by Teri Wilson
“Hope should be the flower girl in Matt and Claire’s wedding, don’t you think?” Bunny exhaled a dreamy sigh.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s Hope?”
“The dog, obviously,” Bunny said.
“Yes.” He suppressed a grin. This was supposed to be a serious interview, after all. “Obviously.”
Birdie crossed her arms. “You don’t need to include the flower girl part in the article. But perhaps you’d like to see the spot where we found the injured dog?”
Ryan nodded, game for anything that put more distance between himself and Llama Bean, whose humming noises had morphed into a clucking sound. He took a backward step and the animal’s ears flattened against her head.
Bunny patted his forearm. “Don’t worry about the llama, dear. She’s just flirting with you.”
“Super,” he deadpanned.
“Come this way.” Birdie motioned for him to follow, and he acquiesced, shoving his notepad in the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out his iPhone.
The display still showed last night’s missed call notification from Maggie’s parents, along with an alert that they’d left a voice mail. He made the reminders vanish with swipes of his thumb before accessing the phone’s camera.
The Whitaker sisters continued showing him around, pausing every so often for one of their quirky exchanges that Ryan found more entertaining than anything he’d witnessed on the political beat in Washington. He snapped photographs of the worst of the tornado damage, which was far more extensive than anything he’d seen in town. “I’m glad you called. Our readers will definitely be interested in what went on around here during the storm, especially the part about Hope’s rescue.”
Everyone loved a feel-good story. And compared to most of the news pieces he’d penned lately, this one had feature-story potential. The people and animals at Furever Paws had been through a harrowing ordeal, but they’d survived—and had even saved another animal in the process. Although it had happened a week ago, he might even be able to make room for it on the front page, given the scarcity of hard-hitting news in Spring Forest.
“So you’re really going to write about us?” Bunny asked, clapping her hands as they came to a stop in the gravel driveway of the main shelter building.
“Absolutely.” He nodded and took a picture of the Furever Paws logo painted on the front of the shelter—a cat and dog silhouetted inside a curved heart—with the damaged roof visible off to the side.
“Thank you, Mr. Carter.” Bunny beamed at him. “Thank you so much.”
Birdie held up a finger. “Would it be possible to include something specific in your article?”
Ryan pocketed his phone and reached for his notepad again. “That depends. What might this ‘something specific’ be?”
The sisters exchanged a glance, and Birdie took a deep breath. “The reason we called you out here is that we’re hoping you can not only highlight the damage done to the shelter, but that you might also call on the community to attend our barbecue fundraiser for all the repair work.”
He looked up from his pad while visions of Amanda swirled in his consciousness. The tangy taste of her barbecue sauce seemed to linger on his tongue.
Barbecue fundraiser?
It was a coincidence. It had to be. “You’re having a community event to raise money for the shelter?”
“Yes. As you can see, we’re in desperate need of a new roof, and the fact of the matter is that we don’t have the money to pay for it. One of our most devoted dog walkers called this morning to tell us she’d like to plan a big barbecue cook-off.”
“Is that so?” Ryan tugged at his shirt collar. The thought of Amanda had made him instantly warm, which was absurd. He was a grown man, not some lovesick teenager. “Does this philanthropic dog walker have a name?”
“Amanda Sylvester,” Birdie said. Of course. “Maybe you’ve met her—she runs the Main Street Grille. Very pretty girl. Smart, too.”
“And single,” Bunny chimed in.
Ryan stared at them both. Were they mind readers? Or did he seem completely desperate for female companionship?
The latter. Had to be.
“Anyway.” Birdie smiled sweetly at him. A little too sweetly, maybe. “Amanda reached out to a few folks last night and, already, pit masters from all over the state have agreed to come. Plus, she’s hoping to get some local businesses to sponsor booths with games and raffles. A feature on the event would really help us get the turnout we’re hoping for. That way, we can raise the funds we need to pay for the repairs.”
“I’d be happy to mention the fundraiser in the article. You have my contact information—give me a call or send an email to let me know the details of when and where this event will take place once you have it finalized. Thank you for your time.” He nodded and headed to his vehicle. For once, he had no trouble identifying it, probably because it was the only automobile in the small lot without a Furever Paws sticker proudly displayed on its back window.
By the time he paused, he’d already grasped the door handle. Ryan wasn’t sure what made him turn around and ask one more question. He had plenty of information to put together a feature article.
