Page 29 of Cupcake of the Month
Behind him, a woman in a white coat kept the electrical burners busy, churning out the chicken. Could he be a cupcake without circulating among guests, or were places like this out of bounds since he was too easy to corner?
She reached for a toothpick.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” His voice went quiet and she leaned closer to hear him. “Not at Plates of Macon, but at Barb’s booth. Since I’m here.”
“I haven’t spent the last eight years avoiding you, Josh.”
“If I can do anything to lessen the awkwardness of me being at Fountenoy Hall, let me know.”
“It wasn’t awkward.” She almost believed herself. “It’s…I was really worried about you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Jordan waited, but no other explanation was forthcoming. The awkwardness wouldn’t matter anyway, if she took the job with Mrs. McGraw. She stabbed a meatball and popped it in her mouth.
Hmmmm. Using chicken made the dish lighter and let the savory garlic and oregano play a melody with her taste buds. “This is really good.”
“Thanks.” Barb shook the pan over the burner. “It’s Josh’s recipe. He let me steal it for my new menu item.”
“I can do more than make scrambled eggs and peach fritters.” His lips curled up a little at the corners.
His little flash of humor got her right in her belly. She tried to ignore it, knowing he wasn’t interested in her, hiding behind the multitude of cupcake bakers or retreating behind his cooking.
He took the toothpick from her hand and tossed it in the small trash can by his feet. “You’re tense.”
“No, I’m not.”
He offered the meatballs to a passing couple. “Like you were after that phone call at breakfast.” He punctuated that observation with his silent stare.
It unnerved her, the way he could crawl under her skin with a few words. “I’m just thinking.”
“You have that look.” He handed her one of Barb’s cards.
She automatically handed him one for Fountenoy Hall, and he cracked that half-smile again. Like he didn’t already have the contact information. “What look?”
“Like the one you used to get when a power hitter was at bat. You get a line between your eyebrows. Right here.” He smoothed his thumb over her furrowed brow.
She sucked in a breath at the sensation. This was the first time he’d touched her in a significant way. The intoxicating glide of his fingers shot straight to her core.
She took a step back, her skin growing cold at the loss of his touch. “I have a decision to make. That’s all.”
He remained silent, his eyes fixed on hers as if the steady attention would make her talk.
It almost did, but she stood her ground.
“Then make a choice and own it.” He moved into the booth and added more chicken meatballs to his platter.
Like asking him about That Night. Now wasn’t the most opportune time, but his touch had loosened her reserve. The question might cause him to retreat into the silent shell, but if she didn’t do it now, she’d never find the courage.
It took effort to keep her tone light and conversational. “Okay, you speak from experience, then. That morning, eight years ago. You certainly owned that choice.”
Josh froze, his hand that gripped the toothpicks suspended in midair. “I had to.”
“Oh, of course.” She kept her face neutral, but she slappedthe program against her thigh. “You had to.”
She waited for him to say more, but he remained silent.
He was sorely mistaken if he thought she was going to accept that answer with no other explanation. “Why did you have to?”
