Page 21 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce
I searched for words that wouldn't expose too much. "Because I believe in what you're trying to do. The restaurant deserves someone who loves it for what it is, not someone who wants to change its soul."
Scarlet studied me for a long moment. "I can't pay you. Not yet, anyway."
"I don't want your money, Scarlet."
"Then what do you want?" she asked directly.
The question hung between us, loaded with possibilities I couldn't quantify. The truth was, I wanted her—not just for pretend, not just for the weekend. I needed her to add the color to my black-and-white life, like an outline waiting for a painter's brush. But admitting that would mean risking everything.
"I want to help," I said finally. "Simple as that."
She didn't look convinced but nodded. "Then I accept. Thank you."
"Actually," I said, checking my watch, "we could get started tonight. The festival doesn't open until eleven tomorrow, and I've got all my financial models at the ranch."
"Now? Really?"
"No time like the present," I said, making quick calculations in my head. "Besides, I tend to work better at night when there are fewer interruptions."
The drive to the ranch was quiet, the radio playing softly between us. I noted each time Scarlet glanced my way, cataloging the way the dashboard lights caught the strands of gold in her hair, how her fingers tapped against her knee in a pattern of three beats followed by two.
At the ranch, I led her to my office. While my brothers had claimed their own spaces—Grayson's practical workshop, Weston's dog training area, Rhett's media room—I'd converted the small study into a haven of organization. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with reference materials and ledgers. My desk held a computer and neat stacks of files, each with its purpose and place.
"This is so... you," Scarlet said, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.
"Too predictable?" I asked, hearing the defensive edge in my voice.
"Purposeful," she corrected. "There's beauty in order, Burke. It's just different from the beauty in chaos."
Her words caught me off guard, in a good way. I cleared my throat, gesturing to the chair beside my desk. "Shall we get started?"
For the next two hours, we brainstormed side by side, her ideas flowing as I helped shape them into a business framework. She spoke passionately about expanding Smokin' Lurline'sproduct offerings—not just her hot sauces, but marinades, dry rubs, even packaged versions of MeeMaw's famous sides. I ran numbers, calculating start-up costs, potential revenues, and budgets.
"See here," I explained, pointing to a spreadsheet. "If we allocate a portion of the restaurant's existing space for product display and sales, you could test market items before approaching retailers."
"And seasonal special editions," she added excitedly. "Holiday gift baskets, summer grilling packages—all branded with the Smokin' Lurline's logo!"
Her enthusiasm was contagious. Before I knew it, we'd outlined a comprehensive three-year plan that honored the restaurant's history while incorporating Scarlet's innovations. When she yawned for the third time in five minutes, I glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was nearly midnight.
"I should get you home," I said, saving our work. "Big day tomorrow."
The drive back to her parents' house was comfortable, with Scarlet's head nodding against the window before she'd jerk awake, mumbling apologies.
"You should sleep in tomorrow," I told her as I pulled into the driveway.
"No way," she said, her jaw tensing as she suppressed another yawn. "I need to do a final taste test in the morning. The sauce has to be perfect."
I walked her to the door, counting each step between the truck and the porch. The porch light cast her features in a warm glow, turning her vibrant dress into something softer. She looked up at me, blue eyes steady.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For the dance, for standing up to Bethany Sue, for the business plan... for everything."
"Scarlet, I—"
Before I could finish, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to mine. The kiss started hesitantly, but when I didn't pull away, she leaned in. My hands found her waist, drawing her closer. She tasted like lemonade and starlight, and my careful restraint vanished like morning dew. For a moment, the pretense fell away, and there was just us—Burke and Scarlet—finding each other.
Her phone rang, the loud chimes cutting through the moment. She pulled back, her cheeks flushed. "I should get that—it might be MeeMaw."
"Of course," I said, stepping back. "I'll see you tomorrow."
