thing, pretending like none of it happened.
His voice is back to its normal snappish tone. “Right. Enjoy the eggs.”
And without a goodbye, he walks out the door, nodding at Fred who watches him walk away and then turns to face me.
“What the hell was that all about?”
I shake my head in bafflement. “I don’t know. He smiled.”
Her brows lift. “He smiled? At you? Are you sure he wasn’t having a seizure or a stroke or something?” She frowns and moves to the order window, lifting it slightly to watch him.
“He smiled at me and he…he pranked me. The old eggs in the apron trick.”
She turns slowly around from the window with eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief. “Really?”
“I know. It’s been awhile. I haven’t been involved in a kitchen prank since culinary school.” So juvenile. So unexpected. I rub my cheek where his stubble abraded it, disbelief fighting with a strange sense of arousal in my belly. I can’t believe he was so…playful. That in and of itself is attractive; combined with being imprisoned in his strong arms, surrounded by his heat and smell…. Despite the stickiness, I wouldn’t mind if it had lasted longer. I mean, he was attacking me, yes, but there was something inherently familiar in his movements. I didn’t feel threatened. It was…fun.
Dammit, it would be better if he’d just remained an emotionless ass. When he’s playful, he’s as irresistible as a chocolate shake at a burger joint.
“So, what are we gonna do about it?” Fred asks.
I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Um, he pranked you. You have to get him back.”
“I do?” I turn away from her, grab the cloth from where I left it on the counter and wipe it on my face. An idea shimmers to life in my mind. I’m not really scared of Guy Chapman. Not anymore. I mean, I’m scared of the attraction I feel toward him, but I can handle that. Maybe. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s I need to stop avoiding the things—or people—that scare me. Guy isn’t as scary now that I’ve yelled at him, been egged by him, and well, made out with him.
I meet Fred’s eyes. “I mean, I do.” I stand up straight. “And I have an idea. But we might need Carson.” I rub my hands together. “And I know how we’re going to get him to help.”
Her eyes meet mine and I grin.
It. Is. On.
A few days pass before we have a chance to set the scene to perfection. I baked a batch of hummingbird cupcakes and Fred and I are waiting for Carson to walk by. She’s been using a handheld fan to blow the scent out the window.
He hasn’t been by since the whole egg incident, and I don’t know if it has something to do with that, or if I’m overthinking it. Probably overthinking. I do that a lot. It’s like the gift that keeps giving and giving and giving.
Carson stops midstride and pivots in our direction, only stopping once his head is halfway in the order window. He breathes deeply, shutting his eyes then opening them again. “Did you make hummingbird cakes?”
“It’s possible.” She shrugs trying to play it off, but her smile is triumphant. “Want to come in and try them out?”
He’s at the back door like a flash.
She opens the door and ushers him inside, shutting the door behind him.
“What is this?” he asks when he sees the rest of the items we’ve set up on the counter.
“Let me take your coat.” I hold out my hand. “We’re celebrating. Want a drink?”
“What. Is. All that?” His eyes are locked on the tier of cupcakes, right next to a pitcher filled with a bright yellow fluid.
Fred shrugs. “I may have bribed someone at Attaboy’s to come over and make a pitcher of cocktails to go with the cake . . .”
Carson hands me his coat without even glancing in my direction. “Those bartenders make the best drinks,” he breathes.
He beelines for the cupcakes and cocktails, and Fred and I exchange a triumphant smile.
An hour later, we are sitting on the floor of the food truck and more than a little tipsy. Carson is next to me, our backs to the counter, and Fred is across from us leaning back against the opposite side.
“Your cakes are the best, Scarlett.” Carson leans into me, setting his head on my shoulder. “I really love you guys.”
I pat him on the head. “You’re