Page 5 of Bittersweet

“Wait, Logan? As in Logan Logan? Your Logan?”

“Stop saying his name so many times.” Harper groaned.

“It was Logan’s truck?” Savannah seemed legitimately surprised.

“How could you not know it was his truck?”

“He’s not the one who called me. It was some woman.”

“A woman? What woman?” Harper was immediately jealous despite herself.

“Her name’s Wendy. She’s the assistant. She only said that the owner was looking for a bakery to partner with, but she didn’t give me the owner’s name.”

“And you didn’t think to ask?”

Savannah shrugged. “It did cross my mind later, and I checked their website, but there isn’t an owner’s name there either. I figured we’d meet them eventually.”

“He has a website?”

“Yeah, Wendy gave me the address. It’s written on the corner of the desk calendar if you want to check it out.”

Harper rushed to the office, plopped down in front of the laptop, and immediately typed the address for the Bittersweet website. It was well-made with a clean, simple design. Exactly as she would’ve done it. Another twinge of jealousy shot through her. This time, because she wasn’t the one to help him put all of this together. She tried to ignore it, but the feeling would not be shaken.

She looked closer at the site, and Savannah was right. There was no owner’s bio or photo there, only the menu and some photos of the truck. That was definitely something she would’ve done differently. A picture of Logan and an employee or two, making or serving the coffee—maybe one with customers in the shot—would put a more human face on the brand so people would feel more connected.

But she couldn’t tell him that. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t her place.

She scanned the menu and read about all the different kinds of coffee, and her mouth began to water. She hadn’t been honest with Logan. She still loved coffee just as much as she used to, but now, whenever she sat down with a mug, her mind played back all the times they’d sat together in coffee shops—talking, laughing, dreaming, falling in love. He’d taught her all he knew about coffee—how it was made, different ways to brew it, the history of the coffee bean even. And he made the best coffee. She had yet to have a cup as good as the ones he’d made for her. Her love of coffee would always be associated with him, and that was painful, so she usually avoided it altogether.

She stared at the website on her screen, then suddenly closed the laptop with a snap. It felt unreal. Why was he back in town? After four years? Why hadn’t he stayed wherever he’d gone and never come back? Why hadn’t he started a food truck there—wherever there was? And why had seeing him still made her palms sweat and caused butterflies to go nuts in her stomach? He shouldn’t have any effect on her whatsoever after the way he’d deserted her.

The scent of cherry pie wafted into the room, and Harper followed it and found Savannah cleaning up for the day.

“I’m really sorry, Harper. I had no idea. If I’d known it was his, I would’ve gone myself.”

Harper stopped in her tracks. “Wait, you still want to do this?”

“Every connection we make is another way of growing our business. Including Logan’s food truck. If you really don’t want to do it, we won’t. But I think it would be a big positive for us.”

Harper groaned.

“I could be the point man … woman … here.” Savannah winked. “I’ll be the one to deliver all the food to his truck. You won’t have to see him ever.”

“I don’t know.”

“We’re a young company, Harper. We need to get our name out there as much as possible. Bittersweet travels around to food conventions and events and all sorts of things. Wendy said they’ll display our logo next to our stuff, and we can give them some brochures and business cards to set out too.”

It was a smart business move. Harper could see that, and she could see how excited Savannah was by all this.

“This will be my baby,” Savannah told her. “I’ll handle all the details.”

“Why do I feel like this is going to come back to bite me in the butt?”

“Does that mean you’re okay with it?”

Harper shrugged her shoulders and leaned her elbow on the counter. “I need to think about it, Van. Okay?”

“This won’t touch you, Harper. Trust me.”

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