by A. J. Pine
She waved off his fears and declarations of love. “That doesn’t excuse what you did to me.”
“Just so we’re clear”—Booker’s eyes narrowed—“and so everyone knows…We’re talking about my using your sandwich recipes.”
Oh, that was low. He was admitting all his sins to the town.
“Stealing.” Kimmy nodded.
There were gasps from the crowd.
Kimmy played to their audience. It was obvious she was going to need them. “I forgave him for using them in college. Although it was still a betrayal of trust, but—”
“I was wrong,” Booker said loud and clear. “All my life I’ve tried to do the right thing. I tried to be part of the team that made it possible for Dante to beat cancer. I tried to plan for the future so that I could fund my parents’ retirement and my brother’s college years. And in the process, I cut corners, and I leaned on you because deep down I hoped—no, I believed—that’d you’d forgive me. Which is why, four weeks ago, I had my lawyer draw up a contract, giving you ten thousand dollars for the right to use your recipes.”
Hay’s wedding guests had opinions about that. Their voices rose up and gave Booker and Kimmy a small measure of privacy.
“That’s not enough, Booker.” Kimmy didn’t know where she got the guts to say it. She didn’t believe it was true. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money. She could pay for the food truck’s transmission. She could stock the cupboards with food and fill the gas tank. She could hit the road with confidence about what was ahead.
Even as she left everything she loved behind.
“You’re right about the money.” Booker pulled a folded sheaf of paper from his inner pocket and ripped it up. “It’s not enough.”
The room went still. The pages didn’t flutter to the ground. They flopped. Along with Kimmy’s dreams.
“I don’t understand.” Reeling, Kimmy leaned back against Mims, who sat next to her in the pew.
“I’m here to offer you a better deal.” Booker raised his voice so that everyone could hear his proposition. “Half ownership in the Burger & Sammie Shack.”
Kimmy couldn’t breathe. Not one breath. She clutched the neck of her dress and stared up at Booker in disbelief.
“Say something.” Clarice whacked Kimmy on the back. “She’s in shock.”
Kimmy slurped in air and wheezed. “Thanks, Clarice.” She shook her head at Booker. “You need a better business manager.” One who’d caution him against making such bad business deals. “I’m just a sandwich maker.”
“Kim.” Booker dropped to one knee and took her cold hands in his. “You’re more than a sandwich maker. You’re the love of my life. You make me smile.” His gaze shifted to Hay and then back to her. “Oh, how you make me smile.”
Kimmy was horrified to discover her eyes were filling with tears.
“What good is having a business if I’m not having fun with it?” Booker ran his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “You and I…we were meant to be together. To bump elbows as we cook and to laugh when you can’t convince someone to add garlic to their burger. We’re meant to prep food at the same station and sneak sandwiches together on our breaks.”
Was this…Was he…proposing?
Kimmy couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t move.
His parents stood in the corner behind him, beaming at him. Her parents stood next to them, beaming at her. And there was Hay, of course, beaming like he’d helped plan it all. Which he probably had.
They’d known. They’d all known.
They should have known she couldn’t say yes.
“Say something.” Clarice whacked Kimmy on the back again. “Shock,” she said again by way of explanation when people turned frowny faces her way.
Kimmy looked at them all—the wedding guests, her family, and her friends—and still she couldn’t speak.
She stared at Booker, taking in his warm gaze, his tender smile, his gentle touch. He loved her. The sincerity of his words was sinking in, having snuffed out some of the hurt and anger at what he’d done.
“I don’t want to be your business partner,” Kimmy said softly.
“What did she say?” someone at the front of the church asked.
“She said she doesn’t want to go into business with him,” Clarice shouted.
Mims and Bitsy shushed her.
“I just want to be your wife,” Kimmy said in a small voice. “I knew back in the science lab that you were special. I knew at freshman orientation that I loved you. And…And…And all those times afterward. I know the difference between a crush and love.” She freed one hand and cupped his cheek. “But I valued your friendship too much to step up and risk telling you how I felt.” Her throat threatened to close. “In case you didn’t feel the same way. Because we come from different places and we’ve always been going different directions.”
“I can’t hear,” someone at the front of the church complained.
“She said…” Clarice tossed up her hands. “Ah, someone will tell you later.”
“Do you know what I think?” Booker placed a kiss on her palm. “I think we’ve always been headed in the same direction, just on different paths. Let’s meet somewhere in the middle. I think we have a lot of time to make up, you and I. And I promise you—”
“On an order of fries.” Hay lifted a small paper basket of fries he’d had on the pew next to him. “Sorry, no longer hot.”
Kimmy’s chest constricted around her heart. These two men, her friends, she loved them both but she was in love with only one.
