Cinnamon and Sunshine

by Hollie Westring

  I studied him, weighing his words as my eyes drifted over his lithe form. He ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip while he watched me assess him. He didn’t appear self-conscious in the least. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying it, with the corners of his lips curling up the longer I looked at him.

  “Like what you see?” he inquired.

  “I—”

  “Order’s up, Lexi!” Sy called from the kitchen. Flustered, I jumped up from the table and retrieved our lunches, thankful for the interruption.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Thanks, Sunshine,” Cruz said as I slid his plate in front of him. He took a giant bite and groaned, closing his eyes.

  “You okay?” I questioned, looking around to make sure others weren’t privy to Cruz’s sounds of satisfaction.

  “I’d nearly forgotten how good the food is,” he said after swallowing. “I hope Sy never retires.”

  “You and every other person in this town,” I responded. “He’s got quite the following.” I finished my onion ring and brought the conversation back around to the sanatorium. That was a safe, unsexy subject.

  “Are there any other hang-ups regarding the shoot?” I quizzed, cutting my giant sub into manageable pieces.

  “No. Once we assured both the owners and the town council that we wouldn’t embellish the truth when it came to the town’s history, everyone seemed to be on board,” Cruz answered, brushing crumbs from his lips. “Well, I’m sure the fifty-thousand-dollar check didn’t hurt any.”

  I nearly choked on my sandwich. “The what?!”

  “The production company offers a monetary gift when we film. It’s a gesture of goodwill for allowing us to feature the location. The owners of the sanatorium have to close the location so we can set up and take over.” Cruz arched his brows at my reaction. “What?”

  “That just seems like a lot of money for a few weeks of shooting. The sanatorium hasn’t been open for years.”

  “Yeah, but they’re renovating to make it an event center and museum or something. We’re slowing their progress by setting up shop,” he answered. “I haven’t been in there yet. Is it haunted?”

  “It’s Sage Springs—of course it’s haunted,” I chuckled.

  “Good point. I hope it makes for good ratings,” Cruz mused, stroking his chin.

  “Well, you chose wisely. From what I learned in school, that place has a pretty colorful history,” I responded, pushing my empty plate to the side.

  “How so?” Cruz took a drink of his soda, and I couldn’t help but notice the deep melon color of his lips as they curved around the rim of the glass.

  Focus, Lexi. And not on his delectable lips.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, you know how Sage Springs was bustling back in the day, claiming the town had cure-all mineral springs?” Cruz nodded. “That wasn’t the case. Our springs had what everyone else’s had, but nothing extra.” Cruz opened his mouth, probably to disagree, but I stopped him. “Well, other than that spring. Anyway, people were desperate to be cured of ailments ranging from arthritis to tuberculosis. They’d come here, take a few swims, and inevitably nothing would change, or they would get sicker. The council back then didn’t want to be associated with people who were sick—it was bad for business—so they built a sanatorium on the outskirts of town to hide the proof that their springs couldn’t cure everything. Some patients stayed at the sanatorium for years. A lot of people died there.” I took a deep breath after giving my little history lesson and noticed Cruz was gaping at me. “What?” I wiped my face self-consciously. Did I have ketchup on my chin again?

  Cruz shook his head, coming out of his trance. “I didn’t know you were a history buff.”

  I laughed. “I’m not. History has a way of kind of rubbing off on you if you live here, so I’ve been hearing these stories my whole life.” I offered an apologetic smile. “I probably bored you.”

  “Hardly. That was freaking hot.” My eyes snapped back to Cruz’s. He wasn’t teasing me. There was no humor on his face, only … something I couldn’t put my finger on. “Maybe if you have time, you could tell me more about the sanatorium? I’ve got my assistant interviewing historians and combing through the county library, but I’d like to hear the stories from a local’s perspective. You know, a local who’s not an octogenarian. The camera would love you.”

  I felt my cheeks turning red. “Okay, maybe.”

