Perfect. She was in a great mood. Almost giddy, though trying to tone it down, he could tell.
What had he done to deserve this girl who’d witnessed him at his sloppy worst and still opened her door happy to see him? He would do whatever it took to keep her.
She took the flowers and gift bag then pulled Cooper through the doorway.
And suddenly he felt at home. “Wow, it smells like Paris in here.” The warm, yeasty aroma of bread baking washed over him like melted butter.
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah, considering I lived next to a boulangerie. Wow.” He wanted to bottle the smell and spray it everywhere he went. He wanted to bottle the way Sloane felt in his arms, the sight of her with no makeup, flour smudged on her face. Relaxed, softened, gorgeous.
“I’m making an apple galette.” She shook a pan of glossy caramel sauce on the stove. Perfect consistency. Made his mouth water.
She dipped a spoon in it and took a little taste, smacking her lips together to judge the flavor, and then shifted the pan to a different burner and turned off the stove.
What was she trying to do to him?
She stood on tiptoes to retrieve something from the cabinet—a vase. He stepped toward her and took the flowers, resisting the craving to run his hands down the curve of her waist to her hip, to lean her against the counter and taste the caramel on her lips.
“That’s sort of perfect,” he told her as he put the vase under the tap.
“That I’m making a galette? Why?”
He grinned and set the flowers on the counter. “You’ll see.” He held the gift bag out to her.
Her eyes stayed glued to the bag as she wiped her hands on a towel then took it from him. She pulled out a small wooden box with ornate designs carved into its surface. “What is this?”
“Open it.”
Cooper watched Sloane’s face as the hinges creaked open. An adorable groove formed between her eyebrows as she slid a card from the box. “Were these...?”
“Simone’s? Yes.”
“Wow.” She removed the cards, sifting through the stained recipes written in Simone’s tiny script. “Cooper.”
Mission accomplished. “I know how much you love to bake and, well, Simone did, too.”
“Thank you, Cooper. Having this part of her, it just—it means a lot.”
“Yeah, well, you mean a lot to me.”
Had he really admitted that to her? Out loud? Her expression confirmed he had. Her enthusiastic embrace and kiss told him she returned the sentiment.
Cooper pressed a kiss to her hairline and took a step back, unable to stop the grin. “As much as I enjoyed that, it’s not the reason I came.”
“Oh, really?”
“No.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m here to kidnap you.”
“And take me where?” Sloane’s gaze flicked to the oven clock, to her flour-covered clothes then to the open notebook, stack of boxes and laptop on the table.
Maybe he shouldn’t have sprung this on her.
“Well, I had a pretty long day scheduled. But after this—” she gestured to the recipe box “—there’s no way I can say no. Can you give me ten minutes?”
“Yeah. Of course. Take your time.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She headed down the hallway to her bedroom.
Strong curiosity shuffled his feet toward Sloane’s modern dining room table. It was her work space, clearly. In one corner, her camera tripod was raised high and angled over an aged, end grain cutting board. On the other side of the table was a stack of three medium-size boxes and two smaller ones open next to her laptop. One was a parcel of cooking utensils from a big online kitchen supplier. A handwritten note signed by the CEO of the company rested on Sloane’s keyboard. It was apparently awaiting entry into the spreadsheet open on the screen, the next on a long list.
Cooper couldn’t resist lifting the flap on a box from Amazon, which was filled with toothbrushes, bottles of hand sanitizer and packets of disposable cutlery.
“Old habits die hard.” The velvety sound of Sloane’s voice startled him.
Cooper slid the box away from the edge of the table and faced her. “Sorry, I was just—”
“Curious?” Sloane grinned and planted a kiss on his cheek on her way to the kitchen. “I know, Cooper. By now, I’m fully aware.” Her face was wet, hair pushed back with a black headband. “So, what am I supposed to wear on our adventure anyway?”
The oven timer dinged as Sloane was pulling the galette out. Perfect timing.
“Something warm.” He swallowed the guilt that was lodged in his throat, like a bear that couldn’t resist the taste of honey and got caught in a trap. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”
“No, you’re welcome to look through those boxes. The guy from the post office just came. I have a PO box for mail from readers and sponsors and other people I don’t really want knowing where I live.”
“Smart girl.” He crossed to the kitchen and watched as Sloane expertly poured the caramel sauce over the galette, coaxing it with a rubber spatula. “That looks delicious.”
“Very French, huh? Okay, I’ll let that set and finish up really fast after I get ready.”
He watched her walk to the bedroom, licking caramel sauce from her fingers, and then took her up on her offer. It wasn’t snooping if he had her permission, right?
The other boxes, still sealed, were from a major kitchen appliance corporation—his preferred retailer, actually—and another company that was renowned for its gourmet prepared foods. His favorite store-bought jams, in fact.
So Sloane was essentially a rock star. There was even a rubber-band-wrapped stack of letters probably written by adoring fans. And he and his little restaurant that may or may not even survive had been stealing all of her time and energy.
She reappeared a few minutes later with tall, tan leather boots tucked under her arm, blond hair in a ponytail with a feminine braid framing her forehead, dressed in a long-sleeved plaid shirt and jeans that were tucked into knee-length socks.
