Page 80 of Delicious

“Well, today’s your lucky day.”

“I’m beginning to think it might be,” he mumbles as he stares at me.

“Anyway, I’m going to buy you an ice cream and we’re going to stare at the water and you can either stand in silence and just be all zen and shit or you can tell me what’s bugging you. No pressure, zero judgement. Plus, as an added bonus,mijo, you get the whole cone of silence thing. I won’t breathe a word to another soul about anything you tell me in confidence, ’kay?”

He studies me for a moment longer, then nods.

“And put your sunglasses on. It’s bright and you don’t want to end up with a headache.” Chuckling, he reaches into his own pocket and slips them on. “Oh my god, they are as bad as I thought. We’ll get you some new ones.”

Quinn

I watch him strut away, and for a moment I forget to move as I watch those mesmerising hips wiggling. I scramble to catch up, not sure why I’m following him like he’s a sparkly five-and-a-half-foot Pied Piper. There’s just something about him, from his sexy accent to his dark, fathomless gaze. Being the object of his focus stirs an unfamiliar sensation in my belly and makes me want to spill my secrets. Maybe he’s right, maybe it would be easier to tell someone unconnected with everything that came before. Someone who didn’t know me before, or as part of the Ainsley family, or… as Sully’s kid. Someone who wouldn’t care if I’d actually gone to uni or not.

“Ground control to Major Tom.”

Jolted from my thoughts, I look over at the fascinating man I’ve fallen into step alongside, and I have to admit, I’m a little dazzled by his smile.

“Pardon?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away.”

I shrug, not quite ready to confess my life story, no matter how much I might be tempted to. “So you’re from Long Beach? How did you end up in a little Cornish bay baking cupcakes?”

“Seriously awesome cupcakes,” he corrects airily, raising his chin.

“I can’t even argue that with you,” I reply. “If my family is going to torture me with a welcome home party that I don’t want, can you please at least make sure your cupcakes are part of the order?”

“What, instead of the giant sheet cake with your face printed on it?” He tilts his head towards me, and I can’t tell if he’s being serious on account of being partially blinded by the sun reflected off his glittery star-shaped sunglasses.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

He laughs delightedly and my belly does that lazy roll. Jesus, am I getting an ulcer? My stomach is never this jittery.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise for you,” he says. I reallyreallyhope he’s just messing with me. “But in answer to your earlier questions, yes, there will be some of my cupcakes at your party, and yes, I’m mostly from Long Beach. Although I was born in Puerto Rico, I moved to the States when I was five.”

“So how did you end up here? It’s a bit of a downgrade from California for a holiday destination.”

“I don’t know.” Cookie draws in a deep breath of fresh air, his body language relaxed. “I think this place is adorable. Ty grew up around here.”

“And Ty is?”

“My absolute BFF, my brother from another mother. We’re family. His dad passed away recently, and although he hadn’t spoken to Ty in years, there wasn’t anyone else. So Ty came back to deal with the funeral arrangements. I wasn’t doing anything in particular and, with the way things are back home at the moment, we decided we wanted a change of scenery. Once he’s wrapped up his family stuff, we’re heading to London.”

“He grew up here? What did you say his name was again?” I ask curiously.

“Tyler Evans. I think he went to school with your brothers, Beck and—what was the other one?”

“Jesse,” I supply, trying to cast my mind back.

“Yeah, and Ty sure knows your brothers’ friend Ryan.” Cookies wiggles his brows above the rim of his sunglasses.

“I don’t really remember Tyler,” I reply as we wander companionably down the boardwalk along the seafront. “But then again, Beck and Jesse are older than me.”

“God, I love these little stores.” Cookie grins when we stop by one of the little tourist shops at the edge of the sand. “They’re so cute!”

He picks up one of the little foil windmills in a display and oohs in delight. Neon-coloured buckets and spades are stacked alongside them, and an inflatable plastic dingy hangs above the open entrance, flapping slightly in the breeze.

To the side of the entrance are two circular stands, one holding rows of postcards and magnets and the other containing sunglasses. Cookie sets the little windmill down and slowly spins the display carousel, humming thoughtfully before picking out a pair and holding them out to me.

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