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Chapter Fourteen
Watching Spencer make cream cheese and then Cooper & Co’s most popular spreads made Clarissa realize two things: He was an incredibly sexy man, and she could easily be replaced by anyone.
One didn’t need a culinary degree to do what she did around the farm, obviously. Spencer could read a recipe and follow it, and though it took him longer to chop the garlic and his big cowboy hands fumbled over measuring the delicate herbs, he got the job done right.
Her chest felt like someone had placed her in a vice and was slowly squeezing the life from her. Had the last eight years been a waste of her time? Her life? Why had she come back here to the farm when she could’ve followed Leslie to the city to get the experience everyone seemed to require?
She was so sick of that line—needs more experience. How was she supposed to get that experience if no one would hire her?
“Done,” Spencer said, and he carried the sun in his expression. He beamed at the spreads he’d made and then her. “I did it, Riss.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice choked. “You did.” She reached for the first stack of garlic and herb spread containers, which she’d labeled during the demo. “Let’s get them out into the front fridge.” She led the way, because she couldn’t bear to look at Spencer. No one had come into the shoppe in the past hour or two, which was typical for Thursday afternoon. It would be tomorrow when customers would pick up.
“The shelves are labeled,” she said, sliding the older container to the front. “Old product goes up front. Newer behind it.”
“Got it,” Spencer said, and she had no doubt he did.
She marveled that three gallons of milk could make thirty-six containers, just as she always did. It didn’t take as long to move them as it did to make them, and Spencer put the last of the smoked cheddar and bacon spread into the fridge only a few minutes later.
“So you do that twice a week?” he asked, looking at one of the older containers. “You made this on Monday.”
“Yes,” she said. “Mondays and Thursdays, usually. Depends on how busy the week is. Sometimes I make the weekend products on Friday morning, but you probably won’t have time for that.”
He nodded and slid the refrigeration unit closed. “Do you know who your dad is going to hire for the morning shoppe time?”
“I don’t think he is,” she said, turning away from Spencer again. “They’re just not going to open until noon, when you come over from the farm.”
“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else, and that was exactly how Clarissa felt. Honestly, it felt like the two hours she spent there in the morning—which was really more like three, after she finished her dairy product pick-ups and came straight here—weren’t necessary. Thatshewasn’t necessary.
She suddenly needed to be outside, away from walls, ice cream boards, labeled cheese spreads, and Spencer Rust. She said nothing as she strode toward the door of the shoppe, which she’d painted a bright, cheery blue, and practically exploded outside.
“Riss?” Spencer asked behind her, but she kept on going. A car pulled into the lot when she was halfway across it, and she recognized Phillipa Grove, who came to buy milk and cheese curds at least once a week.
Clarissa didn’t turn back; Spencer knew how to use the tablet to check someone out. He could find milk and cheese in the small refrigeration units.
No one needed Clarissa. No one here at Sweet Water Falls Farm. No one wanted her in San Antonio. No one, and she barely made it to the back side of the barn, away from the lot, the shoppe, and anyone who might be able to see her, before she burst into tears.
* * *
The loud knockon her door later that night told her one of her brothers had brought her dinner. Probably Travis.
Clarissa sighed as she got off the couch, where she’d spent most of the afternoon. She’d texted Spencer that she wasn’t feeling well, and she’d retreated to her house. She’d found a warm blanket despite the summertime temperatures, put on a romantic comedy, and taken a couple of naps.
She opened the door, expecting to find her youngest brother standing there, a plate of food covered with aluminum foil. They weren’t fussy in the Cooper family, that was for sure.
Travis did stand there, but so did Spencer, and they both had something in their hands. Travis grinned at her and said, “Mama sent this for you.” He lifted the Tupperware container of what looked like chicken noodle soup. “And I ran into this scoundrel on the way over. He said he had dessert.”
“I know she likes dessert first,” Spencer said, smiling first at Travis and then switching his gaze to Clarissa. He turned more serious, though the sparkle in his eye didn’t die by any means.
Her muscles clenched, and she wondered how easy it would be to get them all replaced. Surely there was someone somewhere who could help her with that. “I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need Mama’s magic soup.”
“Do you really think I’m leaving here with it still?” Travis shook his head and pushed his way past her and into the house. “I’ll just leave it on the counter. That way, when Mama quizzes me about it, I can say you have it.”
“It’s summertime,” Clarissa said after him, turning away from Spencer. “It’s too hot for soup.”
“Mama doesn’t believe there’s anything that doesn’t call for soup,” Travis said, grinning as he faced her. “Eat it or don’t. I just know I’m not going to be taking the heat for not dropping it off as I was asked to do.”
“Mama shouldn’t even be cooking,” Clarissa said, collapsing back onto the couch. Guilt flowed through her that she’d caused her mother grief with a fake illness. She closed her eyes as the scent of chocolate went past, though that almost made her perk up.