Cooper watched in amazement as she sliced into the galette, placed it on a white plate and staged it on a brick-red placemat on the opposite end of the dining table next to the window. An arrangement of Honeycrisp apples was the final piece to her puzzle before she began taking photos in the natural light, twisting and maneuvering her body to capture it from every angle.
“Okay,” she said, replacing the lens cap on her camera. “We can go.”
“You might want to bring that with you.” He indicated the camera.
She slipped it into the black bag, zipped it then turned to the boots next to her.
Cooper knelt in front of her and took one boot, helped guide her foot into it then zipped it up the side.
A peachy blush spread across Sloane’s cheeks. “Thanks.”
He smiled at her and shifted to the other boot, sliding his hand down her calf to grip her ankle. When her boot was zipped, he straightened.
Sloane draped her arms around his shoulders, her eyelids heavy, her lips the perfect magnet for his. He slid his thumbs along her jawbone and rested his hands in the curve of her neck before he kissed her again. Slowly, lazily, savoring the give of her lips against his and the taste of her strawberry lip gloss.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.
She rested her forehead against his. “Yes, you do. Whoever or whatever gave you that impression, don’t listen. Listen to me.”
And she and her strawberry lip gloss convinced him again.
* * *
THINGS WERE SILENT and warm between them on the short drive to their destination, fingers mingled together on the console.
As he pulled up to the Dallas Farmers Market, she turned to him, eyes wide.
/> “How did you know I’ve always wanted to come here?”
It took someone with a special kind of appreciation for food to experience this place the way Cooper did. Somehow he knew he’d met his match.
“I can’t believe this is your first time.” He laughed as he got out of the car.
“Well, I always get my produce delivered, so...” Sloane trailed off as they approached the huge first stand—a towering display of pumpkins. “Yeah, I think that’s going to have to change.” She slipped a hand in the crook of his arm.
Cooper paused in front of the pumpkin stand and faced Sloane. “I think a lot of things are going to have to change.”
A look of uncertainty fleeted through her eyes.
“Wait. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean—”
Sloane stifled the rest of his thought with a kiss. And when she pulled away, the warmth in her eyes had returned, coupled with a smile that filled her whole face. “Is it something along the lines of that? Was that what you meant?”
Cooper nodded and brushed his lips against her forehead. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
They wandered hand in hand through the market, passing huge displays of just-picked, Texas-grown apples. Bags of kale and leafy greens. Ears of corn flanked by spindly gourds. Broccoli and Brussels sprouts. Jars of fresh, local honey.
“What’s that smell?” Sloane asked just before he caught the spicy scent of sausage.
“A food truck.” The marigold-colored truck was parked behind two small displays. Breakfast Burritos was painted in a chubby cursive on the truck’s chalkboard sign. “I think we need one.”
Sloane nodded. “Let’s share. I’m still full from taste testing, but I have to have a bite.”
They walked up to the order window.
“Sausage or vegetarian?” asked an aproned girl with jet-black hair.
Cooper flicked a questioning glance at Sloane.
“Definitely sausage.”
That’s my girl. He exchanged a few bills for a thick, foil-wrapped burrito and a few plastic cups of chunky pico de gallo—his favorite accoutrement to any kind of Latin-inspired food. As he peeled the top of the foil, he heard the rustle of plastic behind him.
Sloane with her disposable cutlery. Was she planning to share his burrito with a fork?
He watched as she tossed the plastic wrapper in the trash can then froze, oblivious to him. She looked between the fork and spoon in either hand, bit her lip then splayed her fingers, allowing the utensils to fall into the trash.
“Wow.”
“I just had a moment, Coop.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and snuggled close to his side.
“I know. I’m very impressed with you.”
“Good.” She pulled the burrito to her mouth. “Now give me a bite.”
Sloane let out a groan as she chewed. “This is so good!”
Cooper nodded as he savored his own bite of spinach-flour tortilla, earthy sausage, fluffy eggs and a tangy medley of peppers, onions, and mushrooms. “Reminds me of Paris—eating like this. There was a man who used to sell the best crepes you’ve ever tasted out of the back of his truck on our street. He’d set up shop, and these huge crowds would come to him.”
“Who thought of food trucks anyway?” Sloane took another bite as they walked along the covered market. “Who came up with the idea to drive around and take the food to the people?”
“Some genius, that’s who.” Cooper picked out some apples and handed the farmer exact change. “My mom bought a truck and did this whole experiment, but that got shot down by the Suits really fast.”
“Lame.”
The chicken farmer they passed prickled Cooper’s chest with panic. He checked his watch. Whew. Two minutes to spare.
“Sloane, I forgot to tell you I have a quick meeting with the man who might be supplying the eggs and butter for the restaurant. Do you mind coming with me?”
She shrugged and took another bite, apparently more concerned with the burrito than him. “Do what you have to do,” she said around the food in her mouth. “I’m having another moment over here.”
“You do that, then.”
