Page 47 of Love Me Sweet

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

An appetizer?

Sylvie didn’t press Andrew for an explanation. The thought of what might be on the agenda when they got home had her heart doing flip flops the entire way back to Spring Gulch. She kept the conversation light. It had been a wonderful day and she knew much of the reason had to do with being with Andrew.

Though she knew she’d be heartbroken when he left Jackson Hole, she’d made the decision when she walked out of that Gallery tonight that she was going to enjoy these next few weeks. And if he left,whenhe left, she would hold the memories of these days together tight to her heart.

“I’m surprised you weren’t asked to do any of the desserts featured at various galleries tonight.” There was more than a hint of righteous indignation in his tone. “Yours are every bit as good as the ones we sampled.”

Sylvie slipped off her shoes and sank into the soft buttery leather of the living room sofa, wiggling her toes.

Andrew turned once flames danced cheerily in the hearth. Though the temperature outside was a balmy forty-five degrees, he’d insisted on starting a fire.

Sylvie hadn’t argued. It wasn’t her home. Besides she rather liked having a fire.

Without asking permission, Andrew dropped down beside her, lifting his arm to rest around her shoulders.

What the heck, Sylvie thought and rested her head comfortably against his shoulder.

“I could get us some wine,” he said, making no move to get up.

“I’m fine.” She breathed in the scent of him that had once been so familiar, so dear, then found herself blinking back unexpected tears.

“Why didn’t even one place have your cakes?” Andrew pressed. “If this event is supposed to showcase the best Jackson Hole has in terms of art and wine and fine cuisine, you should have been featured.”

The irritation had returned to his voice. Sylvie had no doubt that if this was his community and he was familiar with the event organizers, he’d have had them on the phone right now.

“I’ll be involved in Taste of the Tetons on Sunday,” she told him, stroking his arm with her hand, simply because she felt the need to touch. “I didn’t move here in time to line up contracts to provide hors d’oeuvres for tonight’s festivities.”

Andrew took a moment and appeared to consider her explanation. “Some of those other cakes were nice,” he said finally, “but none were in your league, not in taste or in creativity.”

“You like my designs?” Sylvie couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. For some reason, she’d gotten the impression back in Boston he found her designs a bit too avant-garde for his tastes.

“Absolutely.” His brows drew together. “Did you think I didn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure,” she said, honestly. “My work isn’t exactly mainstream.”

“I’m a very non-traditional guy.”

Sylvie snorted. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t know anyonemoremainstream than Andrew Dalton O’Shea.

“I’m not,” he decreed in an imperious manner. “Unlike many of my friends, I’m open to new ideas and new experiences.”

Sylvie raised a skeptical brow. “Seriously? You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s not the truth.” Sylvie didn’t intend to be mean, but she couldn’t let Andrew spout such falsehoods without challenging the assertions. “You live in your own little world, a world composed of Symphonies and Operas and Polo matches.”

“I knew I’d regret showing you my polo mounts.”

“Your polo ponies were very sweet and quite pretty.”

Andrew winced. “I didn’t purchase them because they were pretty. I got them because not only did they exhibit speed and stamina, they showed good balance and a non-excitable temperament.”

“I still think they’re pretty.”

Andrew cocked his head as a thought occurred to him. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

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