*“Remind me to never mop a barn again,” Stevie grumbled as the mop snagged on the planking for the zillionth time fraying a cotton strand as she pulled it free. The floor was relatively smooth, but the occasional rough edge or slightly raised nail head played havoc with the big swab-the-deck mop.
“Almost done,” Brant replied from his side of the barn.
“It’s not a competition,” Stevie called back. He’d turned the propane heaters on early that morning, and they’d warmed the interior to the point that the air felt moist from the mopping action. Her hair was starting to stick to her cheeks and forehead.
“Huh. It felt like one for a while.”
“For a while it was,” she replied, sloshing the mop into the water then wringing it out. “Until I started losing.”
“As I thought.” He plopped the mop into the bucket, then carried it to her side of the barn.
“You, sir,” she said as she pushed back her damp hair with her wrist, “are the Gilroy Tree Farm Mopping Champion.”
“A title I wear proudly.” He gave her a look that made her breath go shallow. Yes, she was more relaxed around him—worlds more relaxed—but that didn’t keep her from reacting to him when he looked at her like that. And the thing was she didn’t mind the reaction now that she knew what he wanted from her. Moral support. Guidance.
Speaking of which…
“Have you done anything out of the norm lately?” She swabbed the last bit of dry flooring, then dunked her mop.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah?” She leaned on the mop, more curious than she wanted to let on.
“I decided to put in a pumpkin patch.”
Stevie’s mouth opened, then closed again. She let out a breath and waited.
“For real,” he continued. “Normally I wouldn’t have a pumpkin patch, but it seems like it would be a good way to bring families to the farm…” His voice trailed off as her incredulity grew, then that devastating smile of his broke through. “No. I haven’t pushed my limits yet. But I’m serious about the pumpkin patch.”
“It would be a good addition,” she agreed as she picked up her bucket.
“I’m going to put it in the field next to the road, so people will see it when they drive past, and I’m thinking of planting a lavender field for summer weddings.”
“That would be cool.”
“I got the idea from Pinterest,” he said as he opened the door. “Don’t tell anybody.”
Stevie laughed, stepping out into the brisk air and wincing as the dampness on her skin crystalized, sending a shaft of cold to her very core.
“Yowza.” She laughed as she awkwardly hurried her steps toward the farmhouse. She slipped sideways on an icy patch, dumping water down her pantleg, but Brant caught her arm with his free hand, steadying her. He kept hold of her until they were safely at the porch, and even then, he didn’t let go until he’d ushered her up the steps, their mop buckets bumping against their legs.
“Normal people would have emptied their buckets before racing for the house,” she muttered, grimacing at the wet splatters on her jeans as he shut the door.
“Maybe. But it would make more ice, which we don’t need.” He reached for her bucket, which she relinquished. His fingers were warm, and she rather liked the little jolt that went through her at the contact.
“True. Dirty ice at that.” She tucked hair behind her ear as he carted the buckets to the small laundry area off the kitchen, making a mental note to retrieve her hat and gloves from the barn before she left.
“Let me make you a cup of coffee before you go,” he said as he came back into the kitchen.
“I’m good, thank you.” She liked that he always offered coffee or lunch. “I guess I won’t see you again until Monday at the tasting.”
“Yep. Boise run tomorrow. Zoom meeting Monday morning.” He lifted the clean carafe out of the drain rack. “Are you sure about the coffee?”
“Yes. I’m heading out.” As soon as she finished warming her wet jeans in front of the heater before dashing to her truck.
“No hurry,” he assured her, filling the carafe.
“I might hug the heater for a few more minutes.” The warm air felt great as it ruffled her hair and warmed her back. The wet areas of her jeans were less offensive, but she knew what they’d feel like when she climbed into her cold truck.
“Speaking of pushing the limits,” Brant said as he pulled out a colorful coffee container, “I’m thinking of switching from French Roast to Columbian.”
“I was hoping for something more dynamic in the Big Change department,” she said, watching him measure out the coffee and wondering how it was that he was so different than she remembered him. Had he changed that much? Or had she never had a clue as to what he was really like? He hadn’t spent much time at home, and she hadn’t interacted with him all that much.
