Sweet as Pie (Spring Hills Book 1)

by Brisa Starr

  OK, he is attractive though. His green eyes had so much intensity. Even now, my knees turn into jelly thinking about them. But hell, it’s no wonder… I haven’t been with a man in over two years. My vagina has cobwebs.

  But just one thing. I’ll deny it until my dying day, but if I’m honest with myself, he was right.

  There was something there. Something unnerving and exciting.

  My lower back tightens.

  I slide into the hot bathtub, trying to relax. While shaving my legs, I laugh again. Marriage. He’s insane.

  I wake up after a shitty night of restless sleep. I’m unsettled from those text messages with Ryker, and my dream. My head hurts. I rub my temples as I try to replay snippets of my dream in my mind, before they disappear forever. I saw a vision of me in a leopard robe, terrycloth this time, sitting in a faded pink rocking chair, and I’m alone. Mom and Popster were gone, and I had no one. No husband, no friends, no kids. Only strangers coming and going from The Rose Bed-and-Breakfast, for which I sacrificed so much to open.

  I shake the fragments of the dream away and crawl out of bed. My priorities today are simple. Drink coffee. Get groceries. Buy dress.

  I go downstairs and load an organic French-roast K-cup into the brewer. I love the efficiency of this machine. And the coffee isn’t bad either. The organic pods I buy cost a little more, but they don’t contain any plastic. They don’t stay fresh as long, but as fast as I go through them, that’s a non-issue.

  I get the whipping cream from the fridge and the block of silver-foil-wrapped cream cheese. While the coffee brews, I shove two big spoonfuls of the cream cheese into my mouth and let my eyes roll into the back of my head as the decadent taste wraps around my tongue. After my brief glimpse of ecstasy, I open my eyes and pour the cold whipping cream into my coffee and drink.

  Breakfast. Done.

  I pass through the automatic doors of Cameron’s Market, and the rush of air conditioning blows past me, cooling me down and blowing my hair into my lipstick. I gently pull it out, careful not to let it drag bright red lipstick across my cheek.

  I grab a grocery cart and start my weekly shopping. When possible, I save my shopping for Sundays, which is usually when I have some extra time, and they restock the produce for the week, so it’s really fresh. I buy enough for the week, picking out things that take little time to prep. I don’t have time to make elaborate meals for one, and a person can only eat so much quiche and pie.

  In no time, I fill my cart with toilet paper, boxes of pasta and rice, cans of beans… things that are easy to throw together. But I won’t sink to the level of frozen dinners. I have standards. I’d rather dump a can of chickpeas into a bowl and toss them into the microwave with a spoonful of ghee. It makes me feel like I still had a hand in the operation.

  I stroll through the dairy section at the back of the store, looking to the right as I pass aisles to decide if I need anything from them. I stop abruptly just as I pass aisle 10, Housewares. My breath hitches in my chest, and our eyes meet. It’s fucking Ryker! I can see his luminous green eyes from this end of the aisle, as he stands there looking at me, exuding an air of confidence, an air of knowing. His lips curve into a delicious smile, and that shitty warmth pools in my belly—unbidden and unwelcome, dammit. I think he’s holding a package of batteries. Like a ravenous cat, he narrows his eyes at me like he’s spotted a succulent mouse.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he tosses the batteries into the green, plastic basket he’s carrying and saunters down the aisle toward me.

  But I don’t wait.

  I put some muscle into pushing my cart and scoot ahead quickly. I do not want to talk to that hot lunatic. I swerve my cart like a stunt driver, taking the corner to the next aisle, hoping he’ll get the hint. But the only thing he did was walk faster and catch up, like this is some kind of chase.

  I put more heft into my movement, but my heavy cart has a mind of its own as I swerve too sharply and hit the corner. I bump into a towering endcap display of Kleenex, almost knocking it over, and I stand there, eyes huge, praying the swaying stack of boxes doesn’t collapse. Thankfully, they stay put. I’m still facing the display, when he walks up and stands next to me, almost shoulder to shoulder. Almost.

