Page 21 of Riding the Sugar High

“Did you?”

“Yes.” She sighs loudly, crossing her legs as she fidgets with a kitchen towel. “He broke up with me without a real explanation, and I’d shared a lot of professional and personal things with him. I had to know what was going on.”

“Uh-huh.” I fully turn around, unable to help a smile. “How did you even do it?”

“I hired a hacker,” she says, biting her fingernails as she sheepishly glances at me.

Yeah, she’s...something.

“Okay. And? What did you find out?”

“Uh...That he’s dating this girl. They use sweet nicknames for each other. And that they went on a trip together last month. Oh, and that?—”

“I thought you were looking foryoursecrets, not his.”

Lips pinching, she nods. “Right, yes. I didn’t find anything. He never even mentioned me or my recipes.”

“Recipes? Aren’t you an influencer?”

“A foodie influencer. I make candy.”

I try to rein in my disappointment, but that’s hardly a job, and my thoughts must be pretty clear because her lips twitch.

“I’ll have you know my audience didn’t just pop up overnight. I’ve worked hard on my platforms, and my social media landed me the job of my dreams, assuming Derek doesn’t run online and shout about this.”

“He can’t,” I reassure her. “Pending investigation.” She seems lightened up by the information before I ask, “What about the restraining order?”

“He tried to get one after I hacked his phone but was denied.” She bites her bottom lip. “But I haven’t even talked to him in weeks. And—okay, I broke into his farm last night...but Ijustwanted to talk.”

Dropping her head forward, she whines.

I turn the stove off, scoop some oats, and set them into a small bowl. Once I add apples and strawberries, I hand it to Primrose. As I prepare my own, one of the piglets enters the kitchen and moves under her chair, and she flinches, pulling her legs up.

She can’t seriously be scared of a pink fuzzy piglet, can she?

“Do they bite?” she asks, distrustful eyes studying the small animal.

“Bite, kick, and trample,” I say as I join her at the table. “Better not piss them off.”

When she swallows, her worried gaze darting under the chair, I clear my throat. “What are your plans for today?”

She energizes at the question, her face breaking into a wide grin. “I have a meeting about my product. The company I’ll work for—Marisol—wants to define some details.”

“Your own product?” I assume that’s the dream she was referring to. “What’s that?”

“Not sure—I’ll have to submit a few of my recipes.” When I nod, she seems disappointed by my lukewarm reaction, and insists, “I’ve been waiting for one of these big candy producers to notice me. I’ve networked, collaborated, worked my ass off, and it took years, but I’m finally there now.” She seems giddy with excitement and nervous tension, but just as quickly as it appeared, her enthusiasm flattens out. “I doubt they’d want to work with me if I was arrested, though.”

“Then you better learn how to lie quickly.”

Her nostrils flare as she stares down at her bowl. When her lips wobble, I set my spoon down, reminded of the reason why I hate dealing with people.

“Don’tcry.”

“I’m not crying,” she whines as tears fall down her cheeks. “I’m just—just...”

“Crying?” I suggest.

She furiously wipes away her tears. “Strong girls cry when they’re angry, okay?”

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