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He dove back in with enthusiasm.
Chapter Nineteen – Brock
Along time later, they finally got around to eating the chicken, mint, and lettuce wraps with Thai peanut sauce packed in the picnic basket along with a salad of shredded carrots and radishes in sweet vinegar flavored with fish sauce, and apple turnovers.
“It’s a shame to leave all those cherries to the birds and squirrels,” Summer said, studying the trees laden with ripe red fruit while licking pastry crumbs from her fingers. “And I’ve got a great recipe for a pie that you can make with either sweet or tart fresh cherries.”
“Cherry pie’s my favorite,” said Brock. “Let’s do it. We can bundle the cherries in the picnic blanket and tie up the edges.”
∞∞∞
Back at the ranch house, the horses unsaddled, rubbed down, and back in their stalls, Brock and Summer sat on the ranch house’s wide verandah, and began pitting their haul of cherries.
The text message he’d accidentally read on her phone this morning lingered in his thoughts. “So, what are you planning to do once our ninety days are up?”
He knew it was stupid, but he hoped she wanted to stay, at least a little longer.
Summer’s face lit up. “I’m looking forward to reopening SummerTime in San Francisco with a new look and a completely revamped menu. In fact, I’ve been working on the menu in my free time.” She shot him a wry smile. “Mom’s been letting me test recipes in her kitchen. Her ovensucks.”
Brock’s stomach dropped.She’s been cooking without me?
It was stupid, but the news that she was working on her own private menu felt like a betrayal somehow. He fought not to let his feelings show. “Uh, what type of dishes are you putting on your new menu?” He forced a smile. “I’ve got a killer chicken piccata recipe, if you’re interested.”
She grinned at that, dumped a handful of pits into the tin waste bucket at her feet, and reached for more cherries. “I’m completely reworking my restaurant concept. I want to move away from a traditional lunch and dinner service, and switch SummerTime over to an upscale small plates and signature cocktails place. Not only are the profit margins great, especially on the cocktails, but the tables turn over a lot more quickly, too.”
She sounded really excited.
I should be overjoyed that she’s leaving me to run The Yummy Cowboy Diner my way, without having to argue over every damned thing with her.
But he wasn’t happy. Not at all.
Today had been perfect, and he wanted more days like that with her.
Well, I’ve always been a greedy bastard.
His expression must’ve betrayed him.
“Look, Brock,” she said, her expression somewhere between apologetic and defiant. “You’re a great guy and a talented cook. And despite what you might think, I really enjoy working with you. And our, um, fling, has been a lot of fun.” She looked down, her tanned cheeks flushing.
She was so damned adorable that it almost made him forget she was delivering bad news about their newly forged partnership. “But the only reason I’ve stayed this long in Snowberry Springs was because Grandma asked for help.”
Something about the way she said that tipped him off that there was stuff she wasn’t telling him.Like developing a new menu and not mentioning anything about it until now?
But before he could probe further, she said, “Speaking of working on projects, have you thought about putting together a book of your gran’s recipes?”
He blinked at her, thrown off by the sudden shift in the conversation. “Uh, no.”
“You should do it,” she urged. “Then you could publish it and sell it at The Yummy Cowboy Diner, along with branded merchandise like t-shirts and caps, once the LVR brings tourists to town.”
“It sounds like a project for the winter months,” he replied.
That was when it got dark early, when his garden went into hibernation, and when it was too fucking cold to spend much time outdoors.
And from the sounds of it, he’d be spending his indoor time alone again this winter, instead of snuggled up with her.Dammit.
They continued pitting cherries in silence for a while. Then Summer began talking about the benefits of that damned POS system again. Ms. Fancy Pants was every bit as stubborn as he was. She still hadn’t given up trying to convince him the diner needed it.
Later, when the cherry pies were in the oven and filling the ranch house with the mouthwatering fragrances of browning pastry, cinnamon, and hot cherry juice, he asked, “So, do you want to come back to the cottage when these pies are done?”
