And Morris knew that no matter how prepared people thought they were, every baker in town would make at least one visit to his store for some last-minute sugar pearls or sanding sugar, or an emergency tube of gel food coloring when they discovered the one from two Christmases ago had dried out—or in my case today, an emergency tub of fondant after Asshole had managed to get the lid off the container and stick her paws in it.
That cat had earned her name, trust me.
I made my way down the aisle to the baking section at the back of the store, and just as I turned the corner a body smacked into me, sending me flying. I landed on the floor with a jolt to my ass that I suspected I’d still be feeling tomorrow. Scrambling to sit up, I opened my mouth to give a piece of my mind to whoever hadn’t been looking where they were going. The words died in my throat as I stared up at the man who’d knocked me over.
He was a stranger. But more importantly, he wascute.
As in, exactly-my-type cute. I was weak for tall guys and redheads, and he was tall and leanandhe had deep red hair that peeked out from under his beanie. The stranger had warm brown eyes that made me think of caramel, pale skin that was currently flushed pink, and a mouth that looked like it was made for kissing.
I probably would have stared at him for longer except a bag of confectioners’ sugar slipped from his grip, letting out a puff of white powder as it landed next to me with a softwhump.
I reached out and picked it up, holding it up to him wordlessly.
“Thanks!” he said, his eyes bright as he retrieved the package. He set his handful of items on a stack of canned beans and extended a hand down toward me. “Need a hand?”
I gripped it and hauled myself up off the floor, then let go and rubbed my ass through my sweats and winced. I looked at him expectantly. Any minute now he’d say he was sorry for knocking me down, right? That was just common courtesy.
But instead he extended his hand again. “I’m Finn.”
I was tempted to snap at him, but I was aware that Morris was watching us with interest from over by the counter, and he was one of the biggest gossips in Sugar Hollow, so I forced a smile and shook his hand. “Cameron.”
Finn flashed me a brilliant smile that hinted at mischief—and okay, he wasdefinitelymy type. But he was also probably straight, because I couldn’t be that lucky.
But the way his gaze traveled over me slowly, combined with that charming smile, made me think he might actually be interested. My heart beat faster, and I wished I wasn’t wearing these ratty old Saturday sweats and my black sweater with the frayed neckline, because yeah, he was giving me the look of a man who was definitely interested.
And then I spotted it. A rainbow flag pin, shining out from among the folds in his scarf like a beacon.
Maybe Icouldbe that lucky.
I indicated his pile of groceries. “So, uh, shopping?”
Jesus, Cam. What else would he be doing, scuba diving?
See, this was why I kept to myself. I had all the social skills of a potato—less, probably, because potatoes were universally loved.
But Finn’s smile widened and he said, “Yeah. Sorry I ran you down, but I got distracted by the baking stuff. I wasn’t expecting to find fondant molds and powdered food coloring in a town this size, I guess, and I got overexcited.” He let out a soft chuckle, andhis cheeks got pinker. It might have been embarrassment, but I liked to think it was because he was as attracted to me as I was to him.
“You, um, you bake?” That was… better. Still hardly sparkling repartee, but I at least sounded like I knew how conversations worked.
Finn ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked down. “Yeah. You?”
Was there a way to sayI’m the best baker in townwithout sounding like an arrogant asshole? Asking for me.
“Yeah. Cookies and gingerbread houses,” I finally said, offering a smile of my own.
We stood there awkwardly for a few seconds while I tried to think of something else to say, but my mind had gone blank. Finally, Finn gathered up his armful of shopping, hooking his fingers through the handles of two buckets of fondant. “It was good to meet you, Cameron. Hopefully, I’ll run into you again.”
“Hopefully, you won’t. Run into me, I mean,” I said drily and he let out another chuckle, low and musical.
I allowed myself a flicker of hope. Maybe we could be friends—more than friends, even. Then I glanced past him to the baking display and saw that the fondant was sold out. A disappointed noise escaped me. “Oh,” I said. “I needed some of that, but it looks like it’s all gone.”
I gestured at the two buckets Finn had dangling from his fingertips and waited for him to offer me one—that would be the decent thing to do, right? But Finn just gave me a breezy smile and said, “Maybe they’ll get more in,” before strolling up to the counter, leaving me staring after him, confused and annoyed.
Could I make my own fondant? Of course I could, and it would be better than anything Morris was selling. But it was a pain in the ass to do, and more importantly, Finn didn’t know I could make my own. And yet it hadn’t even occurred to him tooffer to share his haul. No, he’d just waltzed in and scooped up the entire stock without a thought for anyone else. Obviously, the guy was a self-absorbed jerk.
I left the store empty-handed and spent the entire fifteen-mile drive over to the Walmart in Burlington fuming.
I should have known meeting a handsome, charming gay guy and expecting him to be a decent human being was too much to ask. Because Finn might be cute and flirty, but he was also an asshole.