  I won’t even look at him. I pretend he’s not there. So, he moves to stand in front of me, so I can’t ignore him. But I do. I pick up a box of Kleenex to… study the ingredients?… and I turn away, with my back to him. It turns out tissues don’t have ingredients. I bite the inside of my cheek and put it back. He laughs. A sexy, rugged laugh that makes a flush of fresh heat roll through me. I’m too young for hot-flashes, which means my reaction is because of him. My lip curls.

  He saunters back in front of me. I thrust my chin forward and give him a tight, saccharine smile. “Hello, Ryker. Can I do something for you?” I do my best to stare him down. Maybe I can scare him off. Sometimes that works with men. I’ve been told I can be “intense.” They can’t handle a woman doing her own thing, in charge, on her own.

  “Hi, Aspen. Have you thought about our conversation last night?” He steps closer and towers over me like a giant spruce tree, and it gives me a strange sense of protection.

  He’s wearing a pair of shorts that show off his strong, dense legs with the perfect amount of dark brown, manly hair. I must be sorely in need of getting laid if his goddamn leg hair is turning me on. His waist is trim in a light gray T-shirt that strains as it shows off his huge, bulging biceps and broad, brick shoulders. Of course he has a body like that. Even his forearms are corded with muscles.

  My plan to intimidate him does not appear to be working.

  Let’s go for brutal honesty.

  “No, Ryker, I didn’t. I told you last night. I’m not interested in your money.” OK, I lied, I thought about our conversation all night. So much for brutal honesty. He steps closer to me, and I try to retreat, but I step back straight into the leaning tower of Kleenex, already made tippy by my shopping cart fender-bender. Aaand… here they come. My eyes close in quiet acceptance as a wall of Kleenex boxes tumbles around me, one of them bouncing off my head, another off my shoulder. I feel my ears glowing red. Fuck my life.

  I exhale sharply and bend down to rebuild the display. A lady with three kids hanging off her cart rolls by, and one kid laughs, saying, “Hey, Mom, this time it wasn’t me!” I glow a brighter shade of red, and if I were stranded on a life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, the search plane would see my neon cheeks blazing over the horizon.

  Ryker bends down to help, and after effortlessly stacking eight boxes in his enormous, beefy arms, he stands and says, “Why won’t you let me in?”

  In my effort to restack a few more boxes, another stack tumbles to the ground. “Shit.”

  Into where? Into the investment, or into my life?

  I swallow.

  He smiles a flash of white teeth, as though reading my mind. “Let me in on the investment.” He puts the rest of the boxes back into a reasonable semblance of order, and when the display is good enough, I turn to him. His sexy lips bear the faintest hint of a smile.

  Of course that’s what he meant. The investment.

  “Like I said last night,” I say, “… this thing—whatever it is you and I are, this love-hate thi…”

  He interrupts me with a playful grin. “Whoa… Looooove?”

  “You know what I mean! This thing,” I say, and I start to sweat. I glare at him, unable to find the right words. “Just because I forgave you doesn’t mean I like you. So, I am certainly not borrowing money from you.”

  He leans in, and I smell him. Damn, he smells good, like cinnamon, coffee, and fresh laundry. “Well, Aspen, this thing,” he says, pointing to himself and me. “I find it intriguing, and I plan to find out more.” He steps back and takes his distracting scent with him.

  “But aside from that,” he continues, “I happen to be looking for something to invest my money in, and you happen to have an interesting investment opportunity.�
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  I’m about to respond, when I’m interrupted by a loud voice over the intercom. “Price check on three! Price check on three!”

  It gives me a moment to clear my overheated head. I turn my cart and head toward the produce section, saying nothing, but knowing he’s going to follow. He does.

  “Let me take you out, Aspen.”

  I ignore him and pick up an avocado. I try to squeeze it gently, testing for ripeness, but I squeeze too hard. The skin tears. I grimace. Crap. I bag it to pay for it anyway.

  He tries a different approach. “Aspen, I want to take you out. Show you we’re meant to be.”