  “Great.”

  “You have an assistant?” I asked, desperate to change the subject and get the attention off me.

  “Yeah, Aimee helps with a lot of stuff that I can’t get to. She also does a ton of digging at the libraries. We all know I’m not good at that.” He chuckled and sat back in his chair.

  I smiled at the memory of him falling asleep in the stacks at the local library when we’d been searching for any reference to the magical spring when we’d been trying to save Oliver. He was right. Sitting in quiet rooms perusing through dusty tomes wasn’t his thing.

  “Sounds like she’s great,” I replied.

  Cruz nodded. “She is. A bit of a pain in the ass, but she’s a hard worker and puts up with my crap.”

  Probably cute to boot, I silently added, thinking about the girls from last night.

  “Why the frown?” Cruz asked, immediately noticing the change in my expression.

  “No reason,” I chirped, fixing a big smile on my face.

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s about last night, isn’t it? You’re freaked out about seeing a photo of yourself online.” He sighed and began popping his knuckles one by one.

  Actually, that wasn’t what I had been thinking, but that was kind of weird, now that he brought it up.

  “Sorry, I don’t have any control over that stuff, but at least they didn’t write much about you.”

  “Other than we were ‘dismissed,’” I reminded him, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Well, we both know that’s not true. I’d never dismiss you.” He winked.

  “What’s it like?” I asked quietly, wanting a glimpse into this beautiful creature’s life.

  “The gossip?” he asked, turning serious again. I nodded. “Irritating. I know it’s part of the business, but the shit they post is ridiculous. The media’s painted me as a player—” I raised my brows knowingly. “Okay, okay, so that’s kind of true, but I don’t do eighty percent of what they say I do. That thing with Lana has been blown way out of proportion. She needed someone to be photographed with at a red carpet event and a club opening, so her publicist called mine.”

  “Are you saying you’re not engaged?” I ribbed, having read that on a blog a few days ago. Even I knew that wasn’t true. Cruz Drakov settling down? Ha.

  Cruz snorted. “Definitely not. She’s not my type.”

  “Tall, gorgeous, and successful not doing it for you?” I asked with a laugh.

  “I’m preferring petite, sweet, and beautiful these days,” Cruz said as he squeezed my knee under the table, letting it linger for a moment.

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, lifting half my mouth into a sassy smile.

  “Definitely.”

  “I’ll let you know if I find one of those,” I teased with a wink.

  Cruz chuckled darkly. “You’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you?”

  My eyes widened in innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  He cocked his head to the side and leaned an elbow on the table. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing, you little minx.”

  I raised my shoulders and continued smiling. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh-huh.” He worked his jaw as he studied me, fingers moving in small circles on the table as he sized me up.

  “You should probably tell me what I’m supposed to be baking,” I reminded him, breaking the tension. “You know, for your crew.”

  “All right,” he said with a sigh. “For now, but I’m not throwing in the towel.”

  Shaking my head at his declaration, I go
t a notebook and pen and took notes as he outlined what I’d need to bring to the set every day while the crew was in town. The job was simple enough, and I was eager to share my sweets. Baking for a TV crew and celebrities while they were in my hometown was going to be epic.

  “I’m kind of surprised you’re even having a dessert table. Doesn’t seem like something the celebrity types would care for,” I stated after I got the basics.

  “Are you kidding me?” He laughed, resting a hand on his stomach. “There’s nothing like a pick-me-up cookie or four during the middle of the night in some abandoned building.”

  “Should I make anything special for the health-conscious people?” I asked, wanting everyone to be able to eat something from Sweet Stuff.

  “They’ll eat whatever you make and work it off the following week,” he said, waving off my concern. “They need the full experience of Sweet Stuff, so don’t worry about that.”

  “I could never be famous. I hate working out,” I divulged, drinking the last of my soda.

  “From where I’m sitting,” Cruz’s eyes flickered down to my chest, “you’re looking damn fine just the way you are.”

