skin. Because Noah Tucker and his above-standard-issue pistol packed enough power to tempt her good parts to come out of hibernation midwinter.
To complicate things further, Noah had correctly guessed that she was Sweet’s Secret Samaritan. Of course she’d denied it, but he hadn’t believed her. When she’d left him standing there to finish her good deed, she’d felt certain he’d rat her out. Faith had successfully kept her secret identity a secret for fifteen years and seventy-two random acts of kindness, leaving but eleven transgressions to make right. But maybe Noah was the honest and decent guy Faith had dreamed up in high school. Didn’t matter. His trip home was nothing more than a drive-through howdy.
“Nope. Not a single flutter.”
Gina smiled and popped half of a biscuit into her mouth. “Okay.”
Faith wasn’t buying it. The odds of Gina, her nosiest friend, dropping the subject so easily was about as likely as Mrs. McKinney landing on the cover of the Victoria’s Secret Christmas catalog.
“Okay, what?”
“That’s it. Okay.” Gina’s grin said it wouldn’t be okay until Faith admitted that she’d felt flutters. Which she totally had—stupid hormones. “I’ll take that coffee now.”
Trying to figure out what just happened, Faith took two steps, then spun around to eyeball her friend, waiting for the catch. But there was no catch. Gina was back to studying her brief and Logan was elbow-deep into a bowl of Mrs. McKinney’s award-winning chili.
Shaking off her rising paranoia, and residual flutters from hearing Noah’s name six times in the last five minutes, Faith went back to work.
She was still thinking about those flutters long after Gina left with a suspect smile, when the early dinner crowd began—meaning every resident of retirement age arrived to cash in on the B-Cubed’s BEFORE FIVE IF YOU’RE STILL ALIVE blue plate special.
Faith seated a couple in the corner booth, then saw someone at the register, waving to get her attention. Thankfully, it was Ester Rayborn, and she was waving her restaurant bill and not dollar bills. At least Faith thought it was Ester behind the dark glasses and mauve hat, which was pulled down past her eyebrows.
“How was your meal?”
“Wonderful as always, dear,” Ester said, looking anything but. She was glancing this way and that, over her shoulder, around the diner, scanning the parking lot, all the while talking to Faith. “I’d like to add some cookies to go before you run my card, if that’s all right.”
“Not a problem.” Faith waited but the woman didn’t move. “Will that be debit or credit?”
“Oh heavens me.” Ester put her credit card on the counter, then placed a hand to her chest. “I’m so nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before. I even sent Woodrow to the car saying I had to conduct some official bake sale business, but he doesn’t ever sit still for long so we’d better hurry.”
“Let me ring you up and—”
“No!” Ester was back to looking around the diner as if she were Miss Marple stuck in an Agatha Christie novel. “I’m sorry. I don’t want the cookies on the bill. I’ll pay cash for those. I was told that’s the way these transactions go.”
“Then what kind of cookies can I get you?”
“Your cookies.”
“Oh.” At the comment, a rush of pride swelled in Faith’s chest. Ester wasn’t merely a cookie connoisseur, she also happened to be the head of this year’s bake sale committee, so she knew her baking. She also knew that Faith dabbled in cookie creations at the diner.
It was another source of desperately needed income. Especially around the holidays.
Holidays had never meant much when she’d been a kid. Her mom struggled to keep them fed, let alone buy a tree and presents. Having her mom home on Christmas morning was a luxury since Hope often volunteered to work any shift that paid time and a half. When her brother was born, Faith promised herself Pax would have a different kind of childhood—the kind Faith had always dreamed of.
She was determined to give Pax an extra special Christmas this year—only the top item on his list was way above her pay grade. Which was why she’d been working extra shifts and siphoning tip money away from her MAMA NEEDS A NEW MIXER fund into WHAT’S A NEW MIXER COMPARED TO A KID’S CHRISTMAS fund.
Six months ago, McKinney had approached Faith with an amazing opportunity. Viola would bankroll the operation, Faith would do the baking, and they’d split the profits fifty-fifty. With her own student loans to pay off