Page 21 of Serving Bunt

I cleared my throat. “So . . . here we are.”

“Yeah.” Diaz shoved his hands in his pockets. “Baking. Did you ever think you’d see the day?”

I resisted the urge to smile. Just barely.

“I know tomorrow is just the first challenge—”

“The Naughty and Nice Bite,” he corrected.

“—but we should probably talk about the final bake since that one’s worth the most points. I brought three recipe options for us, including my granny’s award-winning Alabama Lane Cake.”

His lips tilted up in a grin. “Award-winning, you say?”

“Four blue ribbons at the state fair. Plus, one white ribbon, but everybody knows that that’s only because Ellen Sue Hausauer blackmailed one of the judges about his affair.”

Diaz’s jaw dropped. “Damn, Alabama. Who knew you were such a chismoso?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not gossip if it’s true.”

Mo pawed at my chest, clearly done being held. I set her down so she could sniff around the small patch of gravel between our cabins.

Diaz leaned back against the iron railing surrounding his porch, arms crossed loosely over his chest. I had to remind myself not to get distracted.

“Now, the recipes—”

“About that,” he interrupted smoothly. “What if we just wing it?”

“Wing it?” I echoed, staring at him.

He shrugged “They’re gonna throw curveballs at us anyway. No point in overplanning and stressing ourselves out before we even get started.”

“Says the guy with an eight-step pregame process.” I was seconds away from reaching over and knocking that infuriating smile off his face. “We’re about to be on national television. Millions of people, our family, our friends—they’re all going to be watching. Better we go in with some kind of plan instead of looking as lost as last year’s Easter eggs.”

“You really think a perfect plan is gonna save us if the judges ask for something completely off the wall?”

“I think it gives us a better chance than flying blind, Peter,” I shot back, frustration bleeding into my voice. “Some of us actually care about not humiliating ourselves in front of the entire country.”

Diaz tilted his head.

Heat crept up the back of my neck when his gaze dragged down my front and then back up again. Slowly.

Finally, when I couldn’t bear the weight of his stare any longer, I cleared my throat. “I just meant I don’t want us to look confused or out of place.”

“Say it again.”

I blinked. “What?”

“My name.”

My brain stalled out completely.

“Peter,” I breathed.

Something dark and hungry flickered across his face. For a second, I thought he might close the distance between us. For a second, I thought I might let him. Instead, he took one careful step back.

“Goodnight, Matty.”

He let himself into his cabin and closed the door behind him, leaving me standing there, dick throbbing, dog whining, silently replaying the last thirty seconds.