Page 23 of Loving Carter

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Skylar

ISWIRL THE LAST BITof frosting on the cake and then step back to study it. Beatrice Markham ordered a cake that looks like her cat. I tend to do more dogs than cats, but both are fairly easy.

“That cake looks amazing,” Janie says, coming over to stand next to me. “I wish I could do something like that.”

She’s never mentioned this before, so I turn to face her. “Do you want to learn how?”

Within a millisecond, I realize her comment was fictional. She has no interest in cake making. In fact, based on the somewhat horrified expression that flies across her face, she hates the idea of learning how to make the cakes.

“I, um, am sure it would be fun, but I don’t think...”

When her answer trails off, I decide to do my good deed for the day and let her off the hook. “It’s fine. I understand. There are a lot of other things you can work on.”

At that moment, I realize that Janie should never play poker. A look of deep relief crosses her face. It’s so extreme that I struggle to keep from laughing.

After she leaves the kitchen, I spend a few minutes cleaning up. I’m tired today, which isn’t surprising. I haven’t been sleeping well. I can’t help but be worried about Carter. What is the problem? Is he avoiding me? If so, why is he avoiding me? And if he isn’t avoiding me, then why does it feel like he is?

Arrgh! I lie awake at night trying to figure it out. Basically, the whole problem boils down to not knowing what is going on. But he won’t tell me. I’ve texted him and called him, and when he does respond, he simply says everything is fine, but he’s busy with the ranch.

Well, I plan to put an end to this, and the expo offers me the perfect way to do so. I’ve decided to force his hand, so I’ve arranged for us to go visit some food trucks today. The committee has changed its mind and now thinks that having a couple of food trucks might be a good idea. I volunteered to look into it, and I’m dragging Carter along. It’s Saturday, and a town nearby is celebrating one hundred years since they incorporated. It’s a short celebration, but it should suit our purpose. We can scope out which trucks get the most traffic and then try the food ourselves.

My employees, Janie and Melanie, are minding the store this afternoon, so I’ve arranged for Carter to pick me up at noon. To get ready, I run into my office and take off my smock. I’m wearing one of my favorite T-shirts underneath. It says,My Dogs Think I’m Terrific. It’s silly, I know, but it also reminds me that if nothing else, my dogs still like me.

At exactly noon, Carter pulls into the parking lot, and I head right out to his truck and hop inside.

“Thanks for picking me up,” I say, fastening the seat belt.

“Sure. No problem.”

He pulls out of the parking lot and starts heading to the celebration. He’s dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans, and he looks amazing. His hair is long enough in back to touch his collar, and he has a sexy stubble beard. I know both have nothing to do with fashion choices. Carter is too busy to get his hair cut, and since he’s almost always clean shaven, I know the stubble is because he was too rushed to shave.

“You should leave the beard,” I say.

He glances briefly at me and frowns, then runs one hand over his jaw. “I meant to shave this morning, but it’s crazy at the ranch.”

“You should leave it like this. It looks nice.” My voice trails off as I say this, and I know we both feel a little awkward now. Normally, I avoid complimenting Carter on his looks because I know it makes him self conscious. But sometimes, you have to speak your mind. The man needs to know how handsome he looks like this.

But I’ve spoiled the mood, and I know it. Neither of us says anything for many miles. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. When I draw in a deep breath, I smile. There’s just a faint scent of sandalwood. I’ve found out over the years that it’s the soap the aunts buy for him that has that great smell. I’ve missed that sandalwood smell. Being near him makes me happy, and I feel the ball of stress inside me start to unwind.

But as the minutes wear on, I keep expecting him to say something. You know, something along the lines of “I’m so sorry I’ve acted like a slug the last few days. Ignore it. Everything is fine now.”

But he doesn’t say a thing. He just keeps driving.

“I read an article the other day that was very interesting,” I say, hoping he’ll take the bait.

Silence.

Okay, I’ll try again. “It was all about why people who have been friends most of their lives suddenly stop being friends.”

That comment earns me a quick glance, but no response.

“They ran a study to see what usually happens to destroy the friendship. And you’ll never guess what they found.”

I wait, sure he’ll ask me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he clears his throat and keeps driving, so I push ahead.

“The scientists spent a lot of time and money on this study. It was double-blind, and their research was impeccable.”

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