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“Yeah. That’s the reason.”
His gaze narrowed. “Got a mouth on you for such a little thing, don’t you? Surprised Saxon puts up with that.”
“You know him well?” She knew she shouldn’t question him but she was burning with curiosity about Saxon. Even though she’d heard stories of the way he liked to interfere in everyone else’s lives, when it came to his own life, no one seemed to know him that well at all. Except for Jake, she guessed. The sheriff and Saxon were close. Apparently, Jake had been married to Saxon’s sister, who’d died a few years ago.
It was difficult to imagine him with a family.
Really, Aspen? Did you think he was just hatched? More likely created in some laboratory, because it was very hard to believe he was that gorgeous naturally.
The other man shrugged. “Well enough, I guess. I know that the subs he usually gets involved with are always well-trained, and obedient. He likes to be in charge and not just when playing. He’s definitely not into brats with smart mouths.” He reached out and flipped open the lid of the box.
Smart mouths? Like her? Not that it mattered to her what his type was anyway.
He sliced a piece of pie, moving it to a plate. He held it up to the light and studied it. “Hmm, looks good.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, I can’t stand that much praise,” she said dryly.
He gave her a look. “Appearances mean nothing if it tastes like dried-up cardboard.”
“It does not taste like dried-up cardboard,” she retorted. She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. Damn, he was infuriating.
He put the plate down and reached for a fork.
“Is he going to call this place Saxon’s?” she asked curiously.
He snorted. “That would be damn confusing. Could you just imagine people turning up next door for their dinner reservation? Here, ma’am, would you like a paddling to go with your dessert?” He laughed, clearly pleased with his joke.
She rolled her eyes. Then looked on, surprisingly anxious as he forked up some pie and tasted it. His face gave nothing away as he swallowed.
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
“Not bad.”
Not bad? “It’s better than not bad! My pies sell out at the diner.”
“Well, that’s the diner. This is a fine dining establishment.”
“I’m not selling them here!”
“We’ll see. You had any training?”
“In what? Baking? No.”
He grunted. “You make anything other than pie? Or are you a one-hit wonder?”
She knew who she’d like to hit. She forced herself to loosen her fists. “Yes, I can.”
He ran his gaze over her. “Don’t know. They say you should never trust a skinny baker.”
“Is that what they say? Tell me, what do they say about grumpy, rude chefs?”
His lips twitched. “They say you should do exactly as they tell you.”
“That so?”
“Got a temper on you, don’t you? You look kind of meek and mild. Was worried for a moment that you’d start crying as soon as things heated up. Can’t have that in my kitchen. Don’t know if I want someone arguing with me all the time, though.”
“Then I’ll just leave.” He wasn’t making much sense anyway. She kind of felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and found the Mad Hatter.