Had she ever really seen him as anything except for Kara’s older brother, who was off-limits because you didn’t risk an entanglement that would endanger your relationship with your bestie? After he’d told her to stop being a bad influence on Kara, there’d never been any danger of entanglement period.
“You said you wanted to be the guy you’d have been if you hadn’t taken on so much responsibility. Which makes me wonder—”
“What kind of guy that would have been? Different,” he said simply. “I didn’t give a lot of thought to the future before the accident. And while I was nuts about Kara not blowing her scholarships, I wasn’t that careful about mine.”
“Did you lose your scholarships?” she asked on a note of surprise.
“I did,” he said matter-of-factly. “My grades weren’t that good the first semester of school—before the accident,” he clarified. “I was having a little too much fun. The semester after the accident, my grades plummeted.”
“Understandable.”
“I couldn’t pull my GPA out of the hole, so I became ineligible. I did manage to get some grants and loans after I worked my butt off my sophomore year.”
“This is new information,” she said.
“Not something I’m proud of.”
“All the same, it adds perspective to…you know.”
“I didn’t talk about it, because Kara didn’t know. I was afraid if she did, that she’d—”
“Do the same.”
“Yep.” He turned to lean against the counter as the coffee began to percolate through the filter. “I was sorry for the mistakes I’d made, and I didn’t want her to make the same ones.”
“So you became a hard ass.”
“I became a good role model. Or a bad one. I’m not sure. I became obsessed with security, but I didn’t couch it in those terms. I called it a well-paying steady job with good benefits.”
“Code talk for security,” Stevie agreed. And she could understand security being an important issue given his circumstances.
“I’m lucky to have a satisfying job. It keeps my mind working, and I appreciate that, but I haven’t worked on my truck in over a year, taken a decent vacation—”
“Imagine that,” she murmured. “You appear to be so good at it.”
He gave a soft laugh. “What I mean is that I used vacation time to work around the tree farm, not to do something new.”
“Still a vacation, I guess.”
“It’s not.” He shrugged. “I never really minded until recently.”
“What changed?”
He met her gaze. “It no longer seems like enough.”
Suddenly she felt too warm, and she stepped away from the heater. Brant gave her a quick half smile before turning back to the sputtering coffee machine and she knew that heater wasn’t the only reason she felt warm.
What was she going to do about this man?
*
Brant hauled his oversized computer monitor to his car and set it beside his new coffee maker, then returned to his apartment to lock the door. He’d always counted himself lucky to have two places in which to lay his head, but his Boise apartment didn’t seem as welcoming as usual. And for the first time in recent memory, he resented the fact that he was working on his vacation. Before it had been a matter of doing what needed to be done for the company that had done so much for him. Now he’d rather work on a wedding than attend a virtual meeting, which was unnerving.
Burnout. You’re suffering from burnout.
Understandable, considering that he’d just spent the holiday season traveling back and forth from Boise to Holly, cutting, bundling, and transporting trees, conferring with Milt Brown, who ran the tree lot for him in Holly, and generally being in two places at once.
Except, haven’t you done that every year?
He shoved the question aside as he started his car, but it started nagging again as he drove toward the freeway.
Burn. Out. It happens.
He’d just never expected it to happen to him, but as the company had dealt with the effects of rapid expansion over the past two years, he’d put in a ton of overtime and one project began to blur into another. No wonder it felt good to see Boise in the rearview mirror.
Two days after his sister’s wedding, he’d be back at it, but in the meantime, he had Stevie to keep him on his toes.
*
“The park is busy,” Brant murmured as they drove by on their way to the tasting at Le Petit Holly, Holly’s newest upscale restaurant.
“The students are out of school due to end-of-semester parent conferences,” Stevie said, spotting a group of high school students she knew gathered near Yule Dogs, a popular food truck that was open at only certain times of the year. One of the girls spotted her and waved, and she waved back.
“There it is,” Brant said, slowing after they passed. “Le Petit Holly. And…I don’t see any parking.”
“Surely they have a lot behind the building.”
“I don’t think so,” Brant said as they turned the corner and drove past the side of the charming brick bungalow.
“I guess they rely on street parking.” Stevie glanced at the clock on the dash. “Ms. Jennings was rather insistent that we arrive on time. She has an appointment at three o’clock.”
“It looks like we’re parking in the city park lot,” he said as he turned back onto Oak Street and then swung into the lot, pulling to a stop in one of the few remaining spaces.
