Here Comes Trouble Page 0,59
lost her mind. At that point she didn’t care if she ran his toes over or cleared off half the display stand. She shoved the cart the rest of the way past the display case and kept on going. Brett was just going to have to save himself.
Which he apparently did, as he was beside her before she reached the bakery counter. “Sorry about that,” she said.
“About what? He seemed like a nice enough guy. And it’s Boston. You know, in case you ever get stuck again.”
“Boston?” Then her expression cleared. “Oh. Boston Bruins. Well, Boston is in New England. I was close.”
Brett just chuckled.
Kirby rolled her cart to a stop beside the baskets of French bread. “And you’re right, Thad is basically harmless. Thanks for being so nice to him. You probably just got him at least a half dozen free beers down at Swingert’s Pub on that one story alone. Of course, it will probably sound a little different by the time he’s telling his buddies. By that time he’ll have been the one giving you poker tips. Fair warning.”
“Warning taken.” He was still smiling.
“I just—I thought you’d rather not have it blabbed all over about…you know. And Thad is worse than an old woman when it comes to gossip. Mostly because he makes it his business to know every last thing about everyone within a fifty-mile radius of the town limits, and given we’re not exactly riddled with crime, and with the resort hotel more than half empty, he doesn’t have much else to do except run his mouth. So I’ll apologize up front if you’re suddenly inundated with questions from nosy townsfolk.”
He slid the long loaf of bread from her hands and merely smiled at her as he put it in the cart. “There’s only one nosy townsperson I’m interested in talking to at the moment. What do you say we blow this pop stand? Do we have everything we need?”
“I have wine back at the inn, so…yes, I think we’re good.” She looked in the cart. “Wait, where is the spaghetti sauce?”
He pointed to the cans of tomatoes and tomato sauce. “Right there. You have a decent spice rack?”
“Um…well. Like what, exactly?”
“Oregano, salt, maybe a little garlic to make garlic toast with the bread. Butter?”
“Maybe we should hit the spice aisle. Just in case.” She silently groaned, thinking that getting there entailed crossing to the opposite end of the store again. All she needed was for them to cross paths with Thad again, or Helen, or anyone else Thad had cornered in order to share his latest piece of news.
Brett’s long-legged stride kept up pretty easily with her sprinting pace. “Hungry?” he asked as she took the spice and condiment aisle almost on two wheels.
“Just not big on dawdling.”
He plucked the appropriate spices off the shelf so easily it was clear he’d made his way around them in the past. “Or cooking,” he said, half teasing, half asking.
“I do okay.” As long as it came out of a box, can, or prepackaged tray. And was only responsible for feeding herself. There was a reason the only actual full meal she offered was a box lunch. Sandwiches and chips she could do. Bagels, muffins, little boxes of cereal in the morning, some hot coffee and juice? Check. She’d been doing setups for that stuff since she was six years old and had proved to Mabel, the resort dining room manager, that she could reach the countertops without knocking anything over. But cooking where actual ingredients and a hot burner or three were involved? Yeah, the fire department could only do so much. Why risk it? Not to mention that poisoning her guests by actually preparing full meals from scratch generally wasn’t seen as a good business-building tool.
“Just okay?” he asked, that teasing glint surfacing again. And she realized then what she’d missed before, when he was talking to Thad.
His smile had been easy enough, his body language friendly and open, but his easy smile hadn’t reached his eyes. She wondered if it was sort of like a role he played. It went past just being polite to charming enough that most folks probably didn’t notice they were bothering him. Both Helen and Thad had surely felt like he’d personally connected with them.
“All right, barely okay,” she said, figuring what difference would the honesty make at this point. “I’ll be in charge of chopping up the fresh things that don’t require a stove.”
“Ah,” he said. “Got it.