.

“You know what? Never mind,” I say, leaning back. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll beat the odds and make my business work. You’ll see. Even if you don’t believe in me.”

Amelia puts a hand on my arm. “It’s not that I don’t believe in you. Everything you make smells amazing, and it was actually killing me not to eat the things you gave me.”

I examine her to see if she’s telling me the truth. I don’t see any signs that she’s lying. “Really?”

“Heavens, yes. I can still smell that biscuit muffin sitting in that drawer, and I literally have to hold myself back so I don’t eat it and then regret it later.”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Sorry. That does sound like torture.”

“It is. Don’t look so pleased.” She pokes me in the side.

I laugh and grab her finger so she doesn’t poke me again, but the contact with her skin sends a zing of attraction through me. I let go of her hand, not because I want to but because she’s made it clear she’s not wanting any kind of a relationship right now. But my heart doesn’t stop racing.

“Thanks for telling me something real,” I say as I stare into her brown eyes. “You hungry? I can order pizza. I know a place that makes gluten-free crusts, but they don’t deliver. Do you mind working on the books while I run and grab it?”

“Sure,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s softened toward the idea of us eating together or if pizza over accounting is about as un-date-like as you can get.

“I’ll be right back.” I turn to leave but then remember all I have is my motorcycle. I slap my hand to my forehead. “Wait. I don’t have a car.”

Amelia digs out her keys and tosses them to me. “Drive mine.”

I hold up her keys. “You trust me with your car?”

Her eyes widen. “Do I have reason to not trust you with my car?”

I laugh as I toss her keys up and snatch them from the air. “Nope. I’m a great driver.”

“Then go get me that gluten-free pizza. I had no idea anyone on the island made one, and I haven’t had a good pizza in forever.”

I give her a two-finger salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

What I don’t tell her is the pizza place is on the mainland. I also don’t tell her I plan on stopping on the way and grabbing some gluten-free flour so I can make her my biscuit muffins.

I parkAmelia’s car behind my bakery and grab my gluten-free treasures. I stash the flour on my shelving, behind a stack of Bundt pans, before entering the office with the pizza. Amelia looks up from her computer when I enter. “Thank goodness. I thought I was going to starve.”

“Here you are, m’lady.” I cringe at myself. I sound like such a dork. I place the pizza on the desk and open the lid.

She grabs a slice of pizza, the cheese stretching out. “I don’t even care that you called me m’lady. You brought me cheesy goodness.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that was. I guess for a second, I was in eighteenth-century England.”

Amelia takes a bite and closes her eyes. “This is heaven.”

“I’m so glad it tastes good.” I grab a slice for myself and try it. I chew it, and it’s underwhelming if I’m being honest with myself. “It’s kind of flat and chewy. Are all gluten-free crusts like this?”

“Pretty much.”

“Hmm.” I analyze it, trying to figure out what it’s made of.

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