Page 18 of One Small Spark
I point at her employee. “I think he’s right.”
She lifts a hand as though shoving an invisible wall between us. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“Oh. What wereyouthinking of?”
Her cheeks flame bright pink. Almost the same shade as the cranberry silk pie I’m going to savor in my cabin tonight like an absolute lunatic.
“Well. I’ll see you around, Krause.” I’ve gambled enough for today. Seeing her speechless will have to satisfy. I move to the door and push it open with one hand, the other cradling the pie Wren made. I turn back one last time.
She’s frozen, her gaze stuck on me, her expression a mix of anger and something else. The mystery of thatsomething elsewill keep me humming along until the next time we cross paths.
In my shop, I pass Palmer, who’s helping a family with bikerentals, and make my way into the back. I scribble my weekly “Do Not Touch” sticky note and put it on the pie box before carefully tucking it in the mini fridge. My employees know by now not to mess with my pies, but the reminder won’t hurt them.
Not the way I will if they touch my pie.
My phone buzzes. It’s Leo. His calls are either extra short because he didn’t have time to phone in the first place, or he’s in a chatty mood, and I have to hang up on him. I’ve got a few more minutes left on my break, so I answer.
“Hey, Leo.”
“What is the protocol for fancy parties?”
I lean against the back counter and chuff a laugh. “You would know.”
Leo Dalesandro, former NFL darling, has been to more black-tie events than your average Sunshine resident. My social anxiety keeps my attendance to things like that at zero. Dressed up, all eyes on me, sometimes with a literal spotlight? Hard no.
“Not this one, my man. It’s a fancylodgeparty. I figured you’d have the inside scoop for me.”
“There’s going to be a party at Moonlight Lodge?” My family owns and runs the resort on the outskirts of town.
“Party’s the wrong word. I want to say gala. That’s bigger than a party, right?”
“This is the first I’ve heard.” They usually at least give me a cursory invite to things like this.
“Oh, yeah. We’re planning a big event next month to celebrate opening up the new wedding venue in the barn. We’re raising funds for the children’s hospital, and your dad said we should go fancy. So…”
“Are you asking me what you should wear?”
“Yes. I’m going to text you pictures of me modeling different outfits. I need you to give me a thumbs upor thumbs down.”
I look around the storage and mechanical section of my shop. Gears, chains, and innards of an electric bicycle’s motor litter the workbench. I wear T-shirts seven days a week. The man who won two Super Bowls and three People’s Choice awards wants my advice on what to wear?
“I can hear you hyperventilating through the phone,” he says. “I’m kidding.”
I exhale hard, relaxing my shoulders again.
“I’ve got some good suits; that’s not the issue. I was thinking more…” He fidgets with something in the background, probably a pen tapping a tabletop. “If I should bring a date to this event.”
“You’re the one planning it.”
“Right, right. But like…what’s your family’s opinion on all that? Do you think?”
He would know more about that, too. He’s blended seamlessly into my family since we were kids. More outgoing than I am by a landslide, his energy matches theirs. Now that he’s back from playing pro ball, he’s pretending Mom and Dad are doing him a favor by letting him work at the lodge while he gets his feet under him again. Really, he’s building massive buzz for the resort without having to do a thing.
He’s spent more time with them than I have since he’s been back. Not sure why he’s asking me their opinions.
“Just ask Charlie. I’m sure she’s fine with it.” My sister probably has a clear vision for this event just like she’s known exactly how to turn our grandparents’ old lodge into a luxury retreat. But she’s not the type to worry about anyone else’s dating life.
Thank goodness.
