Page 63 of Digging Up Love
“I’m good.” His stomach was too unsettled to eat. “But actually, if you don’t mind, I wanted to stop in over there.” He lifted his cup toward a tent selling doll clothes.
Alisha pursed her lips. “M’kay.”
After wading their way through the crush of bodies, they arrived at the booth. She planted her hands on her hips, tilting her head up tohim. “This is where you either tell me you have a daughter, a niece, or a creepy fetish.”
Quentin barked out a laugh. “Two nieces, actually. Twins.”
Wiping her brow exaggeratedly, Alisha said, “Thank the Lord. That it’s not a fetish, that is. A daughter wouldn’t have been a deal-breaker.”
The second time she’d mentioned kids now, and he zeroed in on her words.A daughter wouldn’t have been a deal-breaker.So she was serious about wanting children? Or at least okay with the idea.
Or maybe she just wasn’t the kind of jerk who’d turn down a guy with a kid.
Sifting through the racks of dresses, Alisha said, “Twins, though. Yikes.” Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was so rude! I didn’t mean it that way. But I imagine raising twins must be difficult.”
But Quentin laughed. “It’s okay. Itisscary. Toddlers are terrifying on their own, but when they come in pairs, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”
She pulled out a hanger with a sparkly tutu. “They’re toddlers?”
“Oh no, they’re five now,” he said. “I’m just still scarred from their terrible twos. I feared for my brother’s life on many occasions. Lauryn and Liliana were a handful.”
“Pretty names! You sure they have American Girl dolls, though? These clothes can be pretty specific.” She stopped and twisted her mouth sideways. “Not that I’ve kept my collection of dolls from childhood or anything. Definitely not.”
He pulled down a frilly purple dress. “Nah, I’m sure.” Face hot, he mumbled, “I know which kind of dolls they have because I took them to the American Girl store for their birthday.”
She pushed his arm, and his pulse raced at the contact. “Of course you did, ya big softie. I can totally see it. You probably have a ‘World’s Best Uncle’ shirt too.” Underneath the razzing, her tone was warm.
“Now that you mention it, I bet I could find one here.” He craned his neck and pretended to check for a T-shirt booth.
Pressing a palm to his cheek, she stilled him. “M-mm, nope, don’t do that.”
He laughed from deep in his belly, and she joined in.
Together they picked out a dress for each of the girls while he told her how they’d argued about what color to paint their bedroom, so his brother and sister-in-law had finally decided to tape a line down the middle and paint it half purple and half green.
“And the result is a nightmare. Like a Barney explosion. My eyes are still burning. I told Hector he owed me a case of beer for agreeing to help,” he said, and Alisha chuckled.
After he paid for the doll clothes, they found an empty table near the band and sat down across from each other. Chin on her hand, Alisha put her lips around the straw and drew it into her mouth.
Concentrate, Quentin.He cleared his throat. “So why baking?”
She popped the lid off her lemonade and stirred the ice around, and it squeaked against the Styrofoam. “I originally went to college for accounting. But after I dropped out, I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted my future to look like, and I ended up deciding on pastry school. I grew up around food, in the Honey and Hickory kitchen. So I suppose a career in the culinary arts was inevitable. But I wanted something of my own,” she said, then smiled. “Don’t get me wrong: I can smoke a hog, and Grandpa taught me the secret to killer sauce, but that’s his thing. Barbecue felt like reinventing the wheel. I wanted to fly.”
“Wings, not wheels,” he said.
Eyes alight, Alisha pointed the straw at him, and if he could capture the contagious joy in her smile, oh man ...
“Yes, exactly. Wings.” She poked the straw back into her cup. “I ultimately settled on cookies because they’re straightforward. Cakes are pretentious and divisive. People either like the frosting or the cake itself.Pastries are yummy, but fussy. They’re a bit elitist. But cookies?” She plucked out a piece of ice and sucked on it, momentarily distracting him. Then she wedged it in her cheek and spoke.
“Cookies are like jeans—perfect for everyone. You never see someone picking chocolate out of chocolate chip cookies or scraping the filling out of a macaron. You can dress them up or down. And cookies are adaptable. Take chocolate chip cookies. So many possible add-ins. And don’t get me started on sugar cookies—sweetened with brown sugar or powdered sugar or agave or honey. Plus, cookies are portable, no silverware required.”
She took a breath and stopped with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I kinda nerded out right there.”
Shaking his head, Quentin said, “Hello, professor here. Nerding out is my love language.” Then he froze. Did he just use the l-word? He blinked and rushed on to cover. “Cookies! You were saying how much you love cookies.”
Again? Why, why, why?
He rubbed at his sternum with his thumb. “Will that still be your, uh ... the focus? When you open your bakery in the city? Cookies?”
