“Anytime ‘Baked with Ginger’ wants to make some more, let me know.”
“I’ll see when I can fit them in.”
“I’ve got more flexibility than you. If you pick a time, I’ll be there.”
“If you drop off some cannabis oil, I’ll make them and you can pick them up.”
“Hey, what’s this? Are you trying to squeeze me out of the biz already?”
No, I’m trying to avoid more alone time with you.
Smiling, I brush a lock of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I figured you have better things to do.”
“Better than spending time with you, G? Not a chance.”
Why does the smallest nicety from him make my stomach flutter?
“We could bake some next Sunday after closing.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Let me check the Patriots game schedule.”
I laugh. “So much for not having better things to do.”
“Come on. Give me a break. You know my whole family loves football.”
“I do, but I like to give you a hard time when I can.”
“I know you do.” He smirks. “Okay, Sunday after closing works. We have a one o’clock game.”
“Will you be grumpy if they lose?” I ask.
He places his index finger on my closed lips. “Hush, woman. Never speak of such things.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you’re superstitious.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t have a game shirt you wear?”
“Of course I do. I also have game boxers, socks, and a cap, but that doesn’t mean I’m superstitious.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” I say dryly.
“I’m not. It’s called supporting my team.”
I glance sideways at him. “If you say so.”
Roger comes onto the porch, putting an end to my teasing. “Ready?” he asks Jordan.
“Yep. I was waiting on you.” Jordan turns to me, looking like he might say something, but then he just smiles. He walks next to Roger and helps him climb into his truck.
I stand there long after Jordan’s taillights have disappeared. It’s the numbing bite of the cold air that finally snaps me from dangerous thoughts like what it would be like kissing him. The shield I’ve kept between us is starting to disintegrate, and I’m not sure if I can stop it from happening.Or if I want to.
CHAPTER 8
JORDAN
The next customer walks in, the scent of strawberries trailing behind her like a cloud of perfume. I glance up from the counter, half focused on inventory numbers, and give her my standard smile—the one that’s gotten me into first dates, out of sticky situations, and sometimes both of those scenarios on the same night.
