Page 21 of Make Mine Sweet
Although that could have been more from fearing we’d briefly dated than that I was penetrating his bubble of seclusion.
Ugh, no. Must use a different word in future.
“I’ll have them ready when you want them,” she says. “Or you could do like any modern woman would do to the man she’s interested in and look him up online yourself.”
I spin to face her. “I’m not interested in him.”
My gaze darts to the open doorway that leads to our friend’s gift store next door. With any luck, Hope’s got a customer or two in there to keep her busy so she can’t hear a word of this. I don’t need anyone else asking me pointed questions and leaping to their favorite conclusions.
Wren’s mouth twitches with smug satisfaction as though I said the exact opposite.
I relax my shoulders and ease the tension from my voice. I need her to understand and not turn this into something it isn’t. “Whatever he was like five years ago or fifteen, he’s not the same man anymore, okay? He’s grouchy and doesn’t want to talk to me, let alone…anything else.”
“You let me know when that changes.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we had dated.”My stomach tilts, even though I have no idea exactly how he meant that. Bare minimum, it’s kind of a compliment. One that should not have popped into my head on repeat all night.
He as much as confirmed my suspicions he dated a bunch of girls when he was here last time around. I’ve been burned once by a guy like that. I promised myself I’d never repeat that mistake.
“It doesn’t matter anyway because I can’t date.”
Even if Ian were the kind of man I’m looking for—which he very vehemently is not—it’s still a non-starter. I have to put August first. Trying to have a romantic relationship would only get in the way of that.
Instead of taking my point and dropping the subject, Wren rolls her eyes. “Don’t start with thecan’tnonsense. You can date. You just won’t. You ignore every man who comes in here and makes eyes at you over pie.”
I scoff. “Nobody makes eyes at me over pie.”
“Uh, yeah. They do. You just don’t register them. You haven’t paid attention to a guy in forever, and now one’s got you flustered.”
I say nothing for fear of proving her right. She’snotright. It’d be stupid to get worked up over a guy based on a crush over a decade old, on traits that are long gone. Almost-smiles and questionable flirtations are not a thing to obsess over.
So I keep telling myself.
“He’s not my type,” I say, tossing the disinfecting rag back into the sink.
Wren nods. “Okay. What is your type?”
I splay a hand, absolutely nothing coming to mind. I haven’t given it serious thought in so long, I don’t even know anymore. Nice? Funny? Sweet? But a guy who once dated my town’s population of young twenty-something girls and who now growls more than he talks is not on the list.
“See? He’s got you flustered.”
Kind of wish I’d thrown the disinfecting rag in her face.
The bell over the door chimes. I turn to greet our customer, and a tiny glimmer of sisterly spite flames to life inside me. Ha. Saved by the man who flustersWren.
Shepherd Callahan lopes across the bakery to us, one hand shoved in his jeans pocket, the other brushing his ear-length dark hair out of his face. Both his arms are covered in tattoos, gray work with the occasional pop of color. His T-shirt has his bike store’s logo on it, a streak of dark grease marring the Get in Geartext.
Wren’s delight in poking at me snuffs out, her mouth tugging down. “Hello, Callahan.”
She bites the words out, greeting him against her will.
Shepherd gives her a curt nod. “Krause.”
“Hi, Shepherd.” I always try to be extra friendly with him to combat the “get out” vibes Wren gives off. “Good day?”
He approaches the counter in front of Wren, not me. “Busy week for rentals.”
His shop next door rents, sells, and repairs bicycles of all kinds. I’m not sure what tides him over in winter, but now that warmer days are here, I’d imagine he gets a lot of business.