Young kids were running along paths beat into the snow, playing tag, and squealing with laughter. A few hardy souls were teetertottering and swinging, and the high school kids were still grouped at the far end of the park near the food truck.
Brant took Stevie’s arm in a light grasp as they hurried down the shoveled walk bordering the park, then crossed the street to Le Petit Holly.
Stevie raised her hand to knock when the door suddenly opened and a tall, perfectly coifed woman wearing bright red lipstick and a vintage ’50s coatdress ushered them in.
“Good afternoon. I am Miss Jennings.” She smiled in a way that reminded Stevie of the women who manned hoity-toity dress shops. “Welcome to Le Petit Holly.”
“Thank you.”
Miss Jennings pointed to a dining area. “Please, be seated.”
Stevie shot a look at Brant as they made their way to only table with flatware and napkins, wondering if he was getting the same awkward vibe.
“It smells delicious,” Brant said.
The corners of Miss Jennings’s mouth lifted in that cool dress shop smile. “You’ll be tasting appetizers, entrees and desserts, in that order, and decide on two of each.”
“Looking forward to it,” Stevie said.
“Very good.” Miss Jennings disappeared through a door, and came back into the room with an ornate tray holding two servings of eight appetizers.
Stevie took a bite of the petit lobster quiche and then let out a soft sigh. “This is so good.”
“Oh, yeah,” Brant agreed. “Kara would like this one.”
“It’s a customer favorite. Now if you have any questions about ingredients or preparation, I’m pleased to answer.”
Brant and Kara tasted the remaining appetizers, and then, after enjoying a lavender sorbet palate cleanser, moved on to entrees.
“I can’t believe how good this food is,” Stevie whispered when Miss Jennings disappeared into the kitchen for the desserts. “But I did tell her that we wanted only appetizers and desserts. No entrees. And she agreed. Do you think she’s upselling?”
“If she is, she’s close to having it work. That deconstructed dumpling thing was amazing.”
“Yes, it was.”
The kitchen door swung open and Miss Jennings returned with the tray of desserts.
“You seem to be enjoying the meal,” she said.
“I’d say this is the best food in Holly,” Stevie replied.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Miss Jennings said, “because after our conversation, I repriced ingredients, and I’m sorry to say that there’s been a bit of a jump in price.”
“How much of a jump?” Brant asked.
“Unfortunately, twenty percent,” she said with an apologetic smile. “However, I am accommodating you on very short notice. Most establishments book out well in advance, and as I understand it, I am the only caterer who can accommodate you.”
A look of dawning understanding crossed Brant’s face. “Short notice.”
Miss Jennings smiled that cool smile.
“I see.” Brant set his napkin on the table.
The smile took on a victorious edge. “Shall we get started on the menu package and the contract?”
Brant shook his head. “I’ll pay for the tasting and we’ll get back to you tomorrow about the menu and contracts.” He held out his credit card.
Miss Jennings automatically took the card, hesitating for a long moment, as if expecting him to relent and ask to see the contract. Brant raised his eyebrows and her expression soured before she turned and disappeared into the back.
“I bet this will be one expensive tasting.”
Stevie believed he was correct in his assumption.
She put on her coat and waited for Miss Jennings to return with the card and the receipts.
“I’ll be in touch,” Brant said.
Stevie waited until they’d left the building and crossed the street before saying, “What are we going to do?”
A group of laughing grade school kids raced by them as they approached the park, parting to go around them, then joining up again as they ran under the metal entryway arch.
“I think I’d rather not have an extortionist serve food at my sister’s wedding,” Brant said on a growl.
“That leaves us cooking, and I’m not that talented.” She gave him a troubled look. “She is the only caterer available for the date and the food was good.”
“The food was great,” he said in a clipped voice. “Do you want to work with her?”
“Not really, but I don’t see—” She broke off as Brant took hold of her hand and jerked his head to the opposite side of the park.
“I have an idea…”
Brant kept hold of her hand as they traveled along the main path, past the teens who were now making elaborate snow forts out of the plowed-up snowbanks, toward…it couldn’t be.
“You can’t be hungry,” she said as it became apparent that they were making a beeline to the food truck.
“I hear Trevor is closing shop after this weekend.”
