“I don’t know if I believe you.”
My body moves of its own accord, cornering her against her counter because of the frustration coursing through my veins. “Listen very closely here, shortcake.”
Her chest heaves up and down as her breathing speeds up. “Stop calling me that.”
“Staying true to my word is very important to me. I hate liars. I hate cop-outs. So, shortcake—” I draw out the nickname because it’s fun to piss her off. “—I’ll say this again, and then I won’t ever repeat myself again. I’m a man of my word. You impress my guests with your baking tonight, and I’m yours for a day so you can fail at attempting to impress me with this town.”
Neither one of us speaks. We’re too busy staring daggers into each other’s eyes. The air is lit with angry, sizzling electricity around us. If I leaned in any closer, each one of her exhales would push her chest against me.
“Shake on it, then,” Pippa manages to get out. Her voice has lowered an octave, sounding too sultry for my liking. It sounded far too good coming out of her mouth. I imagine how she’d sound if I…
I shake my head, ridding myself of the mental image. No, no, no. That thought should’ve never crossed my mind. I despise her, and the feeling is very mutual. I have no business imagining what she’d sound like if I let my knuckles brush against her hard nipples, which fight against the fabric of her T-shirt.
Like a bat out of hell, I back away from her, needing the distance between us.
What the actual fuck just happened?
“You’re really not a man of many words,” Pippa notes, seemingly unfazed.
I clear my throat, trying to get my shit together. I’ve already been here far longer than I’d anticipated. Trisha made it sound like a done deal; I just had to come in and tell Pippa myself I needed help. But I should’ve known she’d put up more of a fight. “I’ve got to get back to the opening.”
She nods, but as soon as I wonder if she’s going to forget about her previous request, she holds out her hand between us, her pink-painted fingernails waggling in front of her. “Shake on it. Give me your word that you’ll agree, and I’ll blow the socks off all your entitled friends.”
Not having any other options, I hold my hand out and wrap my fingers around hers. My hand dwarfs hers, but it welcomes the warmth. My skin is cold and dry against her soft, warm palm.
“So it’s settled,” she says, her voice breathy again.
“Yes,” I clip, letting go so I don’t have to feel her bare skin against mine for another second. My father always told me to never be the first to break a handshake, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I can’t touch her—thoughts I shouldn’t have fill my head, and I know I’d regret every single one rushing through my mind if I acted out on them. “Bring the food when it’s ready. I’ll also need your help serving it.”
“Wait, what?” she questions, anger flashing in her eyes.
A grin pulls at my cheeks. “See you in a bit. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I hate you!” she calls out.
I chuckle, stopping in front of the door. “Not as much as I hate you, shortcake.”
8
PIPPA
“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to feel my feet after this,” Lexi whines from my side. I’d recruited her and Bri’s help the moment Camden waltzed out of my kitchen, knowing I’d need more backup to execute my plan for the night. I hated asking Bri to stay past closing, but we needed the help, and she was excited for the extra money.
The two of us work at twisting dough into mini soft pretzels. The dough has been enriched with garlic and rosemary in a way that makes the baked goods seem more luxurious. Camden’s gallery opening officially started an hour ago, but we’ve been serving a couple of different finger foods at a time to allow us to offer a variety of options.
So far, people seem to be enjoying the food, but I agree with Lexi. I’m exhausted.
“At least you had the day off,” I counter, brushing butter mixed with rosemary on each of the shaped pretzels. “I’ve been on my feet since four this morning, and there’s a great possibility that my feet will fall off.”
Lexi laughs, grabbing a pan filled with precooked pretzels in each hand and walking them over to one of our ovens. We managed to call in Lauren as well, and she and Bri are busy over at the gallery, serving the food and making sure it all goes smoothly there.
With the pretzels in the oven, I turn to the pesto mozzarella rolls I have cooling on a rack. I put my hand over them, satisfied with the temperature they’ve cooled to. “Okay, I’m going to go run these over,” I tell Lexi. It’s my turn to pass them out, even if I really don’t want to go next door because I’m far too interested in watching Camden in his element than I should be. I can’t help it. The guy is a raging asshole—probably the biggest one I’ve ever met. But damn, I don’t know how he turns on the charm when working. It’s intriguing to watch everyone in his vicinity gravitate toward him. They eat out of his palm. It’s transfixing.