“And I promise you,” Booker said again, holding their hands over the fry basket, “to tell you I love you every morning, noon, and night. No more holding it in. No more holding it back.”
The wedding guests heaved a collective sigh. Both sets of parents beamed. And Kimmy struggled not to cry. It was the most beautiful moment in the history of beautiful moments. And it involved food, which made it even better.
Booker drew her closer. “Kimberly Anne Easley, will you make me the happiest man alive by agreeing to be my wife?”
“Yes,” Kimmy said thickly, blinking back tears. “Yes.”
“I take offense to the happiest-man-alive comment,” Hay said, munching on a cold French fry. “Seeing as how it’s my wedding day.”
“Kiss her,” Clarice said, a sentiment echoed by the assembled.
And Booker did.
He made Kimmy’s heart full.
He made it fuller at the wedding reception, after the bride and groom had their special dance.
Booker showed up at Kimmy’s table while Clarice was admiring the reception’s Bohemian decorations. He drew her to her feet. “Honey, I think I owe you a dance.”
“You certainly do.” Kimmy couldn’t wait. She practically led Booker to the dance floor.
The DJ spun “It’s Raining Men.”
The dance floor filled, and after a bit of sidestepping, Kimmy let the music move her. She had her own version of the Dougie, while Booker was more of a Carlton man. It didn’t matter that his dance moves were from the generation before hers. He had better rhythm than she did.
Paul danced over to Kimmy, and they did the floss and the cobra. And then he bounded over to the bride and groom.
After a few fun songs, the DJ put on a slow dance.
Booker drew her into his arms, which was exactly where she wanted to be. “Your dance moves have improved.”
“Paul and I took lessons.” At the junior college. “Only Paul got so good they asked him to teach.” Whereas Kimmy had learned just enough steps to dance better than she had in high school.
Booker laughed. “How was your dinner?”
“My steak was grilled to perfection.” She swayed closer because a man who’d ask her about food deserved an extra cuddle. “It even had enough garlic.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” Booker’s smile morphed into a mischievous grin. “I had the chef prepare a steak specifically for you.”
<
br /> “I knew there was a reason I loved you.” That deserved a kiss. And then another.
They might have kissed all night if the DJ hadn’t spun “Can’t Stop the Feeling!” That brought out more wedding guests and more dance moves than anyone could put a name to.
Everyone was outdanced by Paul but no one seemed to care. It was a wedding. And for two couples, it was one of the happiest days on earth.
Epilogue
How’s the stock of paninis?” Kimmy ran a finger down the supply list.
Booker opened a cupboard with a Vanna White flourish. “I bought enough to feed a small army.”
Kimmy scoffed. She’d go through that in one day. “What about chicken? You know I don’t like the frozen stuff.”
“It’s all fresh.” Booker opened the refrigerator. More flourishes occurred.
“What about fresh garlic?” Kimmy scanned the counter. “Did you buy enough garlic?”
“Yes.” Booker produced a mesh bag large enough to hold a basketball. It was full of garlic cloves. “Can we go now?”
“No.” Kimmy set down her list of supplies, wrapped her arms around Booker’s neck, and kissed him thoroughly. “I don’t think you’ve met your promised quotas of I love yous for the day.”
“I love you, honey.” Booker framed her face with his hands. “But if we don’t get this food truck down to Greeley, we won’t get a good spot for the festival.”
“You’re right.” But Kimmy kissed him one more time anyway. She loved being able to show him her love whenever she wanted. She headed toward the front of the truck and then stopped. “Wait. Who’s running the Shack today?”
“Dante.” Booker’s younger brother was becoming skilled at the grill. “My parents went to Denver to check on our location there.”
His parents had decided they wanted to be semiretired. They were part of the Burger & Sammie Shack management team.
“You think of everything.” Kimmy wound her arms around his neck again.
“Not everything,” Booker admitted, drawing her closer. “Just you.”
About the Author
Melinda Curtis is the USA Today bestselling author of lighthearted contemporary romance. In addition to her Sunshine Valley series from Forever, she’s published books independently and with Harlequin Heartwarming, including her novel Dandelion Wishes, which is currently being made into a TV movie. She lives in California’s hot Central Valley with her hot husband—her basketball-playing college sweetheart. While raising three kids, the couple did the soccer thing, the karate thing, the dance thing, the Little League thing, and, of course, the basketball thing. Between books, Melinda spends time remodeling her home by swinging a hammer, grouting tile, and wielding a paintbrush with her husband and other family members.
Learn more at:
melindacurtis.net
Twitter @MelCurtisAuthor
Facebook.com/MelindaCurtisAuthor
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