It’s the same look he used to get when I was a teenager and had a crush on a boy. He didn’t want to understand I was growing up then, and he doesn’t want to understand those food bloggers and their posts now.
So instead of discussing them, he switches to business mode. “We had a bit of a lunch rush pretty early for midweek. It started even before eleven, and it just ended a few minutes ago. I mentioned the dessert of the day, which is what I’m calling them now, to a few people, and from there they took off.”
“I’m so happy to hear that! Anyone new seem to come in?” I ask, more curious about if what I’m making is bringing new customers in than if the tartelettes were a hit with the regulars.
In his stoic way, he nods and thinks about the question for a moment. “Maybe. I thought I saw a couple new people today. But you don’t need to shoulder the responsibility for bringing new people into the restaurant, Hailey. We’re fine with the customers we have right now.”
The two of us know that’s a lie, but I don’t let him see I know the truth. My father is a proud man, and I would never want to hurt him like that.
It doesn’t change the fact that I hope my desserts help people find this place and make it a go-to restaurant for them in the future. He doesn’t have to know that, though.
“Well, I’m going to get out of here then. It’s a beautiful day, so I thought I’d get a little Vitamin D and then catch up with Meadow after her big job interview. She’s meeting with the owners of the biggest design firm in town right now.”
My father’s face brightens at the mention of my best friend. “Tell her we said hi and that we hope she gets the big job. If she does, you have to go out and celebrate.”
I know what 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 of nowhere, my brain switches into idiot mode, and I ask, “Do you mean you came to see me because of the cookies?”
Cade looks confused for a moment but shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Because I didn’t make any today. It’s my day off. I made a different dessert yesterday, though, and if you love lemon, you should definitely go in and check it out.”
“I didn’t come here for food.”
Now I feel foolish and uncomfortable, so I blurt out something I know is a lie. “Oh, because I thought you and your friend might be food bloggers. Some of the local ones have been doing write-ups about what I make.”
He smiles and shakes his head again. “No. My friend is actually my cousin. Alex is a chef like you. I do nothing with food other than eat it. That I’m very talented at.”
I can’t help but let my gaze roam down his muscular, toned body as I decide he’s a liar like I am. Or maybe he just eats really healthy stuff to get to look like that.
When I don’t say anything to what I’m sure can’t be the truth, he says, “So it’s your day off? Want to go do something?”
“You mean you and me? Us do something?”
“Yeah,” he says and then chuckles. “I thought maybe we could hang out and get to know one another. I saw you looking through the window at me the other day. It’s fine that you’re shy. I have enough confidence for both of us.”
“It seems like you do.”
“That’s not a bad thing, though. I mean, the shyness. I like that. I bet once you get to know someone you aren’t so quiet anyway, so I thought we could start on getting to know one another today.”