Page 4 of How Sweet It Is

Her eyes grow wide. “What did you hear?”

I don’t like her reaction. A prickly feeling spreads over my skin. I take a step forward, intent on getting the truth out of her. “I heard you say that they don’t suspect anything, and you were talking about my family. What was that?”

For a split second, I think I see panic on her face, but she laughs and pats my arm. “Oh, that? I wasn’t talking about you guys.”

“Then what were you talking about?”

“I’m planning a surprise for someone. That’s all.” She laughs again. “You must have been wondering what I meant.”

I eye her. She doesn’t look like she’s lying, but I don’t trust her. Who would she be planning a surprise for? “Didn’t you just move here?”

She laughs again, and I notice how her eyes crinkle when she thinks something is funny. It’s cute on her. “Weeks ago.”

“Then who are you planning a surprise for?”

“A lady at church. Why the third degree? I’m not planning to murder your family or anything.” She laughs.

I flinch. How did she know I was thinking that? I stare at her, unsure of what to say. She’s totally suspicious, but I have no idea what to do about it. Maybe I can talk to Kiki. For now, I shouldact cool and just keep an eye on her. I force a laugh. “Right. Of course not. That’s totally not what I was thinking.”

For some reason, she still has her hand on my arm, and as I look at her, the mood shifts. Her hair is still in a severe bun on the top of her head, but she looks different in her casual T-shirt and shorts and actually smiling. She seems like a real woman right now, even though she’s short.

She removes her hand, takes a step back from me, and drops her smile, like she just remembered how much she dislikes me. “You’d better clean up in here before Idoget accused of murder.”

I scoff, my feelings a bit hurt. “You know, most people say ‘thank you’ when someone bakes for them. But your ‘clean your mess’ is nice too.”

She frowns. “You can’t possibly bake with this kitchen looking like this.”

And there’s the annoying OCD lady. I give her an exaggerated bow. “Oh, of course not. I wouldn’t want my chaos throwing off your perfectly planned world.”

The front door dings, and she heads toward the storefront without saying anything else. I do feel a little bad for what I said, because she’s helping me out of a pinch right now, but not too bad, because she’s just so irritating.

CHAPTER 3

CLAIRE MATTHEWS — SUNDAY, AUGUST 30

As I ring up another customer, my gaze slides to the cupcake Pretty Boy gave me, sitting beside the register. I feel bad that I can’t eat it. He was being nice to me when he gave it to me, but now each time he comes in, I feel worse and worse that it’s still sitting there.

I hand the box of lemon tarts to the woman standing at the counter. “Have a good day.”

The woman leaves, and it’s once again quiet in the bakery. I smooth down my blue pencil skirt, glad that I had the chance to go home and change. I look far more professional now.

I glance toward the doors to the kitchen to make sure Levi isn’t coming, then I pick up the cupcake. I have to do something with it so Levi doesn’t think I hate him. I walk to the trash can that sits behind the counter. Could I throw away a perfectly good cupcake?

I stare down at the small pile of tissues sitting at the bottom of the trash can. They wouldn’t hide the cupcake. I could put a few more tissues on top, and then he wouldn’t ever see it. As I’m contemplating how to get rid of the cupcake, the doors swingopen, and I’m so startled I drop the cupcake into the trash. Levi comes in with a tray of chocolate chip scones as I straighten up, my heart racing. He didn’t see me, right?

The scones smell delicious. Working in a bakery is going to kill me. Why in the world did I agree to come in today to help Pretty Boy? This is torture.

Levi’s gaze flicks over to the register. “So, two o’clock in the afternoon is finally the appropriate time to eat sugar?” He’s teasing but not in a biting way, which is a nice change.

“Eating vegetables before you eat something sweet is good for your metabolism. You’ve never heard of that?” I give him a hip bump, but I’m shorter than he is, so it ends up hitting his upper thigh.

He shakes his head as he slides open the glass door to his case. “Nope.”

“Well, google it.”

“I don’t have to,” he says as he carefully places the scones on the parchment paper. “I’m sure you have a vegetable schedule you can share with me. I wouldn’t want to eat my carrots when it’s actually broccoli time.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “You have pegged me all wrong.”

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