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“Now what?” I ask as the crowd dies down and people mill about.
“We wait for people to pay us. They’ll select their baked goods and we take the cash.”
“What was with your pissy comment in my office the other day?”
“Don’t play dumb, Mr. Vaughn. It doesn’t suit you.” She smiles as she takes cash from a woman and places it in the box.
“Thank you, these look delicious,” the woman says, holding up the tray she’s just purchased.
“Can’t go wrong with lemon bars,” Daphne says before taking a drop-off from someone else.
“I’m serious.” I take the tray of cookies she hands me.
“You should really be mindful of what you say in front of children. Your daughter asked me whatpissymeant when she was at my apartment and when I told her it was a bad word, she told methat’s what daddy called you.”
I almost burst out laughing but I stifle it, completely forgetting that I had said that in front of her. “Well, if the shoe fits.”
“It doesn’t,” she says defensively. “I’m not normally pissy. I’m actually a very pleasant and fun loving person. You just bring out the worst in me.”
“I won’t argue with that. It’s probably true.” She stops what she’s doing and looks over at me, probably surprised I just agreed with her.
“Thank you for doing this by the way,” she says, her tone suddenly softening.
“Did I really have a choice? You came into my office pretty hot.”
“I guess I did, huh?” She laughs and it’s sweet. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her genuinely laugh. “I was frustrated.”
“I understand the feeling.” Although I’m sure my frustration is completely different than hers.
“Oh, can you?” she asks, nodding toward the booth door that is just a large curtain. I reach around her, my chest brushing softly against her back. She turns her head to look back for a second and her hair tickles my nose. She smells sweet and sugary like one of these desserts, vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. My mouth waters, imagining running my tongue up her exposed neck.
I watch her cross the room, placing the baked goods down and arranging them when a man approaches her. They’re far enough away and, mixed with the other conversations happening around, I can’t make out what they’re saying but she starts to laugh. She reaches her hand out, playfully smacking his arm.
“I doubt he’s that funny,” I mutter as she almost doubles over. The guy looks like a douche, your typical blond, overmuscled gym bro who thinks it makes him look bigger to wear a shirt and pants that are two sizes too small. When he walks away, I notice his sockless ankles showing with his deck shoes.
“Hi,” someone interrupts my staring and I turn to see a woman with a young boy at her side. “I have some baked goods,” she says, thrusting some clearly store-bought cupcakes at me.
“Your name?”
“Xana, hey!” Daphne jogs back over to the booth, waving at the woman standing in front of me. They embrace when she approaches. “I was wondering if you were going to make it.”
“Yeah, sorry. I had to go pick up my nephew first. Is the kids’ fair in the gymnasium like last year?”
“Yes, he can head in there if he wants. Miss Pettigrew and a few other parents are watching in shifts. You ready to go have some fun, Peter?” she leans down, asking the young boy who nods his head. “Okay, you know where to go.”
“Mr. Vaughn, this is my best friend Xana. Her nephew is two years older than Daisy and goes here.”
“Pleasure.” I nod. “Did his parents get out of volunteering?”
Daphne flashes me a look. “They didn’t get out of it. They’re traveling internationally for a family funeral back in Spain. Normally, they would be here as well.”
Xana eyes me with a strange grin on her face before turning to Daphne. “You want to talk over here for a second?” She motions for her to follow her around the corner.
“I’ll be right back,” Daphne says to me as she links arms with her friend and walks out of sight.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, reading over a few emails when I hear Daphne giggle. The crowd of people that were talking walk away so I can hear the tail end of their muffled conversation. “Yeah, I’d say he’s one hundred percent the decadent, ooey, gooey double fudge sundae but honestly he’s kind of a total a—” A group of kids scream so I miss the last part of what she’s saying. I lean against the curtain, trying to hear the rest of the conversation but a second later she opens the side of the booth and pops back in.
“Gossip hour over?” I don’t bother looking up from my phone, hoping she didn’t notice me sitting back quickly. She ignores me, humming a little tune to herself as she looks over the list on the booth. “Who is Mr. Double Fudge Sundae?”
