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Chapter Ten
Clarissa rode with Spencer, though she was fairly certain she still had mud clinging to her clothes. She’d seen splatter like that before, and there was no way the men in her family would be able to clean it all. Once, months ago, the strawberry white chocolate ice cream base she’d been whipping up had suffered a mixer mishap. The appliance had gone on the fritz, and Clarissa still found droplets of dried, pink ice cream in various places around the kitchen.
The tension in the truck could’ve choked a man. It was definitely choking a woman, and Clarissa glanced over at Spencer. “They’re insane,” she said quietly, feeling slightly crazy herself. “I’m sorry.”
She had a strong suspicion her brothers’ loud mouths, quick tempers, and crotchety attitudes would prevent her from ever getting married. Those things had stopped them from finding someone to settle down with. She couldn’t even imagine Belinda Felton in that situation. She’d run silently from the house, and she’d never text Trav again. He was smart to take her out first, that was for sure.
Clarissa hadn’t had that option, and she glanced at Spencer as he took a peek at her. “It’s fine,” he said. “It was just a bad moment.”
“The whole night is filled with moments like that,” she said. “You watch, when we get back, the farmhouse will be stuffed from top to bottom with awkwardness and silence. Lee will have apologized, but Trav really hates it when he doesn’t look first. This isnotthe first time that discussion has happened.”
She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “Will’s always on his phone. Always dealing with a problem he doesn’t want to deal with. Lee’s managing a lot, and he’s under constant stress. Ford’s just a kid, and Queenie…well, Queenie likes mud and always has.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “I hate to say it, but I think they do the best they can.” She gestured across the dashboard. “And that was it. That was the best they have.”
Spencer chuckled and shook his head. “Honestly, Clarissa, it’s okay.”
“You can call me Riss,” she said. He had earlier that day, and she’d liked it. Daddy called her Rissa, as did a few of her closest clients and friends. Travis called her Rissy, and Lee used Riss. It had sounded intimate and kind when Spencer had used it earlier.
“Okay,” he said, and the drive continued in silence.
Clarissa watched the world go by her window, wondering when she’d started letting that happen in her life. It was amazing to her how days could fold into weeks, then months, and then years. The time slipped by just like the trees did along the side of the road, and the next thing she knew, eight years had passed with her making herb and cheddar cheese spread for housewives in Sweet Water Falls.
Anger bloomed inside her. This was not the life she’d envisioned for herself. It wasn’t even the life Mama had told her she’d have, which was one filled with love and amazing things. Joy and happiness. A husband, kids, a little dog running around.
She’d had one of those—a little white poodle she’d named Gemma. But when she’d left to go to culinary school, she’d re-homed the dog with an elderly couple in town. She wasn’t sure if they still had Gemma or not. She wasn’t sure if they were still alive or not. Her whole life had been wrapped up in trying out a new flavor of ice cream, experimenting with savory items in spreads, packing milk crates, and checking expiration dates on dairy products.
“My friends are going to bring my horse tomorrow,” Spencer said, his voice quiet and soothing. Some of the tightness in Clarissa’s body reacted to that almost lulling sound, and she began to relax. “Would you like to go riding with me? Do you ride still?”
Clarissa’s chest pinched. “Not for a while,” she admitted. She knew she suffered from tunnel vision, and she wondered if an optometrist could fix that for her. When she focused on something, it was like everything else just fell away. It didn’t matter that she’d once had dreams to be the best chef in the state. She had a black licorice ice cream recipe to tame. Friendships didn’t matter; relationships didn’t matter; heck, sometimes Clarissa would go all day without eating, because her focus was so razor-sharp on some aspect of the shoppe.
“It’s horseback riding,” Spencer said, a hint of teasing in his voice. “It’s like riding a bike. You don’t forget how.”
“What’s your horse’s name?” she asked, knowing she hadn’t committed to going riding with him. There was something about that pesky “yes” that she couldn’t quite say out loud.
“Mighty Mouse,” he said, and Clarissa looked at him to see if he was joking. Apparently, he wasn’t. She burst out laughing, and that felt so cleansing and so good.
He chuckled too, and with their laughter mingling, he reached over and took her hand in his. He drew it to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Don’t worry about dinner, Riss.” He spoke with so much strength and yet so much care too. “It’s just food. We’ll pick up pizza and go back, and it’ll be like Travis made it himself.”
“Yeah,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. She sighed as she sank further into her seat, finally relaxing all the way with the laughter, the sound of his bass voice, and the warmth from his hand in hers.
About the time they got back to the farmhouse with the pizza, Clarissa realized how much trouble she was in with Spencer Rust. Their eyes met, the scent of marinara and meats filling the space between them.
“So…,” he said. “Horseback riding tomorrow?” He was a persistent cowboy, she’d give him that. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to spur the relationship forward in one moment and then yank on the reins the next. That certainly wasn’t fair to Spencer. She thought about her big plans to take over the world one restaurant at a time, starting in San Antonio.
Too bad none of her applications had resulted in an interview, not even the one at Overlook, where she had Leslie vouching for her.
“Okay,” she said, still not giving him a yes. “But I work in the shoppe after church, so you’ll have to come find me.”
“Deal,” he said. Then he slid from the truck and opened the back door to collect the pizzas they’d gone to pick up. Clarissa didn’t move and instead, looked out the windshield at the farmhouse. It looked so serene and so peaceful, but she knew better.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “Can we have one hour where someone doesn’t get a horrible text, someone doesn’t yell, and someone doesn’t worry about the tractors? Please. One hour. In the grand scheme of things, I think that’s a very short time.”
Her door opened, and she turned toward Spencer. “Ready, Riss?” he asked, concern in those dark eyes.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
* * *
“It’s okay,”Clarissa said the next day, her heels almost clicking against the berber carpet as she hurried across the lobby of the church. “Honestly, Leslie, it is.”
