She scrunches her nose. “Don’t thank me. Besides, I thought we were partners in this venture.”
“We are, which reminds me. I forgot to show you something.” I pull my phone from my pocket and bring up a photo. I hold the screen in front of her so she can see what the pumpkin bars looked like when I sold them.
“Baked With Ginger,” she reads out loud, then glances at me. “You had labels made?”
I grin. “I made them myself.”
“Look at you. And you even wrapped each bar up individually.”
“What did you think I was going to do? Have them sitting on a plate on the counter?”
Her expression tells me that’s precisely what she imagined.
“Now that you know what a professional job I did, what do you think?” I ask, fishing for a compliment.
“Honestly, I’m shocked and extremely impressed by my business partner. I didn’t realize what a professional operation this would be.”
“Come on. I don’t do anything half assed,” I say, grinning.
She arches an eyebrow. “That’s true.”
“Also”—I reach in my other pocket and pull out some money—“here’s your portion from the sales.”
“What? No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t expect to make anything from doing this. I thought we were just joking about being partners.”
“Of course we’re splitting the profit. I wouldn’t be selling these if it weren’t for you.” I place the money on the counter.
“You’ve done enough for me already—hanging shelves, hanging lights at my house, and now decorating my shop.”
“Too bad.”
She groans. “Jordan.”
I groan back. “Ginger. I’m not changing my mind about this.”
“Fine,” she finally relents. “But you’re not allowed to hang any more decorations.” She brushes imaginary crumbs from the counter.
“Why not? You don’t always have to do everything alone.”
Her gaze raises to mine again. “I know, but it’s easier not to need anyone.”
Her reply hits me harder than expected, and I find myself reaching out, touching her arm. “I understand, but I’m here. You can count on me—I want you to count on me.”
She stays silent, looking at me, and then she slowly steps forward and into my arms. Her head tucks against my shoulder as I hold her without overthinking or letting doubts creep in. I only focus on this moment and how right she feels in my arms.
It doesn’t last nearly long enough, and when she pulls back, she gives me a gentle smile. “I should go cut the bars.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, fighting the overwhelming urge to drag her into my arms once more. I need to put some space between us. I hurry toward the door, calling over my shoulder, “I’ll go supervise the decorating.”
CHAPTER 11
GINGER
Imove over to the pumpkin bars, still feeling the ghost of Jordan’s solid arms around me. I hugged him. Or maybe he hugged me. I can’t remember who moved first. All I know is, for a second, it felt like we weren’t pretending just to be friends anymore.
Grabbing a knife, I start cutting through the dessert. The edges are firm as I carefully slice through them. My hands are steadier than I expected after being in Jordan’s arms.
I’ve known him forever, and have seen him at his best and his worst. I’ve seen him fight with his brothers, flirt with more women than I can remember, split the seat of his pants while sledding when we were teenagers, and the list could go on and on. But lately, I’m seeing him through a new lens, and some of my favorite moments we’ve shared are like snapshots in my mind. And now this hug has joined them.
