Page 20 of Make Mine Sweet
He glowers, but his mouth tilts to one side like he’s trying to fight a smile. Might be wishful thinking on my part, but I’m going to count this disastrous conversation as a step closer to friendship.
SEVEN
TESS
Most daysin our family’s shop, I’m grateful for short breathers between customers. Brief moments when the baking’s complete, the display cases are stocked, and I can lean against the back counter and relax.
Today, those breaks mean questions from Wren. A line of cranky customers snaking out the door would be more relaxing.
She slides over next to me as soon as the bakery’s empty again. “What did he say when you gave him the cupcakes?”
I don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. Ian’s been her subject of conversation all morning.
“I already told you.” In the most innocuous way possible, but I should have known she wouldn’t give up her curiosity after I admitted I used to have a crush on him.
Used tois the part I’ve been reminding myself ever since our conversation last night.
“Yeah, but it seems like there would have been more to that.” That’s Wren, always digging for more.
“Nope, I pretty well covered it with his grumbled ‘Thank you.’”
The rest—his inability to remember if we’d dated and the tentative almost-smile he’d offered when I teased him about it—will stay with me.
“You didn’t say anything about his piercing blue eyes or devilish grin.”
He sure didn’t give me any devilish grins, but his eyes are just as intense as they used to be. Maybe even more so now that I’ve actually had them trained on me. Wait. I didn’t tell her any of that.
Wren’s looking at something on her phone, nodding in appreciation.
“I mean, look at the guy.” She spins the screen toward me.
I’m confronted with a version of Ian I’ve never seen before. Somewhere between the young man I’d crushed on and my haggard, unhappy neighbor, the picture legitimately makes me hold my breath. His jaw is covered in the barest stubble, his dark red hair just long enough to fall carelessly into his eyes. His face carries the lines of the man I know today, but he’s still got the bright spark of the younger man he was years ago. He’s grinning into the camera like he knows exactly how good he looks.
He’s also clinging to a rock face somewhere, shirtless and artfully streaked with mud.
I do not take in the planes of his pecs or his insanely muscled shoulders. I don’t notice how he’s holding onto the rock with one hand, his biceps in that arm bulging impressively. I don’t pay attention to the thick dusting of freckles that move from the tops of his shoulders down to his hands.
This image absolutely does not etch itself into my brain.
“When—” I swallow and try again. “Where did you find that?”
“Google is my best friend.” She waggles the phone at me. “There are a lot of photos like this. Want to see more?”
“I…” Do I want to see more photos of Ian Vaughn’s stunning chest and confident grin?
Yes, please.
But no. The last thing I need is to make things any weirder between us. Looking at photos of him…like that…could only bring on more awkwardness the next time we’re in the back yard together.
Not together. Just…you know. In the same place. On the lookout for rattlesnakes.
Wren smiles wider. “There are tons of articles about him, too. I didn’t read them all, but it sounds like he’s a pretty famous climber. Guide. Something. I wasn’t that focused on the details. Want me to send the links to you?”
“No.” I grab a disinfecting rag from the sink, wring it out, and start wiping down the gleaming countertops. “That’s an invasion of privacy.”
“I didn’t hire a private investigator to tail him. This is all public information.”
Still. Nothing about Ian currently makes me think he’d want me to know anything about him. He barely answered the basic questions I asked and seemed genuinely upset at the idea I remembered him from his last visit.