“Always a sad day when Yule Dogs shuts its doors,” she murmured as they approached the truck with the cheery hand-painted sign featuring Peggy, the dog Trevor had adopted from Tess’s animal shelter.
Trevor poked his head out the ordering window as she and Brant came to a stop. “Last customers of the day,” he said as he turned the Open sign to the back, where it read, “Dog gone it, we’re closed.”
“Actually,” Brant said, “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you ever thought of catering a wedding?”
Both Stevie’s and Trevor’s jaws dropped. Trevor frowned, then said, “I can’t say that I’ve ever been asked.”
“What if you were?”
“How many people?”
“Fifty.”
“How fancy?”
Brant grinned. “How fancy can you make a hot dog?”
“A hot dog isn’t all I can make. I went to culinary school, you know.”
“I didn’t,” Stevie replied, impressed. Trevor had been a few years ahead of her in school, in Brant’s class, and it appeared that they were friends.
“I did,” Brant replied. “And I’m not ruling out hot dogs.”
Stevie choked a little and Brant gave her a look. “Loosen up.”
Her eyes widened with mock indignation as they met his gaze, then he turned back to Trevor. “Kara is getting married in a little less than three weeks. We need a caterer.”
“Short notice,” Trevor said. “But I am closing up shop and I have some time before I head south to my folks’ place in California, where I become Beach Dogs.” He leaned his forearms on the counter. “Are you serious?”
“I am.”
“Do you want hot dogs?”
“We want fun wedding food,” Stevie said, finally finding her voice. “It’s an outdoor wedding on the tree farm, but the barn is going to be set up for food service and dancing.”
“You’ll want cocoa, then.”
Stevie and Brant exchanged a look. “That would be perfect,” she agreed.
Trevor studied his clasped hands as if doing a mental calculation. “Tell you what. I’ll work up a couple of easy menus, price them out, then call.”
“Can you commit to doing the wedding?” Brant asked. “January 30.”
“Fifty people,” Stevie reiterated.
Trevor nodded. “If you want comfort winter food, I’ll commit. If you want caviar, I’m afraid I’m not your guy.”
“We want comfort food,” Stevie said. “Something like street tacos only a bit more wintery.”
“Maybe small mac and cheeses with diced pancetta and roasted cherry tomatoes on top?”
“Yes. Exactly,” Brant said. “Kara would love that. Call the tree farm when you get some numbers together.”
“You’ll hear from me by Wednesday.”
“Thanks, man.” Brant offered his hand and Trevor reached through the window to shake it. Stevie did the same, then she tucked her arm into Brant’s as they turned to head back to the truck.
“Brilliant idea,” Stevie murmured.
“You don’t need to sound so amazed.”
“I’m not. I—” The words broke off as she realized he was messing with her.
“Guess I’ll give Miss Jennings the bad news before she gets too involved in coming up with ways to jack up the prices.”
“That would be kind,” Stevie agreed. “I think we’d better skirt the war zone,” she added as they approached the snow forts which the high school kids were now putting into action. A snowball zinged from the girls’ stockade toward one of the guys standing to the side of theirs, hitting him square in the shoulder.
Stevie let go of Brant’s arm and moved to his opposite side, so that he would take the hit if one of the shots went wild. “Every man for himself,” she murmured.
“She has a good arm,” Brant noted as a girl wound up, then nailed a guy square in the chest just as he rose from behind his barricade.
“That is Kelsey Brainard’s little sister, Mattie.”
“The deadeye pitcher. Right.” Brant shot her a look. “Last time I saw little Mattie she was in preschool.” A snowball sailed in front of them as he spoke, and they automatically ducked. One of the boys stood and waved apologetically.
“Sorr—ack.” The kid sputtered as a snowball hit him in the chin, then ducked behind the snow fortress wall. “Sorry,” he called again from a place of safety.
“Miz Evans, Miz Eva-a-a-ns,” one of the girls yelled from the other fort. “We’re outnumbered. Come join us.”
Stevie glanced at Brant. “They’re outnumbered,” she said, reaching down to scoop up a handful of snow.
“It’s even. I counted.”
“Count again,” she said, tossing the snowball at him. Her aim was true. It struck him just under the chin and pieces of it neatly fell down his shirt.
