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“So, do we have a deal?” he asks, calmer this time.
“What exactly do I get out of it?” I ask, looking around the bakery and mentally making a to-do list of what needs to be done.
“I’ll help you paint,” he says, looking around as well.
“Can you paint? I want this place to look perfect. No streaky walls or uneven patches.”
“Yeah, I can paint. It’s not exactly rocket science,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“Alright. Is that it? That’s only one thing and I have to meet your parents, have dinner with them, and go to a wedding where your entire family will be.”
“You’re making it sound bad. It’s not going to be that bad.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say with a snort, crossing my arms over my chest as I give Elijah a skeptical look.
“You have to help me paint, help me set up the tables and chairs that I ordered, and then help me install the new lights. They should be here next week.”
“That’s too much,” Elijah grumbles and I give him a sweet smile.
“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
He grumbles again, looking over to the boxes of tables and chair parts and then around the space again.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask, closing the distance between us and stretching out my hand toward him.
Elijah studies me for a minute, looking around once more at the walls and the boxes of furniture, before he lets out a sigh.
“Deal,” he says, shaking my hand.
EIGHT
Elijah
It’s dark the next night by the time I lock up the Trading Post and head into town to Hartley’s bakery. Tonight is the first night that I’m helping her with the bakery and we’re painting. I brought a change of clothes to work this morning and put the old ones on before I left the shop.
I’m already second-guessing this whole plan.
Will anyone even believe that we’re together? I mean, my parents know me and they know how I’ve always felt about relationships and girlfriends. Will they really believe that suddenly I had a change of heart?
My mom might be able to miss it since she’ll just be so excited that I’m with someone, but how long will that last? How long before they spot that Hartley and I don’t know the first thing about each other?
I park in front of the bakery, looking over to see that all the lights are on and Hartley is balancing on the top of a ladder.
“Crazy girl,” I mutter as I bolt out of my truck and into the bakery. “You shouldn’t be up there,” I scold her.
Hartley jerks, the ladder teetering under her as she braces herself against the wall to balance herself.
I cross the space, grabbing on to the ladder and scowling up at her. She looks down, returning the dark look.
“Hello, Elijah,” she says sarcastically.
“You shouldn’t be standing up there. Not without someone to make sure you’re steady,” I repeat.
“I was doing just fine before you came in and tried to give me a heart attack.”
I hold the ladder as she steps down and brushes her hands off on her pants. She’s wearing a pair of tight black yoga pants that look like a second skin with the way that they mold to her thick thighs.
Her dark brown hair is tied up in a messy knot on top of her head and she’s wearing an old T-shirt that looks to be at least two sizes too big.
