Page 53 of Digging Up Love
She nodded, and he came up next to her. Four different shapes of sugar cookies lay on parchment paper—sunglasses, beach balls, swim trunks, and flip-flops.
“A friend from church is hosting a pool party this weekend. I’m going to do some food-themed cookies too. Popsicles, ice cream cones ...”
“Lemonade?”
“Good call. Maybe pink lemonade.” She smiled and stretched, then caught him looking at the cell phone set up on a tripod.
“Recording tutorials for my social media.” She clicked it off. “You’d be surprised how many people like to watch piping videos. It’s really calming.”
He actually wasn’t surprised at all—he could’ve watched her all day, and he knew all too well the addictive nature of her baking tutorials. But he wouldn’t call the effect she had on him “calming.” The closer he got to Alisha Blake, the faster his heart beat.
Right now, inches from her, his senses were ratcheted up to hyperalert. Her skin radiated a delectable mix of bright citrus and rich honey. His heart thudded loud in his eardrums, keeping pace with Alisha’s inhales, her chest swelling against the apron with each breath.
To ease the sudden tension, he said, “Having your cookies at Honey and Hickory must’ve been a great launching-off point for your business.”
A small frown appeared on her face, then vanished just as quickly. She gave him a close-lipped smile. “Actually, that’s a recent thing. It wasn’t until this spring that Grandpa let me have a say in our dessert menu.”
“But you’re a genius with sugar. What took him so long?”
“He’s set in his ways.” Alisha started spinning a piping bag on the slippery granite. “And most of our customers are locals. He didn’t want to rock the boat, I guess.”
“Is that why your cookies aren’t at the gas station?” Her eyes flicked up, wary. “You just seemed so guarded when the guy asked you about it.”
“Grandpa doesn’t think I should sell out of other businesses. Wants to give people a reason to stop in at Honey and Hickory, which makes sense.” The words rushed out, quick and slippery, like an oil slick.
“Makes sense for him. But what about you?”
“I’ve got this.” She nudged one of the cookies, lifted her chin toward the tripod, to encompass social media and her online business, he guessed. But she had so much more to offer.
Quentin stepped closer, wanting to reach out and reassure her. “And soon you’ll have a bakery of your own. Which is going to be amazing, I have zero doubt.” She seemed tense today, on edge. Had something happened at the restaurant? “I wonder if your grandpa regrets not giving you more leeway.”
She shivered. “How so?”
“You’re leaving. Isn’t his reluctance to share you part of it?”
Gaze averted, Alisha rubbed her hands down her thighs, pulling away. “Actually, my grandparents don’t know I’m leaving.”
Hold up. Had he heard her right? Her grandparents didn’t know she planned to moveacross the stateand open a bakery in one of the biggest cities in the country?
“Not like I’m hiding it. I just haven’t told them yet.” Her fingers moved to the apron string at her waist, picking at the knot. “I’ve spent the last few years building my cookie business, so I hoped when my grandpa saw my success, he’d realize I had bigger plans.”
“Or you could just tell him and not expect him to play a guessing game.” The retort seared his lips, but he didn’t question its source. “When exactlywereyou planning to tell them?” He stepped back, arms crossed, aware he was looking down his nose at her but powerless to stop.
Alisha’s eyes met his, flecks of sienna sparking like embers in the depths. “Well, I didn’t expect a dinosaur to turn up in our backyard.”
A boulder fell across Quentin, wedging his heart back in his chest, pressing his head firmly onto his shoulders. “So the fossil discovery threw off your plans?” He didn’t buy it.
“That, and we lost one of our cooks. Then Grandpa asked me to revamp our dessert menu. I got the feeling he might need me more than he lets on. That’s the real reason I put off the move.” Alisha went back to spinning the bag, turquoise specks dripping off the tip as it whirled.
Alarm bells clanged in Quentin’s mind. His heart dropped out of his chest and hit the floorboards. Lies of omission, hidden decisions ... Mercedes all over again.
“I get putting off the move until we finish up,” he said, gesturing toward the yard. “But why not tell your grandparents now and give them time to adjust? Don’t you think they’d be happy to help you with planning? And don’t they deserve some time to get used to the idea?”
All trace of warmth evaporated from Alisha’s eyes, replaced by flint, hard and cold as a cliff’s edge. “Wow, I can see you’re used to givinglectures for a living.” She sat up about three inches taller on her stool, reaching up to flick her twists back over her shoulders, one side, then the other, revealing angular collarbones and a long, ramrod-straight neck.
Quentin was simultaneously in awe of her regal beauty and wary of the steel in her backbone. Not intimidated enough to keep silent, though. “Yeah, well, sometimes it takes an outsider to see things clearly.” He recognized the voice—his father’s.
“An outsider?” she snapped, and he regretted his words, but not enough to take them back. “I guess you’re right. Thank you for your expert and impartial opinion on my life choices. I’ll be in touch if I need a follow-up psych eval, Dr.Harris.” She savagely tore off her apron and threw it on the stool before striding out.
