Batter of Wits (Green Valley Chronicles #22) - Smartypants Romance Page 0,45

carrot cake," I told him.

He held out his fist, and I bumped it with my own.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why are we binging on sugar before we've even had lunch?"

It was Tucker's face I saw when I closed my eyes again.

Because all I saw when I did think about it was the look in his eyes when I almost started crying. Crying! If it wasn't so ridiculously tragic—me falling prey to the same curse I'd mocked my entire life—I'd almost be able to laugh at myself for how I was acting.

Mooning over the way his thickly lashed eyes looked like the exact shade of deep brown of my favorite coffee.

Picking apart the things he'd told me, turning them over and over in my head like a kaleidoscope.

Worrying over what it meant for him that not a single person in his life could see that he hated his job.

This wasn't me, or not any version of me that I was aware of. The men I'd dated in LA were shallow, dates almost comically boring, and nothing that might entice me to try a serious relationship. Underneath all that apathy was a dormant minefield, waiting silently for someone to step in the exact right spot.

Enter Tucker Haywood and boom! Everything around me detonated into plumes of dust and destruction.

Explosion after explosion, from one conversation that I'd probably replay a hundred times before I saw him again, until I couldn't tell what was left in the aftermath.

"Grace," my brother said, and I blinked. From the way he said it, it wasn't the first time he'd called my name.

"Sorry."

The scrawny beanpole of a kid waited patiently behind the counter. "What can I get for you today?" He gave me a tiny grin. “No muffins, I’m guessing?”

I gave him a look. “Probably not.”

Grady glanced between us. “Why not?”

I blew out a hard breath and stared past the glass again. "The Nutella croissant, a slice of lemon pound cake, a wildberry tart …" My eyes darted down the rows with greedy anticipation. "And a piece of carrot cake."

From the look in his eyes, I couldn't decipher if he was terrified or impressed. "Okay."

"The big piece in the corner," I told him, tapping the glass in front of the one I wanted. "That one right there."

He glanced warily at my brother. "Anything else?"

Grady cleared his throat. "Uh, just a pecan roll for me, thanks."

The kid went about boxing up my order, and I felt Grady's gaze on the side of my face.

"Not one word," I told him.

"Wasn't going to."

In my head, I started counting backward from ten until he said what he was going to say.

Four, three, two, one.

"So, the last time this happened, the ‘mass bakery purchasing to cover up some unknown emotional distress,’" he mused, handing over his card to pay, "was never. And I'm trying to decipher exactly what's happening here to cause such a phenomenon."

I kept my face even as I looked up at him. "Good luck with that."

He could decipher away. He could decipher until the cows came home, but my twin brother would never, ever guess what was in my head, no matter what kind of mental bond we shared.

Grady smiled at the skinny kid, lifting the bag that held all my goodies. We stepped out of line and as I tried to pull out the top container, he yanked the bag out of my reach.

"You motherfu—"

Someone cleared their throat behind me, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a little old lady from the fair planning committee giving me a sternly disapproving look.

"Language," Grady admonished.

I scratched the bridge of my nose with my middle finger.

His eyes were more amused than I would've liked as he looked over my shoulder toward the entrance of the bakery. "Can I take a wild guess at what your problem is?"

While his attention was elsewhere, I snatched the container holding my croissant and clutched it to my chest. "Go ahead. You'll be wrong, which is always fun for me."

Grady waited while I flipped open the plastic lid and shoved half the croissant in my mouth in one massive bite.

"Ohmygah dis is goob," I said around the flaky sweetness. This is what baking was supposed to taste like. Happiness. Pure, sugary happiness.

"It's Tucker Haywood, isn't it?"

The croissant lodged in my throat, and I bent over as I tried to cough it loose. I could practically feel all the eyes in the bakery on me as I hacked like a cat losing a hairball