“I suppose I could make an exception for such a unique opportunity. And I have to admit I’ve had a yen for blackberry cobbler for the past two days, ever since you mentioned it at the beach.”
He took that as an invitation to join her on the deck.
As the rain picked up, he erased the space between them in a few long strides. “I could dish this up if you want to sample it now.”
She examined the generous portion. “You’re tempting me.”
That went both ways—except he didn’t have cobbler on his mind.
“Is that a yes?”
“I . . . I guess so. You brought a lot.”
“Enough for two servings. You can save half for later . . . or we could both forget about calories and divvy this up inside before the skies open and it becomes blackberry soup.”
A gust of wind whipped past, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. Fumbled for the sliding door behind her. “Let’s share it.”
Yes!
He followed her into the soaring, glass-walled great room and gave a soft whistle. “Nice digs. This place lives up to its reputation.”
“The location is what sold me.” She continued toward the kitchen at the other end of the open floor plan, motioning toward an island with stools. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Won’t be hard to do in a place like this.” He set the ice cream and cobbler on the granite surface but remained standing. “How can I help?”
“I’ll dish up the cobbler. Would you like coffee?”
“Is the pope Catholic?”
She gave a soft laugh. “I suppose that’s a silly question to ask someone who works at a coffee shop.”
“Actually, I own The Perfect Blend.” Why not be up front? If she stayed around awhile, she’d find out anyway.
“Yeah?” She set two small bowls on the counter. “How long ago did you open?”
“A year and a half.” He wandered over to the high-end coffee bar and surveyed the pricey single-serve coffeemaker. A stand filled with pods offering a variety of flavors stood beside it. “Impressive setup. Would you like a cup?”
“No thanks. It doesn’t compare to the drinks at your shop.”
“You should come again.” He selected a pod and put it in the coffeemaker.
Rather than respond, she busied herself dividing the cobbler.
Change the subject, Garrett.
“I see you’ve been keeping a supply of blackberries on hand.” He motioned toward a bowl on the counter.
“Uh-huh. I refill it every day.” She scooped ice cream from the container he’d brought and topped off the two bowls of cobbler. “Let me get napkins and spoons and we’ll be set.”
She finished the prep, popped the remaining ice cream into her freezer, and met him at the island, a glass of milk in hand.
“That’s my favorite drink with chocolate chip cookies.” He indicated the glass tumbler. “Not a typical adult beverage, though.”
She settled onto a stool and picked up her spoon. “I’ve always liked milk, and I didn’t get much of it as a kid.”
“Why not?”
After hesitating for a split second, her spoon resumed its journey toward the cobbler. “Long story.”
One it was clear she didn’t intend to share.
Yet.
But even if all they did today was eat cobbler and indulge in small talk, that was progress. For the rest, he’d have to be patient. Not his strong suit—but it appeared he’d be honing that virtue with this woman.
He dived into his own cobbler. “My mom always bought multiple gallons of milk. My brother and I could guzzle a half gallon each at one sitting. She used to kid my dad about buying stock in a dairy.”
“Did you come from a large family?”
“No. Just my brother and me.” Not a subject he wanted to talk about. “How about you?”
“Only child.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Nebraska farm country. You?”
“Atlanta.”
“Hope Harbor’s a long way from there.”
“Yeah—but it’s home now.”
“Do you have family back in Atlanta?”
For a woman who didn’t share much about herself, she asked an awful lot of questions.
“My dad’s there. My mom’s been gone for eight years. Are your parents still in Nebraska?”
“No.” She lifted a spoon of cobbler and examined it. “This is delicious. My compliments to the baker.”
She was done talking about her family.
“Accepted with thanks.”
“Tell me about your shop—and what you did before you opened it.”
The first part of her request was no problem. The second he’d skirt. Two could play the evasion game.
“I’d always wanted to have a place like The Perfect Blend, but it was one of those dreams I’d put in the category of someday—until it hit me that if you wait too long, someday may never come. So I changed gears, learned everything I could about the coffee business, found the perfect location . . . and here I am.”
“Did your dream end up being everything you hoped it would be?”
Some nuance in her question told him it was more than a casual inquiry.
“Yes—and more. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” Despite what his father thought.
“It must be wonderful to be that certain about your place in the world.”
“I haven’t always been. It took serious angst and soul searching to get here.”
“I envy the comfort level you have with your life.” A touch of melancholy wove through her comment.
Apparently Charley’s assessment that she was troubled—and searching—had been accurate.
“You don’t have that?”
She shrugged and remained silent.
Don’t push, Garrett. Comment—don’t question.
“For the record, getting here involved hard choices on my part.”
Distress darkened the blue of her irises to cobalt. “And you never regretted them?”
“No—but that doesn’t mean life is perfect. My choices did cause other issues. But since there’s nothing I can do about those, I don’t let them bother me.” Not much, anyway.
Kat scraped up the last of her cobbler and stood. “That was a treat. Thank you.”
He rose more slowly. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“There isn’t much to clean. I’ll add our dishes to the ones already in the dishwasher. Let me get the rest of your ice cream.”
“Keep it. Maybe we can have another cobbler party in a few days.”
He held his breath until she gave a slow nod.
“That might be a possibility. I’ll, uh, show you out.” She detoured to retrieve the bowl he’d brought over, which she’d already rinsed out, and headed for the back of the house.
Their impromptu get-together was over—and again, she’d told him very little about herself. Left with no other option, he followed her to the sliding door. The brief shower had passed, and blue sky was peeking through the clouds.
“Ya gotta love Oregon coast weather. If it doesn’t suit you, all you have to do is wait five minutes.”