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“Okay, I’m sensing some kind of…tension here, so I’m gonna go find me some pie,” Elle says, then quickly walks away.
“Unbelievable,” Maize mutters before storming off.
I don’t let her get too far before following her into the kitchen. “You ever gonna tell me what your problem with me is?” I ask as she grabs something from the fridge.
“My problem is you’re always around. I’m not interested, and you aren’t getting the memo.” She slams the door and turns to face me.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” I hold up my palms to stop her before she runs off. “You’re not interested? I didn’t ask you out or anything.” The last time I offered to take her on a date was a couple of months ago.
“I can read between the lines, and I’m good with body language.”
“Is that so? Enlighten me then. What am I insinuating?”
She sets down the container and puts her hands on her hips. “You’re intrigued by me and want to ask me out again even though I’ve given you a million signs I’d say no. Yet, here you are.”
“The only thing that intrigues me is you refusing to admit we’ve met before. Why is that?” I cross my arms.
“Because we haven’t.” Her upper lip twitches, and it gives her away. It’s obvious she’s full of shit. It’s only a matter of time before she confesses the truth. The sooner, the better.
“Okay, have it your way then.” I shrug and walk away. Before going through the door, I look over my shoulder and smile. “I have a feelin’ you’ll be remembering very soon.” Then I flash her a wink and leave.
The B&B fills up with Bishops, and for the next hour, I eat Maize’s delicious desserts and chat with everyone. I hear her talking to someone behind me, but fight the urge to look since I can feel her eyes on me. She may not like that I called her out, but too damn bad.
“Gavin,” Grandma Bishop sing-songs my name as she opens her arms and wraps me in a tight hug. Though she’s not my grandma, it’s what everyone calls her.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I say, squeezing her back.
“How was your dinner at John and Mila’s?”
“Delicious. Maize didn’t disappoint one bit,” I emphasize her name, knowing she’s listening close by. “Her desserts are even better.”
“She’s a precious gem, ain’t she? We’re lucky to have her.” Grandma Bishop smiles proudly. After another minute, she excuses herself to make her rounds.
“You keep talkin’ about me, then wonder why I think you’re obsessed with me,” Maize quietly says so no one can eavesdrop.
“Obsessed? You keep avoidin’ me and say there’s no reason for it,” I retort. “Our night together is nothing to be embarrassed about, Maize.”
“You’re absolutely delusional.”
I take my time and check out her body before meeting her intense gaze. “Then why do you always have goose bumps when I’m around? Coincidence?” I pop a confident brow.
She narrows her eyes while simultaneously rubbing her bare arms. “Shut up. I don’t.”
I chuckle, bringing a hand to her shoulder and sliding it down to her wrist, feeling the bumps against the pads of my fingers. “Right. I believe you.”
Maize groans, creating space.
“Stop denying it, sweetheart.”
“You’re so full of yourself. Even if we had met before, I doubt it would’ve been anything memorable. So perhaps my mind did me a favor and blocked it out.” She flashes an eat shit grin, then stalks off.
Moments later, Grayson comes over and pats my shoulder. “Wanted to officially welcome you to the Bishop wrath.”
Chapter Six
MAIZE
FIVE WEEKS LATER
After an insane and busy Christmas, I’m excited I get to spend New Year's Eve with my cousins because I’m not working for once. I did an enormous dessert bar on Christmas Eve and then served a special brunch on Christmas Day. Since I gave my employees the holidays off, my mother and Kenzie helped. Having them around is always fun since we love baking cookies together, but it took four twelve-hour shifts to prepare everything.
Having Gavin at our house for Thanksgiving was awkward and tense. Thank God that pregnancy test Rowan made me take months ago came back negative, or shit would be hitting the fan right now. Giving him a tour and then him later confronting me was irritating as hell. I don’t understand why he won’t drop it and put the past behind us. It’s been four months, and if I have to see him every day, I’d rather him not have the satisfaction of knowing I do remember.
How could I forget?
Still doesn’t mean I want to admit it.
Denial, denial, denial.
That’s my motto.
It wouldn’t be that hard if he’d just stay out of my way, but he shows up at the B&B every damn day looking like a Southern temptation. If I don’t push him away with my attitude, I’ll end up right back in his bed.