  I bust out laughing and put my hand on my belly, shaking my head. “You don’t even know me, Ryker! What makes you so sure we’re meant to be?”

  “Actually, I do know you. I’ve known you since high school.” He smirks.

  I throw my head back. Oh my god, this man is nuts. And, although I secretly enjoy the flirting from this insanely hot specimen, I need to stop it. “Ryker, even if I wanted to, which I don’t…” I pause for effect. “I couldn’t. I don’t have time to date. I’m busy. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I push my cart past him and head to the front of the store to check out. I think he took the hint, and I’m clear of him. Thank god… my legs are shaking.

  I’m waiting in line, flipping through a tabloid, when he startles me by leaning over my shoulder from behind. “Anything interesting?”

  He’s so close, his chin is almost grazing my shoulder. My heart beats like a baby jack-hammer. His chest is almost pressed against my back, and a colorful energy spins through me. I want to close that paper-thin distance between us, if just for a second, to feel his hard body pressed up against mine. Like opposite poles of magnets slamming together.

  But, thankfully, the line moves, and I move ahead with it. Human magnet pulled apart.

  I unload my groceries onto the black conveyor belt, and his voice yanks me out of my determined attempt to ignore him, “So what are you doing the rest of the day?”

  “Like I said, I’m busy.”

  He starts to help me unload my groceries. I bat his hand away like he’s a naughty boy reaching for cookies. “Stop it. I don’t need your help. I told you!” I snap, and he looks hurt. For a millisecond. But he recovers, unrelenting, like the Terminator.

  He ignores my command and reaches for my next item.

  “Aspen, I’m just helping with your groceries.”

  I don’t want to make a scene. And he’s right, it’s not a big deal. Just groceries. “So, tell me what you’re doing today,” he repeats. I let out half of an exhale. He just doesn’t stop.

  Fine. “I’m shopping for a dress for the Chamber of Commerce Silent Auction the week after next.” I pause and then add, more to myself, but he hears, “I need to find a good dress.”

  His eyes light up. “I’d love to see you in that dress. I’m going to that event, too.”

  “Please. You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all. My dad always goes for his law firm, and he asked me to go. Social events aren’t really my thing, but I’ll definitely go if you’ll be there. Especially if you wear a dress. A red dress!”

  “You are unbelievable.” I can’t help but let a tiny smile escape. But still. What a freak.

  I pay for my groceries, and as I ready my cart to leave, Ryker gets his batteries and citronella candles rung up. As I’m walking away, out of the corner of my eye, I see him hand a hundred-dollar bill to the cashier and tell her to put the change in the “charity box thingy” for animals that sits next to the register.

  I’m exiting the doors to the store, and he strides right up next to me, his long, sexy legs easily keeping pace. As we walk out the doors, we’re ambushed by a couple of Girl Scouts.

  “Good morning ma’am and sir, would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies? They’re a special summer release, for camp.”

  God, no, I think to myself. I have no need of Girl Scout cookies. I make pies every day, for crying out loud. And I don’t have any cash on me, anyway.

  Ryker says otherwise. “Absolutely, ladies,” he cheers, flashing them his beautiful smile, and I have to admit, it stops my heart.

  The girls squeal with joy, and I stop walking, as I can’t help but watch this unfold. He follows them back to their table to survey the options. “I’ll take ten boxes of Thin Mints, ten boxes of Peanut Butter Patties, and ten boxes of Shortbreads.” The girls squeal even louder at the whale they’ve just harpooned, and they grab the boxes.

  “Put them in her cart,” he says, pointing to me, and before I can say no, the girls laugh, throwing them in. He pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and tells them to keep the change. They run back to their table, giggling. What is it with this guy and hundred-dollar bills? And I can’t help but giggle, too, at the absurdity of all these Girl Scout cookies in my cart, that he bought them, and that he is so damn hot and playful.

  And generous.

  But what am I going to do with all of these damn cookies?

  “Ryker, you are something else. I don’t want these cookies, you know.”

  “Well, I don’t either, but you make me return them to those girls,” he says, as he turns around and looks at the smiling kids.

