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“Hey, I’m going to run over to Darby’s candle booth and get Amelia a candle. She loves those candles as the wax is poured into repurposed pieces of wood, and I want to surprise her. Do you mind helping Briggs here for a few minutes?” Cole asks, stepping out from behind the booth.
“That’s so sweet, she’ll love it. And of course I’ll stay and scare off the customers.” I smile really big at him, and he wavers for a second as indecision flashes over his features. Then he shrugs and takes off. I glance at Juliet and see she’s wrapped up in a conversation with someone she knows, so it’s just us.
“Here, let me take those for you,” Briggs says. He reaches for my bags, but I move my arms out of the way.
“It’s okay, I’ve got them.”
He frowns a little as his arms lower by his sides.
Moving behind the table in the booth, I set them down and turn to face him. He’s smiling at me like the cat who got the cream. The scruff of his beard is back, and it looks good. He looks good. Handsome in a way that’s natural and not forced and does not fuel the fire. I roll my eyes.
Big handsome idiot.
“I didn’t know you planned on having a booth today,” I tell him, looking down at his table and seeing his cute packages of donuts, jars of cider apple butter, and four-pack bottles of different flavors of sweet cider.
It’s too bad that nothing is cute about him at this moment. He’s a menace.
“I have every year since I bought the place. The booth helps the town and the tourists who come out learn about the orchard.”
“Learn about the orchard. Maybe if they learned the truth about you, business would be so bad the town would ask you to leave.”
He grins, clearly liking the banter with me. It’s unsettling. Eighty percent of the time, I’ve had to deal with stiff and scowling Briggs, so to see him relax with me like this makes me feel like I’m in an alternate universe.
“Leave? Not a chance. Do you see that new gazebo over there?” He points at the one behind me, which is a prominent structure downtown. “That little donation came from Red Barn Orchard just last year. Since I took over, we’ve donated to the high school, the local food pantry, a pet rescue group, the ‘Keep Horizons Valley Beautiful’ organization, and last year, the gazebo. They’re not asking me to leave.”
“How sad for you that you have to pay these people to like you.”
“Trust me, they like me. Everyone does.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.
“Well, I don’t like you,” I tell him, and his small, amused smile stretches to become a large one. My breath catches, and my hands curl into fists. Why is he so attractive? Does he have this effect on everyone, or is it just me?
It’s stupid.
“There’s no reason to be salty, Goldie,” he teases because we both know I don’t mean it. I like him just fine. “What’s that phrase? ‘All’s fair in love and war’? I think it fits, don’t you?”
“Love. Is this your version of flirting with someone?”
“Do you want me to flirt with you?” he asks. His voice has gone deep, and his brown eyes, as they roam over the features of my face, have taken on this intimate, seductive quality. The butterflies in my stomach, or should I say moths, awaken and start fluttering their wings.
Ugh.
“Except there’s no love. It’s just war. A war which I will win.”
His face shifts to give off an expression that says he knows something I don’t. I’m not sure if he does or not, or if this is one of his methods of warfare. It’s interesting that he said love and war. War stems from hate, and well, both emotions are so strong. I can see how easily love and hate toe the line with each other.
Shifting to stand closer to him, we look more approachable for anyone who’s wandering by, and I’m hit with the distinct smell of him: pine and apples. My stomach tightens. This guy is going to be the death of me.
He bumps my shoulder with his. “Come on, you have to admit the fish was a good idea.”
My jaw drops. “A good idea? Why do you keep bringing wild animals to my door? That’s not funny, nor is it a good idea. It’s scary.”
His brows pull down, and the muscles across the top of his shoulders tense. “What wild animals?”
“Hello, as if the raccoons aren’t bad enough, there’s the deer and now the bears.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and unfortunately, my traitorous eyes travel over his biceps, which bulge out from under his short-sleeved orchard logoed T-shirt, and across his broad chest. I know what it feels like to be wrapped up in those arms, and as much as I’m angry with him, I kind of want to lean into him. “What do you mean, bears? We don’t have bears on the mountain.”
“Yes, we do. I have the bear scat to prove it.”
