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“How did you know that?”
“I know many things, dear.” He narrows his gaze at me.
“What does that even mean?” I feel my chest start to tighten. “Don’t do that. Tell me how you know that I haven’t been able to reach him?”
“He was here earlier. We had a really good talk.”
“What did you do?”
“Me?” He shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Why was he here?”
“To discuss his future.”
“With you?” My voice goes up an octave.
“Who better to discuss it with? It’s not like the poor boy has a father he can talk to.”
“Whatever.” I decide not to play into his hands. He’s trying to bait me. I know that much for sure. “I’m going to see him.”
“You do that.” A slow smile pulls up the corners of his mouth as he leans forward, pulling his computer back into his lap. “But when you get home, we’re finishing this conversation.”
As much as I want to argue, I’m too anxious to see Westin. Without another word, I spin on my heel and exit the house.
——
MY PHONE SPRINGS TOlife on the counter, but I’m too busy kneading my dough to glance at the screen. I already know who it is. It's not like I’m that popular and considering that this isn’t the first time it has rung over the course of the day, I can only assume it's the same person that’s called all the previous times.
Kari walks into the kitchen right as the phone signals a missed call. She looks down at the device and then back up to my flour covered body as I give the dough to my pie seven kinds of hell.
I blow a large chunk of my hair that has fallen loose from my ponytail out of my face and continue working the dough, knowing full well that I've done enough, but liking something to take my aggression out on. It's like a giant stress relief ball, only really big and edible.
“Now what did that dough ever do to you?” Kari laughs, crossing the kitchen toward me. She reaches up and pulls a bobby pin out of her hair and slides the strand hanging in my face out of the way, securing it with the pin.
“Thank you,” I say, grateful to have it out of my face.
“Him again?” she asks even though she already knows, gesturing toward the phone.
“No idea,” I grind out, kneading the dough even harder.
“Scarlett.” She places her hand on top of my dough covered ones. “I know that things didn't turn out the way you had hoped, but honey, you can't lock yourself in this kitchen day and night. We have more pastries and pies then we will ever be able to sell before they go bad.” She laughs lightly.
“I don't know what else to do,” I admit, plopping the dough onto a piece of plastic wrap before rolling it up so I can place it in the fridge to chill.
“Well there's a handsome man out in the lobby with a very sexy accent asking to speak to you,” she says, a slow grin pulling up her mouth.
“Carson?” I ask, knowing full well that's who she’s referring to.
“Yep.” She grabs the wrapped dough. “Now go wash your hands and see what he wants.” She points toward the sink.
“I'm not in the mood,” I whine. “And look at me.” I gesture to my flour and dough covered clothes.
“Iamlooking at you. You're beautiful.” She steps around to untie my apron, before twisting me back around and lifting it over my head.
“Kari,” I start, but she immediately silences me.
“Scarlett, go see what he wants. That's all I'm asking.” She points toward the sink for a second time.