  I smile and shake my head. “I’ll donate them to the homeless shelter when I take my pies next week.”

  We continue walking to our cars, and he says, “I read about that on your restaurant’s website. That’s really cool.”

  I don’t know why, but my insides get warm and gooey like homemade mac and cheese. He read my website.

  “So, what you do, Ryker, that you can just throw hundred-dollar bills everywhere and want to invest in my bed-and-breakfast without even hearing the pitch.”

  “Crypto billionaire.”

  I jerk to a halt in the middle of the parking lot, right behind a car trying to back out. The driver sees me blocking his way and honks the horn. Startled, I jump, and Ryker gently places his hand on the small of my back to guide me out of the way. My back sears red-hot under his touch, and a gush of desire pools between my legs. I swallow hard, and the blood pounds in my ears. I shuffle faster to put distance between his hand and my back, but he keeps pace. And his hand stays there.

  “You can move your hand now, Ryker.”

  “But I don’t want to,” he says darkly, and chills run through my skin.

  I try to say—“But I want you to”—but the words don’t come out. I’m enjoying the surge of sparkles shooting through me far too much.

  I get to my car and open up the trunk and start loading in the groceries, and he tries to help, but I finally get my head on and stop the nonsense. “Ryker, stop!” I snap. “I can handle my own groceries. Please.” He raises his hands in surrender. I’m clearly no longer in a playful mood.

  Crypto billionaire. Well, that explains everything. I don’t know squat about crypto currency, but I know what the word billionaire means. For some reason, it kind of annoys me. Easy money. It figures.

  Life has never been easy for me. Which is fine. I like staying busy and focused, but…

  He interrupts my internal rant. “So where are we going shopping for your dress?”

  I laugh despite myself. “I am going shopping for my dress, after I take my groceries home and put them away.”

  “Great. Sounds fun. I’ll see you at your place.” A playful smile lights up his face, and he turns to walk away, full of confidence and virility. I’m left standing there, speechless, as he gets into his car. He must be kidding.

  I finish loading my groceries into my car, and I get inside it. I start the engine and look at myself in the rearview mirror. I give myself a straight talk, squinting at my reflection. “You better stop it, Aspen. Get your shit together!” There is no room in my mind for a man. My heart might have room, but my mind doesn’t. And my mind is calling the shots right now. I give myself an affirmative nod and put my car in reverse. I pull out of the parking lot onto Caribou Road, and his fancy car is right
behind me. Maybe he lives in the same direction as me.

  I come to a red traffic light. I peek in my rearview mirror. He’s still behind me, looking hot with aviator sunglasses, and he waves at me. For the love of god, I can’t help it, but I grin just a little.

  He follows me all the way home.

  Well, enough is enough.

  I pull into my garage.

  I turn off my car.

  I close my garage.

  There. That’ll teach him.

  I take my groceries into the condo and put them away. I toss some fresh romaine lettuce into Dagny’s cage, and I go pee. I swipe on fresh, red lipstick, and I grab my purse, ready to go shopping for my dress. Ryker never rang the doorbell to come in, so I guess he’s gone. Good, I tell myself.

  Fifteen minutes later, after checking my email and getting a drink of water, I walk into the garage and push the garage door opener button on the wall. The door is halfway up when…

  Sure enough. His car is parked in front of my house.

  He smiles and gives me a two-finger salute.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  9

  Ryker

  I follow Aspen into town, and she pulls in front of a small boutique with creepy bald mannequins wearing dresses. I hop out of my car and catch up to her on the sidewalk. She turns her head to me and says, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  “Nope.” I smile at her and step next to her. She smells like sunlight and fruity juice. God, she’s irresistible. Her lips are right there, so close to me. I drape my arm on her shoulder, playing like we’re old pals. “The only thing on my schedule today is going dress shopping with you.”

  She laughs and then takes my arm off her. “Nice try,” she says, and I can tell she’s amused, by the twitch of her lips. And for that second when my arm was on her shoulders, my blood rushed through me like a race car crossing the finish line. But she lets me tag along on our field trip. Progress.