Page 15 of A Gingerbread Romance

And maybe that would explain why Greta had been the only one who’d seemed surprised today.

But was Jonathan just trying to work an angle to get back in her good graces? He didn’t seem to enjoy being the bad guy.

“Look, your business is much stronger than Lennie’s was, right? And I know you said it’s been difficult lately, but I’m sure it’s something you’ll recover from over the busy holiday season?”

Every ounce of her wanted to say yes, but the answer was not so easy. She wasn’t sure how the bakery would do this season.

Besides, it was scary at the helm. What if the store continued to go into debt? What, then?

“I can’t say that for certain, to be honest. It feels like we’ve got competition coming at us from every angle: not just other bakeries and grocery stores, but online stores and new marketing gimmicks every week, coming from places that specialize only in cupcakes or cookies.” A heavy sigh escaped her. “Not to mention delivery options that we don’t offer.”

Honestly, she was overwhelmed. The Smithfield would be considered very old-fashioned in terms of today’s food industry. They were being left behind, and Greta knew it. She just didn’t know what to doaboutit.

It was all too much.

She sighed listlessly, dropping her head, and marched down the hall, leaving Jonathan standing alone in the foyer. Then she sat back down on the sofa and pulled the blanket over her lap. If she’d ever consider curling into the fetal position and sucking her thumb, now would be the time.

His footsteps cautious, Jonathan appeared in the living room doorway a moment later. “May I come in—here?”

“Suit yourself.”

A sullen mood had taken hold.

He might as well. Heaven knew she would’ve been thrilled to spend time with him in front of a crackling fire like this last night.

She sulked, her shoulders drooping.

Still, judging by what he’d said, maybe he wasn’t the devil?

Still, he wasn’t innocent, either. High rollers like Jonathan courted big money and trampled all over anyone who got in their way. He’d surely trample on her and her bakery if it came down to it. She couldn’t trust him. She wouldn’t trust him. Not in this situation and definitely not as a romantic interest. A heavy sigh escaped her.

He slipped out of his coat and hat and set them over the back of an armchair, then took a seat across from her.

She stared into the fire, lost in thought. But she felt him studying her out of the corner of her eye.

A quiet moment passed as if he were waiting for her to speak. Finally, she looked over, giving him the benefit of the doubt one last time because of the wonderful person he’d seemed to be last night.

Her voice was calm. “Jonathan, I was already worried about the state of the business before this happened, and worried about how I was going to handle it—on my own—so you should know, I’m really kind of freaking out right now.”

His reply came quickly in that deep and sexy voice she’d already come to adore slash hate. “Then let me help you.”

She blew out a breath, her gaze returning to the fireplace. “Help me do what? Because unless you’re a business coach or have a whole lot of money to invest in an eighty-year-old bakery operation, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do for me.”

Jonathan sat forward in the chair, his hands crossed over his knees, an eager expression filling his mug. “Maybe there is? I want to help you, Greta.”

And to think all she’d wanted from him as of this morning had been another date. She sat up and faced him, her voice shaky. “Let me stop you there. I don’tneedyour help. I don’twantyour help. I can manage just fine on my own.” She felt a sob filling her throat, so she stopped before it overtook her.

A frown marred his face, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

She pulled her ankles up onto the couch until she sat cross-legged under the blanket, then swallowed. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’ve always managed on my own. I’ll figure something out.”

She wasn’t sure how she’d do it, but he’d been the one to put her in this position. She wasn’t about to let him think he could whisk in here and pull her out of it like some kind of epic hero.

Besides, she oughtn’t forget that minor issue oftrust. He wasn’t simply a handsome, nice guy in an expensive suit who’d wowed her on their first date. His expensive suits were paid for by destroyinglittle guyslike herself.

Jonathan sighed, his tone still patient, gentle, even. “Okay, I understand. But if you change your mind—”

“—I’m not going to.” As much as she wanted to—she couldn’t give in. This washerproblem.

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