Page 27 of Honeycombs & Homecomings

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Allie, help?”

The man furrowed his brow. “You’re Portuguese?”

Jo’s eyes rolled into her head. “He’s second generation American,” she said, and Cash could hear the exacerbation. She then rushed up to him where he stood at the counter and lowered her voice. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your butt.” He handed her all the groceries he held in his left hand, then ushered her past the couple and to the kitchen. “Sorry about this,” he spoke to the couple. What was their name again? “I had to run to our neighboring town for groceries—Harold’s Market is way too busy right now.”

As soon as he’d gotten his driver’s license, he’d been responsible for all the grocery shopping. He hadn’t minded it at all because he did most of the cooking. If his dad went instead of him, they never got the right stuff. It was during those years he’d learned to love cooking. And he’d quickly learned that Harold’s market during the festival was off limits.

Charleston didn’t have as good of groceries as Harold’s but for a month every year, he could deal with fruits and veggies that were a day older than fresh off the farm.

“Have a seat.” He signaled to the couch. “Just give us a minute to unload these.”

“That is a lot of food,” the woman said.

Jo dropped the groceries on the table, her face showing irritation and exaggerated fury.

He tried not to smile. He really did. “What are their names?” He kept his voice down.

“Ryan and Cynthia Warner,” she hissed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to tell him that, obviously. She no doubt was remembering all the schemes he and Allie had gotten her in as kids.

He chuckled, then spoke over his shoulder to include the two in the conversation. “I’m cooking for you tomorrow night.” He was sure Jo had said they’d be here through the weekend. He’d use one of Jo’s honeys in a meal—really sell it to them.

“You cook?” Ryan asked.

“I do.” He and Jo started unloading the groceries.

Jo whispered to him. “You are not cooking for them tomorrow night, you’re going back to California, remember?”

“Not anymore.” How could he now? If he was pretending to be Tony, he’d have to stay through the weekend.

Jo nailed him with a death glare as she opened the fridge and started unloading the sack with all the cheeses in it.

He side-eyed her as she went from furiously unloading, to slowing down and looking at each cheese.

She frowned. “These are all my favorite cheeses . . .”

He quirked a grin. “I know.” All though, “all” was a stretch. If his memory served, the woman had never met a cheese she didn’t like. He looked her up and down, now trying to hold back a laugh—he’d flat-out given up on the smile. She wore a hunter grin sweater with a boat neck, and skinny jeans with high-heeled boots. The outfit was stylish and just a little sexy. Jo was all about comfort. She always looked nice, but she preferred a simpler look. This outfit belonged to Allie.

He wondered when Jo had decided pretending to Allie would be a good idea. The twins may look identical, but to him they couldn’t be more different if they tried. It always confused him that no one could ever tell them apart except for him and their dad. He even remembered their mom mixing them up on numerous occasions as kids.

“Listen,” she whispered, as she opened the bare cupboards and started shoving things inside that didn’t belong there. “I appreciate that you want to help, but I can’t do this. I don’t know what I was thinking pretending to be Allie. I’m just going to tell them the truth, show them our business plan and projections for next year’s profit margins, and let the chips fall where they may.”

Cash removed the salmon fillets she’d shoved on the middle shelf along with a peach preserve he thought he might need to be cool for tomorrow’s dinner and put them in the fridge. “If you really thought that would work, you wouldn’t be shoving fish in the cupboard and you wouldn’t have dressed up like your sister in the first place.”

He moved in close, and she sucked in a breath. He glanced down at her and wished he hadn’t gotten so close when he got a whiff of apples and honey coming off her. He wanted to eat her up. He swallowed. “You’re between a rock and a hard place, and I just offered you an out.”

She pursed her luscious full lips, her eyes narrowing as she thought.

“You need help,” he said and leaned closer, “and I’m willing.”

She glanced over at the Warners, shook her head once, then turned to him. He knew that look. She wasn’t going to take his help. She was far, far too stubborn for that. So, before she could do anything, he leaned in and planted a kiss on her. He pulled her closer to him for just a moment, relishing her surprise and the sweet taste of her lips, then stepped away before he or she could get carried away. And it was none too soon, as she gripped his shirt on either side of his hips, and listed forward.

She stared up at him in a daze, lips slightly parted, eyes drooping—she made a tempting picture—and he wanted nothing more than to crash his lips to hers once more, it was as though she had bewitched him in that far too brief kiss, but he was the one casting the spell now.

With the strength of Hercules, he turned from her, her hand gripped tight in his and yanked her behind him to the living room. While she was still dazed, he braced an arm around her back and locked her into the lie. “So, if I remember correctly, we’re having dinner at Blue Shadow café? Is that right?”

He glanced down at her.

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