Page 70 of Digging Up Love
Alisha sniffed out a laugh, dabbing a fingertip to the corner of her eye. “Okay, I’ll go, but I’m putting a Google Alert on my phone with our name.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Matter of fact, I think you ought to go dark for a week. Take a step back. What’s it called? Unplug.”
“I can’t. I have to keep up with my posts.”
“Half of them are scheduled anyway, right? Go visit your sister. Spend time with Quentin. Give yourself a chance to live in the moment, without distractions; figure out what it isyouwant. Can you do that for me?”
She could lie and say she would. Granny would never know. But she owed her this much. “Give me till tomorrow. I’ll touch base with my followers, schedule a few more posts.”
“All right, but then no Google, no Instabook, no nothing. Pretend that phone’s got a cord attached. I don’t want you obsessing over a little news broadcast all weekend.”
“Fine, Granny. I’ll give it a shot. Can I go now?”
“Nothing’s stopping you.”
Half an hour later, her bags were packed, though she wouldn’t leave until morning. She sat on the couch, writing out a must-do list for the weekend staff at Honey and Hickory and trying not to peek over her shoulder out the window every second. But when she heard the rumble of a diesel engine out front, she leaped up.
She stopped at the front door and moved the gauzy curtain aside just in time to see Quentin climb down out of the pickup truck. The sight of a man stepping down out of a truck beat a man climbing out of a puny sports car any day. AndQuentinhopping out of a truck?Lordy.
He reached back into the cab and came out with a pint of ice cream. She stepped out onto the porch, and Quentin shut the truck door, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Hi, beautiful.”
Alisha reached a hand up to her necklace, twisting the chain. The midsummer sun cast shadows on the angular planes of his face, the clear depths of his eyes illuminated by the rays. He didn’t look beautiful; he lookedgorgeous. “Hi, handsome.”
Grin blossoming into a smile, Quentin held up the ice cream. “Got any spoons?”
“I should’ve known you’d have homemade cones.” Quentin and Alisha stood at the edge of the dig, his arm around her shoulder.
She nestled in closer, eyeing the waffle cone in her hand. “I figured if we’re going to keep serving ice cream at Honey and Hickory, we need to step up our game. Commercial ice cream makers are pricey, but a waffle iron, not so much. It’s good you brought some ice cream over, though, because I made these this morning, and I have to toss them tomorrow. They’re best fresh.”
He broke off a bit of cone and popped it into his mouth, then licked the ice cream off his thumb. “They’re amazing, just like everything you make.”
Ducking her head, she said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“What?”
“Compliment me all the time.” His sweetness left her feeling like an overinflated balloon, and sooner or later someone would come along with a pin. But he pulled away and caught her eyes.
“You do know I’m just being honest, right?” He ran a finger along her knuckles, featherlight. “You think you have fifty thousand followers and a waiting list for your cookies because you’re so-so?”
She shrugged. “Not so-so, but you act like I’m the best thing since sliced bread.”
He shook his head. “Forget sliced bread. You’re the best thing, period.”
Searching his face, she found no trace of insincerity. His praise, poured out like a rich chocolate ganache, drenched her in velvet warmth. She dodged her eyes away.
“You make things seem so simple.” And not just seem that way. Between her and Quentin, thingsweresimple. Life had changed from a hard-edged puzzle piece to a slice of sponge cake. Airy and tender, awaiting icing. The problem? Everything else.
Her grandparents. Her future. Her past.
“How I feel about you is pretty much the only simple thing in my life,” he said, and wow, yes. So much yes. Her jaw fell open a bit, pulse thudding in her ears. Then Quentin flicked his tongue at a drip of strawberry ice cream, and her pulse hammered somewhere else instead.
“You gotta stop with that.” Alisha gripped his arm, and he went still, muscles bunched and taut under her fingers. His pupils darkened.
“What? Eating?” He licked the cone again, slow, eyes on hers.
“You know exactly what.”
