Page 55

To prove this point, I grab a spoon, dip it in, and lick the icing off slowly. Rhett’s entire expression melts, and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“How is it?” His voice scrapes. Someone’s rattled.

“You were right—delicious.” And it is. Vanilla flavored and sugary sweet.

Just as I’m scooping the icing into a piping bag, Mina appears with her assistant, clutching the phone. “And how are y’all doing over here?”

“Great. We’re about to ice the cookies.”

“And have you been bonding?”

Rhett, apparently more interested in proving to Mina we’re getting along than he is in maintaining our spatial boundaries, puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “We’re getting along great, Mina.”

“You have forty-five minutes. Will your cookies be ready in time?”

“I think so.” Rhett gestures to them. “See? They’re cooling now.”

“Looking good over here.” Then Mina shouts, “Everyone, y’all have some stiff competition from Rhett and Cristina!”

As she moves on, one of the couples shouts. Callie and Jeff high-five one another and then hug. When they pull back, their gazes linger.

And suddenly, there’s a lump in my throat. A big lump. A huge lump.

Even Clarice and Beau are in sync—heads down as they cut and ice the cookies.

I glance over at Jace and see him point something out to Holly, who pouts, leaning on one hip. Jace shrugs and she listens to whatever he’s saying, then nods, smiling.

Is baking really doing what Mina wants—bringing people together?

Maybe I’ve underestimated the quilt’s abilities after all.

I whip around. “Are you ready to ice—”

Just as I say it, my phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out and glance down at the message.

Watching you on the live stream, Kitty Kat. Looking like a winner already. Your old man’s proud. Don’t forget who you owe when that prize money comes through.

The tent tilts. My spine stiffens.

He’s watching.

My mind works a thousand miles a minute. Maybe I should call my dad, tell him what’s going on so he can get Glen to back off.

But if I tell my dad, he’ll probably wind up giving Glen the money he wants. What happens after that? Glen will bother him more and more. He’ll keep asking until we’re bled dry.

I’ve just got to lose, is all, and tell Glen there’s no money and not to bother my parents, either.

That’s what I’ll do. That, and keep busy. Bury the worry in my work.

My chest tightens and my lungs squeeze. The familiar burning ache settles into my lungs. Where’s my inhaler? Where’s my purse?

Then a warm hand squeezes my shoulder, and I blink, opening my eyes and finding myself staring into Rhett’s handsome face.

“You okay, there? You’re not about to pass out on me, are you?”

I wave him off. “No, I’m fine. Just . . . thinking, is all.”

Even here, Glen’s found a way to intrude.