Page 64 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

I nearly choked on the cucumber water they’d offered me. “Yeah right. We’re nothing alike.”

“Are you kidding? You both come from big families with complicated reputations. You both believe that food brings people together in meaningful ways. You’re both perfectionists who care deeply about the quality of what you create.” Simone giggled. “The only difference is he’s an abrasive asshole and you’re a cinnamon roll.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “A cinnamon roll?”

“Sweet, warm, makes everything better just by existing. But still capable of burning someone if they’re not careful.”

The image was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve never been compared to baked goods before.”

“Trust me, it’s a compliment. Especially when you’re dealing with someone like Rhett. He needs someone who can match his intensity but temper it with kindness. You’re the warm and gooey and he’s the hard and crusty.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with that observation, so I focused on the pedicure process instead. The nail technician was now working on the massage portion. I had to bite back a moan of pleasure as she worked out knots I didn’t even know existed.

“Can I ask you something?” I said after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Of course.”

“What’s going on with you and Conroy?”

Simone’s cheeks immediately flushed pink. “That’s complicated too.”

“Seems to be the theme of this tour,” I said wryly.

“He’s not what I expected,” she admitted. “When I first met him, I thought he was just this big, goofy guy who didn’t take anything seriously. But he’s actually incredibly thoughtful. And funny.”

“And good with his hands?” I suggested, waggling my eyebrows.

“Clementine!” But she was laughing, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I’m just saying, the man has impressive knife skills even one-handed. I’m sure that translates.”

We dissolved into giggles like teenagers. I’d missed having female friendships. The culinary world was still largely male dominated. I spent so much time trying to prove myself that I had forgotten how good it felt to just be silly with another woman.

After our pedicures were finished—my toes now sporting a cheerful coral polish that made me smile every time I looked down—we decided to explore downtown Austin. The city was buzzing with pre-concert energy. There were people in cowboy boots and sundresses heading toward the venue where Blake Shelton would be performing later.

“We should get boots,” Simone said suddenly as we passed a Western wear store with an impressive window display.

“Boots?”

“When in Texas,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, we’ll look ridiculous if we’re the only people in Austin not wearing cowboy boots.”

“And hats?” I asked with a grin.

She shrugged. “May as well.”

The store was a wonderland of leather and fringe, with boots in every color and style imaginable. I found myself gravitating toward a pair of royal blue ones with intricate silver stitching and sparkly silver tassels that hung down from the back. They were completely impractical and absolutely perfect. I had nowhere to wear the damn things and wasn’t sure I was brave enough to try, but there was just something about them that drew me in.

“Those are amazing,” Simone said, though she was holding a much more sensible pair of black boots. “They’re so you.”

“They’re ridiculous,” I said, but I was already asking the salesperson for my size.

“Ridiculously perfect. You should get them.”

I tried them on, and despite the fact that they were unlike anything I had ever worn before, they felt right. Bold and confident and unapologetically feminine. I liked color. I liked breaking the mold. And I had a feeling it would piss off a certain someone.

“What do you think?” I asked, doing a little spin in front of the mirror.

“I think you look like someone who knows exactly who she is and isn’t afraid to show it.”