Page 4 of Sugar for the Mountain Man
Her breath catches, a soft, sharp intake of air that I feel in my own chest. Her eyes, already wide, widen further, the warm brown deepening with surprise. The rag in her hand stills.
She seems more surprised than she should be. Was she expecting me to insult her creation?
A slow blush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks. She releases in a small, flustered laugh. Looking a little unsteady, herteeth catch her bottom lip like she’s trying to contain a smile. “Perfect. I’m glad to hear it.”
She doesn’t move away. She just stands there, her presence a sweet, overwhelming pressure. The scent of her—vanilla and apple pie—wrecks me more thoroughly than any corporate betrayal ever could. Right now, there isn’t any room in my head to think about the past.
Her gaze flicks from my face to the pastry and back again, a new, unreadable emotion in her eyes. Curiosity. She glances back toward the counter before looking at the seat across from me. “May I?”
And now, she wants to sit here? Right within my reach?
“Sure.” Cradling the fork keeps me from feeding into this new craving that is forming quicker by the second. At this rate, I’m going to want to reach out and touch her.
Secluding myself has truly taken its toll on me.
Before I can ask her why she wants to sit in front of me, she’s squinting at the pumpkin roll like I’ve fed her a lie. “I’ve noticed you barely finish off what you buy. Are you sure they’re good?”
“They are,” I insist, the lie a familiar, bitter coating on my tongue. “I’m just… not a big eater.”
She tilts her head, and a stray brown curl escapes the loose knot of her hair as her nose scrunches like she doesn’t like my answer. My fingers twitch with the forbidden urge to tuck it back.
“See, that’s the thing,” she says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I’m trying to get better. I want to be a real pastry chef one day, not just a small-town baker. It’s hard to improve when everyone is just so nice. You don’t look nice.”
The last words flow out of her, and she jerks like she’s said more than she’s meant to.
“I mean, you look like you don’t mind the cold, brutal truth.” Attempting to save herself, her cheeks glow a pretty pink shade. “Therefore, I think you’re exactly what I’m looking for.”
Her earlier conversation pops back up in my head, and I have to convince myself that this woman is not about to ask me to give her my last name.
This is what happens when everything goes from zero to a hundred without any warning. I’m feeling things I never have before.
“What do you need from me?” A simple question with hopefully a simple answer.
“Would you… Would you be willing to help me? Be a taste tester, I mean? For my new recipes?” Her smile is back. “If I can make something you can finish, then that must mean improvement, right?”
No. Absolutely not. This is the most dangerous path she could have chosen. My name, my face—they are liabilities. If someone connects Wesley Haverford to her, the gossip, the whispers, the stench of my old scandal would tarnish her.
The lie that ruined me would quickly taint her. People would demand she stay far away. They’d convince her that I’m a monster.
“Maribel, I…” I shake my head, the refusal already forming. “I’m not the right person for that. You don’t understand.”
“Please?” The word is soft, but it carries the weight of a plea. Then she does the unthinkable. She reaches across the small table. Her fingers, giving me no time to prepare for the contact, brush against my knuckles.
It’s a connection I have been starving for without knowing it. The contact is brief, but it scorches my skin, short-circuiting every rational argument, every instinct for self-preservation.
Her eyes are wide, pleading, and I am utterly, completely lost. There’s no question about it. I’ve met my weakness. Andnow, this sweet woman is using herself against me to get exactly what she wants.
She could ask any of these locals to eat some free sweets, but without warning, she has her eyes set on me.
Against every screaming alarm in my mind, against the ghost of the man I used to be who would have calculated the risk, my head dips in a slow, defeated nod.
“Alright,” I hear myself say, the word a surrender. “I’ll help you.”
A brilliant, triumphant smile breaks across her face, and once again, I’m in awe.
My stomach churns with dread for the future, and this lump in my chest is starting to come alive due to the uncertainty of what lies ahead.
A radiant, victorious smile spreads across her face, and I remain in awe. Though a single curve shouldn’t rival the sun, she consistently comes close to surpassing it.
