Page 38 of Sweet Spot

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Macy

I parkedmy car around the corner from the plaza and stared out at the sheets of water sliding down my windshield. Intermittent bursts of wind pelted the window with the same rain, only instead of sheets it came at me like small, clear bullets. The dark storm blocked out the early morning sun, giving the new day the look of a dark, dreary night.

It had been the third rain storm in a month. And what a long month it had been. After the bad ending to my short relationship with Chase, I had to work hard not to run into him. I avoided looking toward his building, knowing that seeing him would only bring that aching thud back to my chest that I'd spent days trying to lose. Mostly, I didn't want to have to endure the hardship of seeing him walk in or out of his building with another woman. I'd even considered finding a new location for my stand, but George and Chuck insisted they would stand guard for me and keep me from any hardship.

I was slowly learning how to protect my baked goods from rain during the journey to the kiosk. I had wrapped them in layers of plastic wrap and placed them in plastic tubs. But this morning's storm seemed extra menacing. The good news was that there would probably be very few customers. Unfortunately, that was the bad news too. I couldn't afford a day without revenue, and all the previous day's baking would be wasted.

I pulled up the hood on my coat and stepped out into the deluge. The water in the gutter was already ankle deep. It swirled around my rain boots like an angry river. I stomped through it to my trunk and pulled out my foldable cart. It was a pain in the ass made an even a bigger pain by the terrible weather. Rain, wind and the stupid cart were all working against me.

A good long string of cuss words and some determination helped me get everything out of the backseat. I rolled along the sidewalk, squinting into the rain and wind. The sidewalks were basically empty, which meant I was bound for an extremely slow morning. George and Chuck's stands were still closed. They never opened before nine, but something told me they might just sit today out.

I pushed my cart across the plaza, barely able to open my eyes in the stinging rain. My hood dropped forward over my face, making it even harder. Water rushed over the brick paved plaza and splashed against my boots, soaking my pants. I still had a good twenty foot trek when the wheel of my cart hit a place where the brick had been broken out by an earlier rainstorm. The cart stopped short. I fell hard against the handle, and my pastry boxes flew to the ground.

It took me a minute to recover from having the handle on the cart jammed into my stomach. Tears stung my eyes as I hurried to the plastic boxes. The lids were still sealed shut, but I was certain the pastries inside no longer looked like pastries. Just then, a burst of wind whistled around the plaza, and the giant stack of napkins I had stored in a plastic bag on the bottom of the cart took off, littering the entire plaza. And since I'd boldly had the words Sweet Spot printed on the napkins there was no way to deny that they had come from my cart. I righted the pastry boxes and set out on a quest to retrieve all the stray napkins.

I was chasing them like a kid chasing leaves, stomping on them and gathering them up in a wet, mushy bundle in my hands. I jumped on two particularly sneaky napkins and stooped down to pull them out from under my rain boot. As I straightened, a hand filled with napkins moved in front of me.

"I saw you from my window. You looked like you could use some help."

It seemed that I hadn't forgotten the sound of his voice because instantly my heart went into flutter mode. I took the napkins from his hand without looking up at him. I quickly took stock of just how terrible I looked drenched in rain and shrouded in a deep hood. I willed myself to look at him. He, of course, looked the opposite of terrible. Apparently, being wet did nothing to wash off his shine. In fact, with his dark hair slicked back and his shirt clinging to his wet skin, he looked ready for a magazine cover.

"Thank you," I said. "Had a little cart mishap."

Chase helped me collect the rest of my runaway napkins. Then he helped me get the cart safely to my stand.

He lifted the plastic boxes off the cart and put them under the shelter of the kiosk. He combed his wet hair back with his fingers, and I couldn't help but notice that his pecs looked especially good under the wet fabric of his shirt.

"Well, I'll head back inside." He looked out at the empty plaza. "Good luck today. Looks like you might need it."

"Thanks. Yes, I'd say today I'll be finding out who my loyalist fans are."

He smiled. Darn it, I missed that smile. He nodded and walked away. It took me a minute to remember how the hell to set up for the day. Chase's presence had thrown off my morning even more than the rain and the cart accident.

Cold, wet and now emotionally stunned, I moved in slow motion to the coffee station and was about to get started when I heard footsteps slapping the wet cement.

Chase was back. He stood in the rain, no hat, no coat, just his soaking wet clothes and hair. "It wasn't some game, Macy. I wasn't trying to put a notch in my belt with you. I liked you. A lot. And that hasn't changed. I still think about you all the time. Just wanted to make that clear."

I stood frozen in place, watching him walk back across the plaza, and I wondered what the odds were that I would ever meet a man like Chase again. A billion to one. Those were the odds, give or take a few billion.

I dashed around the edge of the cart and ran toward him, splashing rain water in every direction with each step. He heard me and spun around just in time for me to leap into his wet arms.

"I like you too, Chase England. A lot."

His arms held me tightly as I pressed my lips against his for a very rain soaked kiss.

---