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“It’s okay. We need to find out whose it is. We’ll take it back and apologize. Maybe there’s a way to save it. Maybe I can use my stand mixer and buff out your name. Or—”
He sniffles. “I didn’t know it was an artwork. I thought it was a scrap piece, like all the others.”
My heart sinks for him. This isn’t his fault. What did I expect from a ten-year-old running wild through a craft fair? He didn’t mean to, but still… I don’t know what to do. I can’t afford to pay this much money for anything right now, let alone art. I hope I can return the piece and we can come to a sensible agreement.
“Hey, kid!” A man calls out, walking toward Preston and me.
This dude is undeniably the woodworker. The first giveaway is the flannel. Then there’s his body. He’s massive with broad shoulders, dark hair, and a chiseled jawline. His biceps practically beg to be chopping wood on a hilltop.
My heart thuds in my chest.Did he have to be smoking hot?
He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on. All sensibility flees my mind when he gets close enough to see his eyes. I haven’t talked to an attractive man since my divorce, let alone one I may now owe a large sum of money. It’s an awkward, dizzying combination.
I try not to gawk for too long, and eventually, I hold up the piece of wood. “Is this yours?”
Cool, Everly, real cool.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah… My name’s Hunter Richards. I have a booth a little over that way.” He jabs his thumb back to where he came. His voice is rough but kind, and I seem to have lost mine altogether.
“Everly Tiding.” I reach out my hand. He shakes it, and I swear my fingers tingle where his skin touches mine. “I’m Preston’s mom. I’m so sorry about this. I sent him out there by himself. But he knows better…” I ramble and offer him the piece of wood.
He doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks over my head. “I have an idea. How about we chat about it over some cookies?” He gestures toward the food truck behind us.
“What?” I’m taken aback. I’d almost forgotten thatJingledwas here at all.
“Unless you have anything in the oven right now.”
I shake my head. “Just icing, but that can wait.”
“Perfect,” he says, grinning. “What do you recommend?”
Chapter Two Hunter
As I sit across from one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, I’m completely taken. Who would’ve thought that losing a piece that took me three weeks to carve would be the best thing to happen to me in a long time?
There’s something about Everly I can’t put my finger on. It’s an odd mix of strength and vulnerability that makes me wonder what she’s been through. I’m drawn to her, overwhelmed by the need to protect her. It’s an odd sensation. Especially for me, but it’s undeniable.
“You know what you did was wrong, correct?” She cuts her eyes at her son, and he dips his head, taking a bite of his gingerbread man. “There’s a line for a reason. You’ve got to wait your turn.”
“No harm done,” I tell her. I reach out and grab one of the Christmas trees decorated beautifully in icing and sprinkles. I take a bite. “This is delicious.”
Pink stains her cheek, and she dips her head. “Thanks, it’s an old recipe from my grandmother.”
Preston looks up at his mother, a quizzical look on his face. “I didn’t know grandma baked.”
“Ha, no. Diane Tiding hasn’t gotten near a carb in over a decade.Mygrandma. It seems baking skips a generation in our family.” A tight smile tugs at the corner of her full lips, and I can’t look away.
Preston shrugs.
“How long have you been baking?” I shove the rest of the cookie in my mouth. I generally don’t eat too many sweet things, but I could shamelessly gorge myself on a whole tray of these.
“I started when I was a kid, but I took a long break,” she tells me. “I spent a lot of time with my grandmother, who taught me everything she knew. When she passed, I decided to keep her legacy alive through my baking. This has always been my dream. It just took me a while to get here.” She shakes her head at Preston, patting his head and pulling a crumb from his shaggy blonde hair.
My eyes dart to her left hand, no ring. That is a good sign. It’s been a while since I’ve dated, and I’m out of practice, but I know I want more time with her. I take her in while my brain scrambles for the right words. “You seeing anyone?” Is what I settle on.Dammit.
“What?” Her face washes crimson.
“You know, dating. Ugh.” I run a hand along the taut muscles on the back of my neck. “Sorry, the mountains aren't a hot spot for meeting people. I don’t know if that’s out of line, but I’m not sure I care. I want to take you on a date, so I need to know for the record that you’re not dating anyone.”
