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“Thank you, dear,” she said, tucking it into her red plastic shopping basket. She continued to browse around the store for a few more minutes, and then Clarissa checked her out. Her smile had just fallen when the door dinged again. Three teens entered the shoppe, and Clarissa reached for her gloves. She knew what they wanted—ice cream.
“Hey, guys,” she said, her professional smile in place. “What can I get y’all?” She scooped and cleaned up while they lingered at the table, laughing and talking about something she didn’t care about. She just wanted them to clear out so when Spencer arrived with lunch, they had somewhere to sit.
Noon came and went, and Spencer didn’t.
Clarissa wiped up the table, checked the inventory, and realized she forgot to tell Spencer that the last hour on Saturdays was clearance time. The regulars knew that, and they’d come during those sixty minutes to get the almost-expired goods for half-price.
She’d just pulled out her phone to text Spencer that if he didn’t come in the next few minutes, she’d be too busy helping customers. Not only that, but he hadn’t helped in the shoppe at all that day.
“He’s not on the clock,” she reminded herself, and she turned from her unsent text when the bell on the door rang.
Spencer walked in, and she expected to see him carrying some brown bags he’d gotten from a drive-through somewhere. Instead, he carried a tray with a cloche on it. A legit cloche.
Surprise dove through her, and she said, “What in the world is that?” as he slid the tray onto the little table.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” he said. “I may or may not have had to start this meal a few times.”
Clarissa wasn’t sure if she wanted to eat whatever waited under that cloche, but at the same time, she couldn’t wait to see it. “Look at you.”
“You didn’t think I could cook, did you?” He gave her a half-smile, and she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about this sexy smirk. Her blood warmed, and she sank into the chair he’d pulled out for her.
“I don’t know what to think about you,” she admitted.
“I barely believe I made this, so don’t worry.” He chuckled and reached for the cloche. “I give you roasted tomato bisque with grilled cheese croutons.”
Clarissa’s mind blanked as he lifted the cloche with a flourish. Two bowls of soup sat there, as did a container of perfectly square, perfectly golden grilled cheese squares. “Let me finish it,” he said.
He dropped a few of the croutons into her bowl and offered her a squeeze bottle of sour cream. “All done.” He sat down next to her and put a couple of dots of sour cream in his soup.
“Where did you even get that?” she asked, indicating the bottle.
“I went to talk to your daddy about the job,” he said, passing her a spoon. “Your mama gave it to me.” He smiled at her, but Clarissa’s heart tapped out a strange rhythm with the idea of him talking to Mama.
She dipped her spoon into the soup, her mind racing. “What did you decide about the job?”
“He didn’t have much time to talk about it,” Spencer said. “So I’m coming to dinner at the farmhouse tonight.”
Clarissa had just lifted her spoon to her mouth, but she dropped it, the clatter of metal against bowl deafening in the shoppe.
“What?” she demanded. Spencer couldn’t come to dinner at the farmhouse tonight. It was Travis’s turn to cook, which meant they’d probably have some form of pizza or flatbread and a salad. Trav was a whiz with salads.
She just didn’t want Spencer to know that.