“It’s war,” he announced, stooping to scoop up snow and pack it into a ball as Stevie sprinted toward the shelter. The snowball bounced off her shoulder as she ducked for cover behind the snowbank, sending a spray of snow across her cheek.
She glanced over her shoulder to see Brant disappearing behind the wall of snow protecting the guys.
“Do you want to make ammo or throw?” Chloe, one of her leadership students, asked.
It was then that Stevie realized that the women were organized. Several were scooping up snow and forming balls, while the others were rapidly chucking them in the direction of the guys.
“I’ll make snowballs,” she said.
And make snowballs she did, until finally the guys had too much and stormed the girls’ fortress, taking hit after hit, but not slowing down until they breached the walls. A half-hearted close-quarters fight followed, soon to end as the laughing and gasping students caught their breath, both sides claiming victory.
Brant appeared next to her, his knit hat askew and his dark hair dripping water from a close-range hit. He took her hand and she allowed him to pull her away. The students didn’t seem to notice as they argued about actual victory versus moral victory.
“You’re soaking wet,” Stevie laughed as Brant continued to tow her toward the cover of a snow-covered evergreen hedge.
“The girls had a better battle plan,” he said as he came to a stop.
“They always do,” Stevie replied, noticing that he didn’t let go of her hand, soggy as it was, and she made no move to pull her fingers away from his. It was for the warmth, of course, not because she really liked the feeling of connection. She didn’t do connections, she reminded herself, conveniently pushing aside the memory of strolling across the park arm in arm. She was Stevie Evans. Living life free and easy with no complicating relationships…
The affirmation evaporated into a thousand disjointed pieces as he gave her hand a gentle tug, encouraging her to step closer. She did, though she couldn’t say why. Maybe it was because she couldn’t pull her gaze away from his. Even when he broke eye contact, his gaze dropping to her parted lips, she stayed where she was, almost but not quite touching him.
And then his head came down and his lips met hers and they were touching.
She sighed as she slid a damp mitten up around his neck, smiling against his lips as he gave an involuntary shudder, but the kiss continued, sweet and exploratory until a whoop brought their eyes open.
“Way to go, Miz Ev-a-a-a-ns,” one of her comrades in arms called from the parking lot.
Their lips parted company and Stevie’s hand fell back to her side as they turned to see that peace had been achieved and the high schoolers were walking in a companionable group in the general direction of Pizza Bob’s on the far side of the parking lot.
Stevie raised a hand and waved weakly, as did Brant. And then he turned those blue, blue eyes back to hers and she had no clue—absolutely no clue—as to what he was thinking.
She wasn’t clear on what she was thinking.
“What was that?” she asked to buy time as she fought to regain equilibrium.
“That was a kiss.”
His expression was annoyingly unreadable. She needed to know what was going on in his head to give her a point of reference from which to move forward.
“What kind of kiss?”
He gave her a look. “What are the categories to choose from?”
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “Dumb question.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and bent so that his forehead was close to hers. “It was a kiss, Stevie. It seemed like the thing to do.”
“It did,” she agreed, taking a step back and running her mittened hands down the sides of her coat. And she’d been the one who’d encouraged him to do things he normally wouldn’t. But she hadn’t meant things that involved her.
“Does this change things?” Brant asked.
“Of course it does.”
“I meant for the worse.” He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, looking darkly sexy and…uncertain.
Imagine that; she could put Brant Gilroy off his game. That was something worth thinking about. Later. Much later. When the twinkle lights were up, the wedding planning was done, and they weren’t seeing quite so much of one another.
Yes. The best thing to do was to put this kissing thing on hold. Think about it later.
Instead she took his face between her damp palms and pulled his lips down to hers and kissed him.
“Do you feel worse?” she asked with a lift of her eyebrows.
His smile made a crazy tingle go through her, but she maintained her questioning expression until he said, “I can’t say that I do.”
“Well, there you go,” she said as if the matter were settled. “Just don’t go getting serious on me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m a woman who knows my limitations.” She jerked her head toward the truck then smiled at him, feeling more in control than she probably should have. “Let’s go to the farm and mount some twinkle lights.”
*
“You and Brant looked cozy yesterday.”
