Page 5 of Stirring Up Love
Unmoved, Darius crossed his arms. “Call in sick. Or swap. C’mon, man, this is your future.”
“I can’t call in sick to the volunteer work. Pretty sure that’s a cardinal sin.” Or at the least, inviting bad luck.
“Then tell them you need to make money to pay for your landlord’s dry cleaning.”
“Funny.” Finn sighed, rubbing his forehead. “What if I’m wasting my time with all this?” The likelihood of him ever making enough to launch a nonprofit cooking school on a chef’s salary? Dismal. Hence the sauce business. The only problem was his heart wasn’t in it. As much as he loved cooking, he didn’t enjoy being on the other side: sales, marketing. Managing money? He shuddered, stomach tight. But he had promised himself he’d give it his all.
“You’re not.” Darius held his coat at arm’s length and grabbed his keys. “Hawksburg. Nine a.m. Bring lots of inventory, and don’t forget your credit card reader this time.”
“Hang on.” He dipped a clean spoon in the sauce. “If you’re going to go around swinging deals for me, you should be the first to try this.”
“A new sauce?” Darius took the spoon and slurped up a taste. Pounded the counter with his palm. “Get outta here, man.”
“Right?” Exhilaration replaced exhaustion. He might have a real shot. “A trio is great, but four sauces offers something for everyone.”
Eyes bright with an intensity that could only mean he was already running numbers, Darius nodded. “So you’re actually considering a large-scale launch?”
“Considering it, yes. But Dare, I can’t sink any more money into this if I don’t start seeing profits.” That was the whole point. Sell sauce, save money, finance his dreams.
“You want profits?” Needed them. “Then you can’t be afraid to put yourself out there. This country market will be a low-stakes way to rack up some sales.”
Low stakes.Perfect for his behind-the-scenes personality. Low stakes, low profile. He could do this. Start small and work toward making his big vision a reality.
CHAPTER 3
SIMONE
Downward dog in cutoff overalls and Birkenstocks was not how Simone had pictured this morning going. The first farmers’ market of the season would set the bar for the summer, and her current inverted position didn’t exactly exude powerhouse-restaurateur vibes.
Then again, she’d never shirked her share of grunt work, blisters or not. That’s what mani-pedis were for. And setup would’ve been a breeze, except she’d loaned out her new folding table to Ruth. The backup one Simone had brought was rusted as all get-out, but a tablecloth would disguise the wear, if only she could unstick this bent frame.
“You’re a lifesaver.” Ruth’s quiet voice came from above her. “Can’t believe I forgot a table on the first market day of the season.” Still soft spoken, she’d come a long way from the timid new kid Simone had befriended freshman year of high school.
Ruth had started her own business, which took strength and guts. Her friend had changed in the years she’d been away, and she’d missed the transformation. Catching up over drinks on holidays and long weekends relegated her to outsider status.
“Sure you don’t need a hand setting that up?” Grass-stained Keds shuffled on the gravel next to her, and Simone pictured Ruth twisting alock of red hair around her finger, like she’d done a lot as a new arrival to Hawksburg years ago.
Now Simone was the one on the outs, angling for an in, but even dripping with sweat and upside down, she’d never let her nerves show.
Simone managed another shake of her head. “Thanks, though. I’ll be by later on to see your new stuff. I’m loving the lavender soap you sold me a few weeks ago.”
“Oh good,” Ruth said. “I’ve got a new scent I think you might like. Rosemary wheat. Except ... shoot, did I bring the carton?”
Sun swept over Simone’s shoulders as Ruth jogged off, taking the shade she’d cast with her, no doubt on a mission to make sure the rest of the day went smoothly, just like all the other vendors gathered.
The Hawksburg market was an eclectic mix of farmers, crafters, cooks, bakers, and artisans. Shoppers could score anything from a hand-stitched bag to cheese curds to a tall bouquet of gladiolus flowers. With so much local talent and flavor, Simone hoped to find a way to showcase it year round, but at this point, she’d settle for getting the table leg unstuck.
Teeth gritted, she lifted one foot and pressed her heel against the table leg behind her. Shifting her weight onto one hand, she tried to pry up the metal bar, but it wouldn’t budge. Her shoulders trembled, and a trail of sweat snaked down her cheek.
“Are you playing some kind of solo Twister, or could you use a hand?”
Not Ruth this time. The voice was deep and came from somewhere close, not over her shoulder. Simone tucked her chin into her chest and peeked out from under her armpit. She sucked in a reflexive breath. Holy hottie, Batman.
A guy crouched next to her on the dusty grass, his elbows on his knees. He eyed her inverted position with a wry grin. Dark, tousled hair hung over liquid brown eyes so molten they were practically glowing.His nose, slightly crooked, sat above full, sensual lips that looked like they’d just been kissed.
Her stomach dropped into her throat, not a difficult feat, because, gravity. But she sniffed and turned back to the stubborn piece of metal, giving it a tug.
“Nah. I’ve—” She yanked the bar upward, and it snapped into place. One final kick, and the rear table legs locked with a satisfying click. “Got it.”