  “Cruz,” I chastised, rolling my eyes as I felt heat creep onto my face. “Every female grabs your attention. You’re such a flirt.”

  Cruz raised his hands to his chest, as if wounded. “Me? A flirt? You obviously don’t know me as well as you think. We should probably fix that.” He leaned toward me, elbows clunking on the table. “How about I swing by your place later?”

  “How about not,” I laughed, throwing a paper napkin at him. “Besides, I have a date, remember?”

  “Yeah, for dinner. I was thinking more of a late-night rendezvous.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “That’s so not going to happen,” I insisted, attempting to resist his magnetism.

  “A challenge. I like it,” he growled, settling back and crossing his arms. “We should talk about that night.”

  “What night?” I asked, wishing my soda would refill itself.

  “When we kissed.”

  My face snapped his direction. Cruz was watching me carefully, his face not showing any sign of emotion. We’d never once discussed the kiss in all of our text messages or our phone calls. Was he testing me to see if I was as carefree as the women he usually dated? Did he really want to know that I had thought about that kiss every day since he’d left? No way.

  “We don’t need to talk about it. It’s been months.” I waved my hand through the air to show it was water under the bridge.

  “I think we do,” he disputed, his tone neutral.

  I squirmed under his intense gaze. “Fine. It was a sweet moment that was an accident, right? No big deal. We’re adults.” I swallowed and forced a grin. “I’m surprised you even remember.”

  “What’s that mean?” Cruz asked, his cheek twitching.

  “Just with all the girls around you all the time. Like last night.” I shrugged uncomfortably. “I know I’m not like them, so don’t feel like you owe me some explanation over a tiny kiss several months ago.”

  “You’re right.” He reached out and laid his hand over mine, which was nervously tapping the table. “You’re not like them. You’re better.” He lazily ran his thumb over mine, making it difficult for me to concentrate on anything that didn’t pertain to our skin touching. “Let me take you out.” His no-nonsense tone turned my insides to liquid. “Please.”

  Dear Lord, please make Cruz stop saying sweet things and touching me. The combination was making my muddled heart thump happily.

  Okay, I take it back. Maybe just ten more seconds of this, I amended. Cruz’s touch was divine. His hands were warm and strong.

  And then reality set in when I thought about last night. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I told him, attempting to regain my composure. I slid my hand out from under his and placed it on my lap—under the table and a safe distance from his.

  “I’m certain it’s a good idea,” he countered, mirroring my posture.

  “Then we’re at an impasse,” I said stubbornly.

  “Why won’t you let me take you out?” His front teeth bit down over his lip ring as he studied me.

  “We’re too different,” I replied with a shrug.

  “How so?” he pressed, holding up fingers as he ticked off similarities. “We both see ghosts. We’re both single and of a similar age. We’re both currently in Sage Springs. We’re both really hot.” I laughed at his self-confidence. “Well, we are,” he insisted.

  “I think there was a compliment in there somewhere,” I replied, attempting to defuse the situation. “I’ll think about it. How about that?”

  Cruz pursed his lips in agitation and shrugged. “Fine. You’ll come around.”

  Rolling my eyes at his temerity, I looked back down at the papers he’d given me. “So, the celebrities will be here a day before the show is shot?”

  Probably sensing our little battle was better left fought another day, Cruz nodded. “Yeah, we have to prepare them. Give them some brief history so they can spout some facts and look intelligent in front of the cameras come show time.” Cruz shrugged. “We’ll need to film them talking with a historian or two. Get some footage of them doing walk-throughs ahead of time.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t know that much work went into an episode.”

  “Yeah, a lot more effort goes into it than it appears,” he answered, tapping the sheets he’d handed me earlier. “Including food.”

  “Are you sure I don’t need to bring any low-carb options?” I asked, choking back a giggle when I recalled Justin’s recommendation.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I snorted softly, which was very ladylike. “It’s just this guy I dated. He was into counting carbs and suggested I start baking healthy desserts.”

