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“Did that old bag turn me in or file a report with the cops because of the plant scuffle?”
Dammit, this is what she gets for threatening senior citizens.
“What, dude?” the dude replied.
“The convenience store, where you work?” she clarified.
“I don’t work there. I was filling in for a friend that day.”
“Can you do that?”
He shrugged. “Why not? I did. I’m a jack of all trades, dabbling in many pursuits, including several agricultural endeavors.”
What the actual F did that mean?
She cocked her head to the side. “If you’re not here to serve me with a convenience store restraining order, what brings you to my house?”
“My nephew, Tanner Baker, is assisting me, so I can help you,” came another man’s voice. This voice didn’t contain the same hang ten cadence as the dude staring into the Lambo, but she recognized it, nonetheless.
And if she’d thought she was busted before, she was really in trouble now.
Tanner stepped out of the way, revealing a slight, older gentleman with a bald head and a white handlebar mustache.
Schuman Sweet.
The same Mr. Schuman Sweet who owned the Baxter Park Bakery, which had recently become a Cupid Bakery.
The man who, alongside his wife, had sold her family bonbons for the better part of her life.
And the person who’d banned her from the shop, pending a note from her grandmother.
“Mr. Sweet?” she eked out, hitting a high C.
“You’re the bakery owner, aren’t you?” Landon asked, studying the man.
She returned her attention to her husband. “You know him?”
“I recognize him.”
“As you should,” Mr. Sweet said matter-of-factly in his gentle German accent. “Many years ago, you used to come into the bakery with your sister and your parents, Mr. Paige.”
That’s right!Landon had mentioned he’d lived in the area before his parents died.
“I think your wife used to slip an extra bonbon into our order. That was your wife, wasn’t it, sir?” Landon asked, wonder coating his words like he’d opened a door in his mind that had been previously jammed shut.
The old man glanced away. “Yes, that was her. She liked to sweeten people’s orders with an extra bonbon or two. She’s…fine.”
Yikes, had there been a falling out between the Sweets?
Come to think of it. She hadn’t seen the woman in a while.
Still, Mr. Sweet’s lovelife wasn’t any of her business, and she’d had enough of the small talk.
She needed to know why Mr. Sweet had crashed her place with his surfer-dude nephew.
“It’s lovely to see you, sir,” she began. “What brings you to my house? I’m not in trouble, am I? Landon’s agent said she’d pay for the bonbons I…borrowed.”
“Stole,” the man corrected, “along with one of my baking sheets.”