Stevie gently tightened her hold on a silky-haired terrier mix, a new arrival at the Forever Home Animal Shelter, as Tess turned on a warm spray of water. Tess’s afternoon volunteer had been called away, so Stevie offered to fill in. She needed a break from beading prom dresses and trying hard not to think about Brant.
“You saw us?”
“Jason and I were at the coffee kiosk in the park.”
“You could have said hello.”
“It didn’t seem like the time unless we wanted to get hit with a snowball.” Tess gave Stevie a sideways look. “But I have to say that you looked very much like a couple.”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Stevie said, making a face to hide the fact that her cheeks felt warm. “How did a snowball fight make us look like a couple?”
“It wasn’t the fight,” Tess said matter of fact. “It was the kissing that followed.”
Great. She’d thought they were out of sight behind the hedge when they kissed, but apparently, they were going to have to find a larger hedge next time.
She blew out a breath as she adjusted her grip on the now slippery dog, who was rolling his eyes as if plotting an escape. “How long were you guys there?”
“As long as it takes to make two cappuccinos.” Tess worked doggy shampoo into the terrier’s silky curls. “Obviously you two have worked through…whatever.”
And obviously her sister wasn’t going to drop the matter until she was satisfied that she knew all.
“After a few false starts, yes.”
“Good. Unfinished business is not a good thing to pack around with you.”
“It’s finished.” As is this line of questioning. Normally she didn’t mind talking about the men she was seeing, but Brant was different. He was her best friend’s brother. There was no way they were going to get serious. For one thing, she didn’t do serious, and as she’d told Brant, she knew her limitations. Her failed engagement had taught her to not jump into things, to the point that she was good for two or three dates before she and whomever she was dating drifted into friendship. Or never saw one another again.
“And now?”
“Now?” She barely got the word out of her mouth when the little dog gave a mighty shake, covering both Tess and Stevie with a spray of water. “I don’t like to complicate my life,” she said.
“Such good intentions.” Tess began rinsing the remaining shampoo out of the dog’s coat.
“A job is about to open up at the high school,” Stevie said as she moved her hands so that Tess could rinse under them. “The high school secretary told me when I called to change a sub job.”
Tess quickly glanced toward the window. “Huh. I don’t see any flying pigs.”
“Mrs. Sutter, the health teacher decided to take early retirement.” The dog shook again, but this time Stevie was ready and was able to shield her face. “I’ve only waited for three years for something I’m qualified for to open. It’s finally happened.”
“You’ve seen a lot of classrooms in those years.” Tess wrapped the dog in a towel as Stevie wiped her damp hands on her jeans.
“Go to know a lot of students. Should make teaching a lot easier. If I get the job. Also, it gives me a much better shot at Mrs. Lovell’s position when she retires.”
“I hope things work out,” Tess said.
“Me, too.” She pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser. “Do I look okay? I have to see a man about a sleigh.”
“You look damp, but fine.” Tess glanced at the clock. “You’d better hurry. Thanks for coming on short notice. I know you’re busy.”
“And you know I like keeping busy.” She slipped into her coat.
“Good luck with the sleigh negotiations.”
“Thank you.”
“And with Brant.”
“I don’t need luck with Brant.”
“That’s right. No complications.”
Stevie stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at her sister. “He has complication written all over him, doesn’t he?”
Tess gave a solemn nod and Stevie’s mouth tightened at the corners before she turned the knob and headed out the door. Remember those limitations. If you don’t get close, no one gets hurt.
*
Not that long ago—days, as opposed to weeks—Brant had been blissfully unaware of the existence of tulle, had never thought about decorative table coverings, and had never considered buying a twinkle light. When he confessed as much to Stevie, he’d assumed that she’d be empathetic, but instead she said, “Then how on earth did you plan to run a wedding venue?”
“An event venue,” he corrected. “I planned to provide the trees and the barn. Whoever rented was supposed to provide the ambiance.”
“But if you happen to have table coverings, the light-up trees, the dinnerware, etc., you can add those to the packages and make extra money. People appreciate that kind of stuff. Not everyone wants to spend forever figuring out rentals and such. The more consolidated, the better.”
Their shoulders bumped companionably as they walked down the nearly empty sidewalk to the bakery. They’d met in town that morning to pay for the cake, finalize the flower order, then hit the crafts store to pick up their order of tulle, burlap, mason jars, and copious amounts of red and green ribbon in varying widths.