  “Sounds like a tool,” Cruz spouted, frowning.

  “Kind of was.” I pulled my lip balm from my pocket and glided it on.

  “Was it serious?” Cruz toyed with his lip ring while he waited for my response. Feeling self-conscious about his eyes following the path my lip balm was taking over my lips, I quickly put the cap on and slid the tube back in my pocket.

  “Justin’s eating habits? I don’t think he had health issues or anything. He was worried about his weight.”

  “No, this Justin guy. Were you two serious?” I looked up to see the intensity in Cruz’s eyes as he asked the question. It matched the sharp tone of his voice.

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Just curious.” He lifted a shoulder. “I need to know who I’m up against.” A ghost of a grin swept the corners of his mouth.

  “I don’t even—”

  “There you are!” A brunette with an English accent interrupted as she approached our table and pinned Cruz with a glare. “Alex is looking everywhere for you. I had to tell him you were handling dessert detail, which I couldn’t even bloody explain. We pay people to handle that. You should be prepping for the show.” She took a deep breath after her rush of words and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Aimee, I’d like you to meet Lexi,” Cruz drew out, unperturbed by the women’s demeanor. “Lexi, this is my assistant, Aimee. She has a tendency to talk a lot. And she’s kind of annoying.”

  “Mmmmm.” Aimee nodded as she assessed me before turning to Cruz. “I get it now.”

  “Aimee,” Cruz warned, sliding his chair back from the table and standing.

  “Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand to Aimee, who shook it and smiled.

  “Pleasure. I’ve heard about you.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and I shot a questioning glance at Cruz, but he was busy tapping on his phone’s screen.

  “We better go. Got a message from Alex,” Cruz said, pulling out his wallet. I shook my head, refusing his money.

  “On the house,” I insisted. “My parents would be insulted if you paid.”

  “You’ve met her parents?” Aimee squeaked.

  “We’ll ta
lk soon, Lexi.” Cruz gave Aimee a look and jerked his head toward the front of the diner.

  “Look forward to chatting, Lexi.” Aimee waved before turning and walking toward the door.

  Cruz leaned down and whispered, “Oh, and Lexi? I won’t be taking no for an answer. We will be going on a date.” Spinning on his heel, he marched out the door, leaving me to contemplate just how good his behind looked in person.

  CHAPTER 7

  “You’ve got this,” I said, boosting my self-esteem as I drove up the hill to the sanatorium for my first dessert drop. It had been a few days since the incident with Cruz, and he’d been texting me, insisting I was missing out by refusing to go on a date. “You’re dropping off some cookies for a TV show.” I blew my bangs out of my eyes and nodded in resolution. “No big deal.”

  I put my Range Rover in park as I stared through the bug-splattered windshield at the monstrous building that was East Truman Sanatorium. It was two stories with wraparound porches on both levels, and intricate ironwork slithered up the sides of the deep red bricks. The bone-colored paint on the porch railings provided a stark contrast to the rest of the dark building. A lone window was cut into a gable at the top that overlooked a tree-covered hill.

  Gathering my courage, I took a quick peek in the rearview mirror—relieved there was no flour on my face, which was a common problem since I was a baker—and I opened the car door. I pulled out a few trays of treats before I felt the excitement swirling its way through my stomach. This was it. Time to drop off cookies to famous people.

  Well, kind of famous people, I amended as I walked by a man with dreads playing hacky sack outside the front doors.

  “Umm, excuse me, but could you tell me where I should put these?” I asked him after he missed kicking the little bag for the fourth time in a row.

  “Duuuuude,” he said, eyeing the food in my hands. “Finally. I’ll take them.” He ripped off the lid from one of the containers and dug in.

  I bit my lip to keep from giggling as the guy, who was maybe eighteen, groaned after he sank his teeth into a second chocolate mint cookie.