Page 7 of Red, White, and You

"That was before I knew you were planning to saddle me with your protein-powdered BFF."

"Phoenix is a good guy, Gigi. Give him a chance."

"He works for my parents."

"He works for a lot of people. That doesn't make him the enemy." Joe’s voice softens. "Look, you want to raise money for the fire department, right? Phoenix showing up will probably triple your sales."

He's not wrong.

But it’s not just that I don’t want Phoenix here. It’s that I don’t want towanthim here.

The last thing I need is to start liking the poster boy for my parents’ empire. That path only leads to heartbreak and kale smoothies.

"Fine," I say, because arguing with Joe when he's got that determined quarterback tone is like trying to stop a freight train with a feather. "But if he tries to turn my bake sale booth into a Hart Health promotional opportunity, I’ll chop him into bits and bake my first mincemeat pie."

Joe laughs. "Deal. I’ll let him know he’s been warned."

"You’d better."

I hang up and stare at my phone for a long moment, then let out a groan.

Phoenix Wood. At my bake sale booth. For an entire day.

This is either going to be a complete disaster or… well, actually, no. There’s no “or.” This is definitely going to be a complete disaster.

My phone buzzes with a text from Ella:Heard through the grapevine that you got assigned a very handsome festival helper. How are we feeling about this?

I text back:Like I want to murder my best friend’s husband.

Her response is immediate:Uh-huh. Sure. Totally Joe you're thinking about murdering.

I set my phone down before I can respond to that particular piece of sass and turn back to my cupcakes. I have work to do. Lots of work. Enough work to keep me busy anddefinitelynot thinking about Phoenix Wood or his stupid perfect smile.

Definitely not.

But as I start piping fresh frosting onto a new batch of red velvet cupcakes, I can’t help wondering what he’s going to think when he sees me in full festival mode.

Because Joe’s right about one thing—I don’t do anything halfway.

If Phoenix Wood thinks he can just show up and coast through this charity event, he’s in for a surprise.

Good luck, golden boy. You’re going to need it.

Chapter 5

Phoenix

TheHoneysuckleRidgetownsquare looks like a Norman Rockwell painting caught in the blast of a craft store explosion. Red, white, and blue bunting drapes from every lamppost, vendors are setting up booths selling everything from handmade soaps to barbecue sauce, and the high school marching band is tuning their instruments near the gazebo.

I’ve been to plenty of high-end charity events in my career—suit-and-tie galas, black-tie balls—but there’s something about this small-town festival that feels more real. Like it actually means something.

Then I spot Gigi.

She’s standing behind a table that looks like it was decorated by a patriotic fairy godmother, arranging what has to be at least two hundred cupcakes in perfect rows. She’s wearing faded jeans, a red t-shirt, and her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail under a star-spangled kerchief. She moves with focusedefficiency. The kind that says she’s been up since dawn.Or earlier.

“You're late,” she says without looking up as I approach.

I check my watch. “I’m exactly on time.”

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