Brant blamed Pinterest.
“That’s a good point. I need to figure out how much time I can give a side gig before I get too deeply involved. There’s a difference between the occasional event to help pay the land taxes and diving deeply into the venue business.”
“What about your pumpkin patch idea?”
“Milt Brown, my tree lot attendant, said he wouldn’t mind setting up his trailer and keeping an eye on things during the days I can’t be there. He’s retired and likes dealing with the public.” Brant gave her a look. “He likes the extra money, too.”
“Maybe he could help you manage other events.”
“It would get in the way of his travel schedule. He RVs around the country visiting family in the late spring and summer.” Brant opened the door to Cakery Bakery and stepped back to allow Stevie to precede him in. “But he’s going to help me put in the lavender field before he leaves this year.”
“You’re going to be busy.”
“Actually, once the new branch office opens in Texas, things will slow down to something approaching normal.”
“I bet you’re looking forward to that.”
“Yeah,” he said, realizing just how true that was. “I am.”
“Hello?” a voice called from the back of the shop.
“Hi,” Stevie called back.
A few seconds later, Velma Castillo bustled out of the back, wiping her hands on a towel. “I thought I heard the bell. It’s good to see you. Stevie, you weren’t at the last Helping Hands meeting.”
“I’ve been busy with the wedding. I’m so glad you are able to make the cake for us.”
A puzzled expression crossed Velma’s face, quickly replaced by a congenial smile as she glanced at Brant. “Of course.”
“We’re here to settle up,” Brant said.
“Excellent.” Velma pulled a three-ring binder from under the counter and opened it. “Let’s see. The Gilroy wedding…yes.” She ran a finger down the order form. “A small bride and groom cake.”
“Carrot, right?” Stevie said.
“Carrot,” Velma confirmed. “No figurines. Piped holly and berries. Two sheet cakes, one carrot, one red velvet. Again, piped holly and berries.”
“Perfect,” Stevie said.
Velma’s gaze strayed to Brant, then back to Stevie. “I’ll have my son deliver to the tree farm the morning of the wedding. January 30.”
“Correct,” Brant said, pulling his bank card out of his wallet. Velma ran the card, Brant signed the receipt and then guided Stevie to the door.
“What next?” she asked as he opened the door.
“The florist, and then the order at the Craft Depot.”
They stood aside to let a mother and two children into the bakery before heading out the door. The florist was only two doors down. Once again, the order was perfect, delivery was guaranteed, and then it was on to the craft store, where Brant had been assured his order was waiting.
The order was in, but not waiting.
“It’ll take me a minute,” the clerk said. “Perhaps you’d like to peruse the new jewelry-making supplies that just came in.”
“Great,” Stevie said, but she continued to stand in front of him, her hands deep in her pockets, rocking back on her heels, looking beautiful and untouchable. Yet he wanted to touch. Now that he had some years on him, he understood why he once saw her as a threat to the peace of his family. It was not all about her drawing Kara away from the straight and narrow. It was that he was attracted to her and hadn’t known how to handle it. He still didn’t.
By unspoken agreement, they never brought up the kiss in the park, but, oddly, that kiss had been a breakthrough of sorts. It was as if questions had been answered—yes, kissing Stevie was amazing—and boundaries established, as in, don’t get serious because she was a woman who knew her limitations. He wanted more information about those limitations, but was wise enough to hold off on that conversation until after the wedding.
“Here it is,” the clerk announced as she rolled a utility cart stacked with boxes out of the back of the store. “You’re parked out front?”
“Yes.”
“Good thing you brought a pickup,” she said. “This is only the first load.”
Five minutes later Brant put the final box into the bed of his truck and closed the tailgate. The clerk waved off a tip and disappeared back into the cozy warmth of the Craft Depot.
“I’ll walk home from here,” she said. “But I’ll see you bright and early Friday morning for our first go at making table decorations.”
“Can’t wait.” He lifted a hand in a farewell gesture, then headed for the truck’s driver’s side, thinking that he’d never before been disappointed by someone not wanting a ride home.
Stevie returned the wave, then turned and headed down the street, leaving Brant wondering how it was that nothing in his world had seemed the same since Stevie had walked back into his life.