“And most importantly,” she continued, lifting a third finger, “force-feeding customers the crushed remains of their own electronics wouldn’t be good for business.”
Her face might be a serene mask, but those pale blue eyes were sparkling.
She was enjoying this. So was he.
“Pedant,” he accused.
Her steady gaze held his. “Misanthrope.”
“Whatever.” His aggrieved harrumph hid a smile. “Come on, Dearborn.”
Taking her elbow, he hustled her into his work area and closed the door firmly behind them. As soon as it clicked shut, the muffled roar of excited chatter drowned out the soft jazz playing over the speaker system.
Within five minutes, everyone in Harlot’s Bay would know about the reunion. He didn’t give a shit. Molly washere. They were face-to-face and alone, at long last, and—
And something about having privacy had changed things. Not in a good way.
She stepped back from him and looked around herself. “Impressive operation, Dean.” Without moving another inch, she withdrew further, her tone turning formal. “Clearly, I caught you inthe middle of doing something important. Sorry to have bothered you. Now that I know you’re fine, I’ll head back to—”
No. She wasn’t going to disappear on him again. Not until he said what he needed to say.
The words weren’t hard to find. He’d been rehearsing them for twenty long years.
“We’d broken up,” he interrupted hurriedly. “Becky and me. Called it quits soon after she left for university. I was a dumb kid and didn’t tell you. Too embarrassed. So I know what you must’ve thought, and I get why you disappeared on me. But it wasn’t true. Before I started dropping my stupid hints, Becky’d dumped me. For good.”
There. He’d told her. Fuckingfinally.
“I see.” Her eyes met his again, and she leaned a hip against his stainless-steel work table, arms loosely crossed over her chest. Still guarded, but willing to linger.
“That’s what happened, right? Why you cut me off?”
She nodded. “You’re not the world’s subtlest man, Karl. Those weren’t exactlyhintsyou dropped. In that last email, I believe you inquired as to whether I found”—her forefingers and middle fingers formed air quotes—“‘big motherfuckers’ hot or not, before soliciting my opinion on dating”—her fingers scrunched again—“‘assholes with red beards and high school diplomas whose homemade eclairs would make your taste buds detonate in sheer goddamn joy.’”
Yeah. Sounded familiar.
She added, lips faintly curved, “Which, it must be noted, is not physiologically possible.”
All these years later, the woman still liked yanking his chain.And all these years later, she still hadn’t answered the crucial question. “Would you have said yes to a date with me? If you’d known Becky and I were through?”
She nodded again.
The shitty verdict was in: Eighteen-year-old Karl had beenincrediblystupid. But there was no going back, so he’d have to do better now. Better enough to make her stay. In his bakery, short-term.
Assuming she was single? In Harlot’s Bay, long-term.
He heaved a gusty sigh. “Showing my interest before explaining the breakup? Dumb move on my part. I get that. Even back then, I got it.”
A timer went off, and he silenced it. Didn’t even glance toward the oven. Every fucking pie in there could burn, as long as he kept her here.
“Wish you’d have trusted me, though. At least enough toask.” He thrust a finger in her direction. “Not a cheater then. Not a cheater now. Not a cheaterever.”
That point deserved some damnemphasis.
Her mouth pursed. “The issue of cheating was... um...sensitivefor me, and since you didn’t say anything, I figured you and Becky were still together. I had no way to know that wasn’t true. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t ask for an explanation before just cutting you off.”
Dearborn looked genuinely guilty—which gave him an idea. The greatest fucking idea ever. He couldusethat guilt. Use his wronged-party status to keep her in Harlot’s Bay and earn her trust.
Timing wasn’t right, though. He needed to work up to tellingher about his burst of genius. Make her more comfortable with him and more likely to say yes.
