he’s doing. My mother has rubbed off on him and now he’s slyly trying to get me to go out more. He’s just not as obvious about it.
“We will. Don’t worry. You know Meadow. If there’s a chance to celebrate, she’s there. She’d celebrate days ending in y if she had the time,” I joke before waving goodbye to him. “See you tomorrow, Dad.”
“Have fun getting your vitamins!” he calls after me, thinking he’s funny.
I do have to admit it, though. He is cute when he tries to be amusing.
On my way out the front door of the restaurant, I give Ginger a smile, which she doesn’t return. She saves the niceties for the customers. That’s good, I guess, but it would be nice if she sometimes didn’t act like everyone else who works here is a sworn enemy of her family who she must growl or bark at every chance she gets.
Even my parents and I don’t get a break from her rudeness, and my family owns this place. But she’s good with customers, so she stays, snappy attitude and all.
As I head toward my car, I see a red Jaguar with tinted windows pull into the parking lot. Maybe those food bloggers are helping. It’s pretty rare we get that kind of clientele here. Maybe they’ll like the lemon tartelettes and tell some of their wealthy friends. That would help my parents.
I watch as the driver’s side door opens and see Cade, the guy from the day I made the lace chocolate cookies. My attention switches to the passenger side door while I wait to see if his friend came back with him, but it doesn’t open.
He’s alone. But why is he here at all? He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’s a big fan of cookies. His friend maybe, but not him.
Unsure what to do, I hurry to my car. I fumble with my keys to get my door open, and while I’m silently wishing I hadn’t locked the damn doors in the first place since it’s the middle of the day and I’m at my family’s restaurant, I hear footsteps behind me.
When I turn to look, there he is coming toward my car. What does he want to talk to me about? We don’t know one another. I barely spoke to him the other day.
God, he’s good looking. Like the kind of good looking that makes you wonder if he’s real. Men like that don’t tend to come looking for women like me. So what is he doing walking this way?
Maybe he is a guy who loves cookies. Too bad I have to tell him all we have are tartelettes today.
“Hey, Hailey? How are you?”
I stop dead and slowly turn my entire body around to face him. Jesus, up close he’s even better. I didn’t think he was this good looking the other day. Then again, I spent most of my time looking at him through the dingy kitchen door window and barely made eye contact with him when I went to his table.
He’s wearing a light blue T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but I swear I’ve never seen anyone look this good in clothes like that before. It’s got to be the muscles. He looks like he works out.
That’s what he is. A gym rat. But a gym rat who cheats by eating sugary desserts? That doesn’t sound right. Or maybe it is. I don’t exactly have a wealth of knowledge about that kind of man.
All of this runs through my head as I stand there staring at him and then realize I haven’t answered him. How am I? Not good, Cade. A nervous wreck would be the appropriate description, I think.
“Hi. What are you doing here?” I ask, knowing how rude that must sound, like I’ve been taking nasty lessons from Ginger. But I can’t help but be curious at what’s brought him back for the second time in a week to a restaurant he’s never been to before the other day.
“I came to see you.”
The way he says that, as if it’s the only answer and I should know that, makes me even more nervous. He’s way too confident. That I can tell already.
He smiles, and I think my insides begin to melt. I’m like chocolate morsels in the sun looking at that sexy grin. Oh, yeah. Way too confident. I bet women really like that smile.
Then again, why wouldn’t they? Nice teeth. White. Straight. What’s not to like?
Out