Cooper had only talked by phone with the farmer who had come highly recommended to him, Wilbur Younts. But he was every bit the good ol’ boy Cooper expected him to be: head-to-toe coveralls, firm handshake, sun-leathered skin. Their meeting was brief and to the point. Polite. While many details of the restaurant gave Cooper heartburn, this decision was easy. Prices were fair, quality guaranteed and the supply reliable. Wilbur Younts ran his farm with the efficiency of a Fortune 500 CEO and the comfortable manner of a worn pair of Carhartts.
After they exchanged documents and said goodbye, Sloane shot him a pointed look.
“What?”
“Why does your agreement only cover a month? He would probably give you a better deal if you commit to a longer period of time.”
Cooper shrugged. “A lot could happen in a month.”
“You don’t think your restaurant’s going to last a month?” Sloane’s grin disappeared at his silence. “You don’t think you are going to last a month.” She sighed. “Cooper, why don’t you just—”
“I can’t quit my job.”
Her eyebrows arched. “That’s not what I was going to say, but—”
“I don’t want to quit my job,” he corrected himself.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Hey, where’d the burrito go?” Maybe changing the subject would keep their adventure from becoming a wash.
Sloane gave an exaggerated shrug.
“I thought we were going to share.” Cooper grinned. “We could have gotten you your own, but no. You said you weren’t hungry.”
“I’m not. I wasn’t.” A sheepish smile crossed her face. “It just tasted so good.”
“Well, that’s okay.” Cooper draped an arm around her and pulled her to his side. “In this relationship, you can take as much as you need.”
Relationship. Cooper’s pulse escalated as the word left his mouth.
As Sloane stayed silent.
But out of the corners of his eyes, he saw her features light up as they walked to the parking lot, past the food truck where they’d ordered the breakfast burrito. Past the huge display of pumpkins where they’d stopped and—
Sloane yanked on his arm, halting him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Any doubts he’d had about their relationship status were squashed by her kiss.
“Cooper, Cooper. You’re going to be glad you chose a relationship with me,” she said.
That was already a given. “Why?”
“Because I think I just figured out how to make sure your restaurant lasts much longer than a month.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A FOOD TRUCK was a long shot. It really was. Sloane had seen a glimmer of hope and excitement in Cooper’s eyes. An almost childlike idealism that disappeared as quickly as it had come, followed by a laundry list of excuses and ways it could fail.
J. Marian Restaurants had a truck, but their permits were probably expired.
He’d have to look at the budget logistics.
There wasn’t time between his responsibilities at corporate and the restaurant launch now days away.
It would take him very little time, Sloane assured. She’d do all the legwork. It was the ultimate promotional strategy to drive traffic to the restaurant, a way she could remove some of the pressure from Cooper’s shoulders. And when the most obvious plan appeared in her mind and tumbled out of her mouth, he agreed to try.
Crepes. He’d said it himself. How could they go wrong with crepes?
She’d called the first person she could think of the next morning—Marian. The Cooper who knew how to get things done. Fortu
nately, she thought the idea was brilliant.
“Let me run some numbers and take care of some red tape,” Marian had said. “I think we can make this happen.”
Sloane had a lot of work to do. But she couldn’t think of someone more worth it. She could tell their little agreement was killing him. That he was desperate to know the details he’d promised to let her take care of.
But his obvious restraint was pretty endearing.
“Today we’re going to have a special guest in our class,” Sloane told her kids the next Thursday. “And I want you to be extra nice to Mr. Cooper. He’s a real-life chef.”
Sloane expected the kids to be impressed by that tidbit. But with the exception of Davon, the other kids seemed confused—if they showed any reaction at all. Her glance at Cooper was probably more uneasy than assuring, but he just hiked an eyebrow at her, as steady and confident as ever.
“Thanks, Sloane.” He turned to the kids. “I need a show of hands. Who here likes pancakes?”
Everyone in the room raised a hand.
“What abouuuuut...tacos?”
Another unanimous yes.
“Okay, last question.” Cooper scratched the stubble on his jawline. “Who has heard of Paris, France?”
Chloe raised her hand. “Isn’t that in Europe?”
“That’s exactly right. Well, in France, we like to make crepes.” He turned on one of the burners on the electric stove. “Crepes are like pancakes that are filled with all kinds of yummy things—kind of like a taco.”
Miles’s nose wrinkled. “Ew! Like tacos covered in syrup?”
Cooper flashed a smile at Sloane. “Not exactly. More like strawberries and chocolate rolled up in a pancake—except thinner.”
“That sounds better.” Chloe’s sweet, matter-of-fact statement warmed Sloane’s heart. So very Chloe.
“What do you think?” Cooper arranged the bowls of ingredients Sloane had prepared for him. “Do you guys want to make some?”
The kids responded with shouts of excitement. Now that was the enthusiasm she knew and loved.
Sloane watched as Cooper unbuttoned the cuffs of his long-sleeve shirt and rolled them up one at a time, baring tan, muscular forearms. Her fingers tingled with the urge to slide up and down the ridges of his shoulders and arms. Fresh awareness of the power behind his clean-cut sophistication flushed her cheeks.
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