Page 38 of By Your Side
“Oh, stop it. You’re going to ruin my whole worldview about men. I’ve been cultivating it for decades, Hunter. This is serious.”
“You’re welcome.”
She shook her head but took another bite, and I couldn’t stop watching her. Her ponytail was a little loose, and her cheeks were flushed and lovely. Her sleeves were shoved up like usual, and her sweatshirt saidWhiskey Helpsacross the front in curling script. And maybe whiskey could help. But I was starting to think maybe I could, too.
She looked up and caught me staring.
“What?” she asked, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking this might be the best pie I’ve ever made.”
“Oh my god,” she groaned. “Stop flirting with me, or I’m going to throw a bar mat at your head.”
“Promise?”
She laughed, and it was the kind of sound that made everything else in the room blur out. Then her expression softened, just a little. “Thanks for showing up. I know you’re joking around, but it means something. Having someone around at the end of the night. It won’t be for long, just until I save enough to fix this place up the way I want it.”
My chest tightened. “You never have to thank me for showing up, Paige. I’ll always be here for you.”
She blinked. Looked down at her pie. “That’s dangerous talk, Cassidy.”
“Only if you don’t mean it back.”
“I’m here for you, too, Hunter. Always.”
We sat there for a second too long.
Then she cleared her throat and shoved the pie box toward me. “Go fix my haunted freezer before I start writing your last name in hearts.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I stood and grabbed the tool bag I kept stashed under the counter at the side of the bar, and as I walked past her, I bent close and murmured just loud enough for her to hear: “You already know how to spell it, and it would look great next toPaige. Now we have the pact and the potential ofthepie every Sunday. Think about it. You. Me. Your birthday. Dinner. It’s all back on the table whenever you’re ready.”
She didn’t say anything. But she was definitely still blushing when I walked into the back room.
As I made my way to the back room, my mind kept circling around Paige—her laughter, the warmth in her eyes, the way she said my name. The truth was, being around her always made my heart race a little faster, and tonight was no different. I wanted more than just these quiet moments and inside jokes; I wanted all of her, but the fear of pushing too hard, too soon, lingered at the edges of my thoughts. What if I ruined the comfort we’d finally found just because I couldn’t hold back how much I cared?
There was a pull between us I couldn’t ignore, but I knew I had to be careful. She deserved patience. Still, it was getting harder to pretend I didn’t notice the way her smile stuck with me long after she looked away.
Shaking my head, I forced the thoughts away, determined to focus on the work instead of the ache in my chest. I busied myself with the repair, letting the steady rhythm of my hands and the hum of tools drown out feelings I wasn’t ready to face. Fixing the freezer was easier than trying to untangle the mess of emotions Paige stirred up, and for now, I’d rather hide behind the comfort of routine than risk saying too much.
“So, the evaporator fan motor’s making a noise. I hear it this time,” I called as I crouched down with my flashlight. I frowned, angling the light deeper into the housing. “That’s weird.”
Her footsteps echoed over the floor behind me as she approached. “What?” she asked, bending to look over my shoulder.
“See right here?” I pointed. “It looks like the wiring has been loosened. Not frayed. It’s like someone actually unscrewed part of the clamp here.” I glanced up at her. “But it could be nothing. Maybe it rattled loose on its own.”
“This place is full of quirks,” she said, waving it off. “It’s just old.”
“You’re probably right,” I muttered as I fixed it.
Chapter 11
Paige
After he went into the back, I took another bite of the pie and paused mid-chew. The taste hit me like a memory: buttery crust, just the right amount of cinnamon, a whisper of lemon. Not too sweet, not too tart—precisely the way his dad used to make it.
My heart thudded once, low and hard.
I hadn’t tasted this pie in years. Not since Mondays after school when his dad used to save two slices for me and Piper to eat. God, I loved his dad. I used to joke that I’d marry the first man who could bake me a pie like this.
