Page 46 of Worth the Wait

“Seriously?”

“Didn’t we just establish that I’m a serious guy?”

Her bubbly laughter popped in the warm evening air. “Yes, I suppose we did.” The golden highlights in her hair gleamed as she gently shook her head. “It’s probably not the kind of story you’re expecting.”

“Now I really want to hear it.” He made a point of putting food in his mouth. Chewing. Swallowing. Didn’t even notice the taste. Hard to focus on anything except her beautiful face when she got that glow that seemed to light her up from the inside.

“I grew up in a small town with only a handful of businesses. One restaurant, one convenience store, one bank, one pharmacy, and so on, including one bakery. Everybody went to Smith’s Bakery.”

“Was it any good?”

“Very good. The owner, Mr. Smith, generally sold out of everything by noon on any given day. Since my mother wasn’t an early-bird type of person, he rarely had cookies left by the time we got there. Since my mother also wasn’t a make-it-at-home type of person, I rarely had fresh cookies in my lunch. And I tell you, those giant chocolate-chip cookies from Smith’s Bakery were sought after at school. Kids traded for them, sometimes even paid for them.”

He nodded while blindly shoveling more food into his mouth. Having a reasonably good idea where this story was heading didn’t make it any less exciting to hear. Especially since that sparkle was back in her eyes, full force.

“I bugged and bugged my mother to let me make my own cookies. She wouldn’t let me use the oven, claimed it was too dangerous. To this day, I think it’s becauseshedidn’t know how to use it. My mother was the queen of microwaving.” She scrunched up her nose and shuddered. “Be thankful you never had to attend those family dinners.”

He laughed and set aside his fork. Forget eating. He couldn’t even pretend to be interested in food. “Did she buy you the Easy-Bake Oven?”

“No. She told me I could put it on my Christmas list, but it was mid-September and I didn’t have the patience at nine years old that I do at forty-two.”

Part of him didn’t believe that. He’d bet she had more patience at nine than most people had at forty-two. “So what did you do?”

“Mowed lawns, walked our neighbors’ dogs and knocked on doors asking for empty bottles to return, then saved every cent that came my way until I had enough money to buy the oven and two full-size boxes of cookie mix. It took me less than two weeks to recoup my investment.” She was beaming, and it was possibly the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“And that’s how it all began?” he asked, and she nodded. No way was that the end of her story. Not when she could barely sit still.

Whatever it was, she’d held back but hadn’t shut down. Something she wanted him to know, but for some reason, wasn’t telling him.

“Did you win an award, or get in trouble?”

Still looking as if she were sitting on a pile of ants, she shook her head.

All right. Had to be something else. Something embarrassing, maybe. Or—

“What did you call your cookie business?”

Bam, the smile on her face. The sun itself couldn’t have shone brighter. “Short’n’Sweet.”

“That’s the best story ever.”

“Well, maybe notthebest, but it’s one of my favorites.”

“As it should be. It’s an awesome story.” One that should be on the wall of her shop. “Were you ever interviewed for your hometown newspaper?”

“The town is too small for a newspaper. They have a newsletter that the businesses put together once a month and leave on their counters. I was never mentioned in that.”

“Smith’s Bakery couldn’t take the heat of competition?”

Her laugh was as fresh and light as the cookies he’d wolfed down the first time he set foot in her bakery. “Actually, Mr. Smith was pretty great. He was proud of me. He’s the one who came up with the name Short’n’Sweet. Then hired me.”

“At nine years old? Pretty sure that’s not legal.”

“I wasn’t a child laborer, Sam. My parents gave their permission. They thought he was just being kind, humoring a child by letting her hang around the kitchen and watch him work. They had no idea that he actually taught me all about baking. Not just cookies, I learned to do everything he could do. It was amazing. And he didn’t pay me. Well, not at the time.”

“Did he pay you later, when you were older?”

Warmth replaced the giddy glow as she nodded. “He passed away before I was sixteen, so I had never had the opportunity to legitimately work for him. But he left me an inheritance. Enough money to open a bakery.”

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