Page 37 of By Your Side
I knew I’d scared her, and I felt terrible. “Yeah, I can tell that you’re fully prepared for everything,” I said, holding up my free hand and the brown paper bag in the other. “But in my defense—I brought you a pie.”
Her grip loosened. Slightly. “Store-bought or bribe-grade?” Her eyes narrowed.
I grinned. “I made it.”
She blinked at me, and her hand loosened on the bat. “Youbakeda pie?”
“Of course I did. You think I’m just some guy who fixes cars and broods under the moonlight like a sneaky bar-hopping vampire? I’m a man of many talents, Paige. Baking included.”
Slowly, she leaned the bat against the bar. “Okay. I’m listening.”
I walked toward her, set the pie down on the counter like it was an offering to a very tired, very pretty deity, and slid onto a stool. “Apple. Homemade crust. Sugar crystals on top. A little bit of cinnamon and fresh nutmeg. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”
“Your dad’s pie?Thepie?” She crossed her arms and tried to look skeptical, but the twitch of her mouth gave her away. “Did you come here to woo me with baked goods and late-night handyman heroics?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m also here to work on your freezer.”
That earned a smile—small but genuine. “So you just happened to bake a pie and wander over to repair my cursed appliances?”
“Yeah, that, and I heard you were closing the place alone. I don’t like that.”
Her brows lifted, but she didn’t argue.
“And yes,” I added, “I might’ve planned to bribe you with the pie. You’re not fond of accepting help, you know. Are you sure that stubborn is not your middle name? Joanne seems too tame for you.”
She lifted her chin as an amused grin slid across her face. “You're trouble. Have I mentioned that before?”
“You're the one who keeps texting me about mysterious freezer groaning noises at two in the morning. And the endless curse of your margarita machine.”
She smirked, finally walking around the bar and sliding into the stool next to me. “It sounds like it's dying. Or haunted.”
“I’ll take a look. But only after you have some pie. And then you’re going to let me seriously fix them. Not just a patch here or a new wire there. Okay?”
“Hmph.” She eyed the pie and dodged my request. “You always show up to places like this? With tools and baked goods? Or is this special treatment?”
“Only for you. And absolutely special treatment.” I let her dodge it. Flirting with her was more fun than insisting she let me help her.
She bit her lip, fighting a smile, and losing the battle.
“Fine,” she said, reaching for the pie. “But if this crust sucks, I’m firing you.”
“You don’t even pay me,” I teased.
“Then I’ll just spread rumors about your subpar pastry skills all over town. Or I’ll tell your dad on you.”
“I’ll take that risk.” I’d packed paper plates and forks in the bag.
Before she could cut a slice, I picked up a fork and scooped up a perfect bite, holding it out to her. “Taste test. Official duties,” I said, nudging the fork closer. She met my eyes, her mouth twitching, and then wrapped her fingers around mine, guiding the fork to her lips. For a second, neither of us moved. It was just her touch, warm and sure, and the way her gaze didn’t waver.
She took the bite. Chewed. Paused. And then let out a low groan that I had absolutely no businesshearing while sitting in her mostly empty bar this late at night.
“This is infuriating,” she muttered, hand over her mouth while she finished chewing.
“What is?”
“You beinggoodat everything. It’s annoying.”
I grinned. “Just wait till I fix your freezer.”
