Page 78 of Love in Mission City
First, he would’ve been around twenty when I was born. Secondly—and this was far more important—he’d been in love with his wife since he was eighteen.
She’d died tragically a couple of years ago.
He’d recently married and was now a father twice over. Second chance at love. Dude was over forty, so I had to give him props for that.
“Rielle, his wife, loves baking. He cooks,” she was quick to add.
I supposed in case I thought he didn’t contribute.
“Okay…are you looking to purchase three jars?” For a guy who prided himself on being a good salesperson, talking about my old principal had kind of derailed me.
“Make it five.” She grinned impishly. “I also love baking and can see myself making these cookies for my mom a lot. She’s always so stressed about work.” She gazed at me.
I read uncertainty. I mimed zipping my lips. Then I rang up her purchases and tucked the five jars and the recipe card into her cloth bag. “Oh, my contact information is on the back—”
She stepped back. “I’m not…that is, I don’t…”
Oh God, she thinks I’m hitting on her. I held up my hands. “No, nothing like that.” She was still in high school, for cryingout loud. I hoped older guys weren’t hitting on her like that. She was just so tiny. Appeared fragile. “What I meant to say was if you’re experimenting with recipes and you find something that works, consider reaching out. My dream is to one day have a cookbook. I’d offer some kind of compensation.”
After a moment, her shoulders relaxed. “I wouldn’t want compensation. I’m…not like that.”
“Well, at the very least, I’d give you credit.”
She shook her head. Then hesitated. “But if I gave you the recipe, free and clear…”
Something in her demeanor spoke to me. She was scared and that concerned me. A lot. I didn’t want her to fear me.
I offered a broad smile. “Happy to take credit if that opportunity is offered.” I wasn’t. Not really. And I’d have to have a lawyer draw up a contract. But I was getting ahead of myself. “Reach out if you figure something out.”
Her gentle smile returned. “I will.” She nodded, then headed off.
I turned around and bent to snag another five jars to replenish the display.
When I spun back, I came face-to-face with a guy. A super cute guy. Who, if I had to guess, had been checking out my ass.
Chapter Two
Clay
The cute guy with the dark-brown hair, soft light-brown eyes, and a shy smile caught my gaze.
A warmth spread through me because my first impression had been wrong. He wasn’t just cute—he was downright handsome. Absolutely stunning. “Hi. Interested in a jar of pumpkin spice?” Because, truly, how else was someone to start a conversation with a guy who was just so…perfect.
Not that my reddish hair, freckles, and blue eyes were comely. But I was scrawny, and he was…filled out. Especially in jeans and a plaid shirt. He should’ve looked like most of the other guys in here. But he didn’t. He reminded me of Tate. Only even more handsome. And, if I had to guess, he was about my age or a little older.
He pointed to one of the two jack-o'-lanterns I’d painstakingly carved out of one of Wyatt’s beautiful pumpkins. “No. But, uh, can you show me how you did the lantern?”
I blinked. “Sure.” I glanced around, ensuring I didn’t have any potential customers. I moved the pumpkin to the center of mybooth, along with an untouched pumpkin. “You take a knife and carefully cut a hole around the top of the pumpkin, around the handle.”
A low chuckled rumbled in gorgeous guy’s chest. “Is handle the technical term?”
I laughed back. “You’d have to ask Wyatt—he’s the pumpkin guy. Or I’m sure his husband Tate would know as well.”
Just in case the guy thought Wyatt might be available. Or if he was homophobic. That wouldn’t stop me from demonstrating, but it would make me warier.
He nodded solemnly. “I want you to show me. Maybe I can copy you.”
“Absolutely.” I mimicked removing the top. “Then you dig out the guts. The seeds and the other…stuff.” I leaned over. “It’s kind of gross.”