Still...
A proper journalist would take the time to speak to the person in charge of the fundraiser before writing about it. And if Ryan Carter was anything, he was first and foremost an ethical newsman. Which was the only logical explanation for what came next.
“Should I arrange a time to chat with Miss Sylvester about the barbecue cook-off?” He swallowed. Hard. “For the article, I mean.”
The sisters exchanged a bemused glance.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Birdie cleared her throat. “For the article.”
Ryan nodded. “Excellent. I’ll give her a call and set something up.”
For the article.
Who was he kidding?
He wasn’t even sure he believed it himself.
Belle looked Amanda up and down as she poured herself a cup of coffee Friday morning and shook her head. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
“Hello to you, too.” Amanda arched a brow and took a deep, fortifying gulp of Appalachian Breakfast Blend, one of the custom coffees she picked up regularly from a microroaster just outside Asheville. As morning blends went, it was a strong one.
But was it strong enough to make up for the night she’d just spent tossing and turning at the thought of being interviewed by Ryan Carter today? Doubtful.
“Hello, good morning and all that jazz. But seriously.” Belle slung her purse on the counter and cast a pointed glance at Amanda’s Main Street Grille T-shirt and skinny jeans. “That’s what you’re wearing for your lunch date?”
She knew she shouldn’t have told Belle about her meeting with Ryan, although it wasn’t like she could keep it a secret since they were meeting at the Grille. She supposed she could have asked him to move the interview down the street to The Spring Forest Chronicle office, but if she had to have an extended one-on-one conversation with the man, she preferred it take place on her turf. She felt comfortable at the Grille. If she accidentally started flirting with him again, the odds of tossing her cookies on his designer shoes seemed much smaller.
She was steering clear of breakfast though. Better to be safe than sorry.
“It’s not a date. Why would you think that?” She busied herself with opening the register for the day so she wouldn’t have to look Belle in the eye. She didn’t think her best friend would be able to see inside her head and know that she’d tried on three different dresses before giving up and settling on her ordinary work uniform, but she couldn’t be sure.
What was wrong with her Main Street Grille T-shirt, anyway? It was a cute shade of Carolina blue and had a little ruffle at the bottom of the sleeves—a definite upgrade from the dingy burgundy T-shirt she’d worn w
hen she washed dishes at the Grille in high school. More importantly, it was appropriate. Because her lunch with Ryan Carter was not a date.
Not even close.
“Not a date? Are you sure about that? Horrific wardrobe choices aside, your lips are cherry red. That’s the new lipstick you bought last month at Sephora during our girls’ trip to Raleigh.” Belle’s gaze flitted to Amanda’s feet and she gasped. “Oh! And you’re wearing your cute flats with the little daisies on them. Total date shoes.”
Damn her whimsical footwear.
“Are they too much?” She glanced down at the ballerina flats. They were, weren’t they? She should change into something less feminine. Less pretty. Less...everything.
“No, they’re not too much. Neither is the lipstick. I’m trying to tell you that you look gorgeous—as gorgeous as you possibly can while wearing that T-shirt. Mr. Hot Single Dad won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
“Don’t call him that. Please.” In her head, she still called him Mr. Cranky Pants. Although lately, he’d been a tad less stilted than usual. Still, it suited him. When he’d called to arrange the interview, he’d sounded as formal and businesslike as if he’d been setting up a meeting with the queen of England.
Amanda frowned into her coffee. “And I’m quite certain he’ll be able to take his eyes off me. He shouldn’t be looking at me at all. He should be taking notes or something, shouldn’t he? This meeting isn’t about me. It’s about Furever Paws and the rescue animals and the fundraiser to help get the shelter back on its feet. It’s business, and it most definitely isn’t a date.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
“Because...” Because I don’t have time for a boyfriend. Because I’m trying to start a new business while running another one at the same time. She swallowed. Because how am I supposed to go on a date with him when simply talking to him turns me into a nervous wreck? “Because it isn’t, plain and simple.”
She stomped to the door to flip the Closed sign over to the Open side. The daisy flats were already hurting her feet. Marvelous.
Belle opened her mouth to say something else, and Amanda held up a hand. “Can we stop talking about it, please?”
“If that’s what you want.”
Amanda nodded as she refilled her coffee cup. “It is.”
“Okay, but can I say one more thing?” Belle folded her hands in a prayer position, so with no small amount of reluctance, Amanda nodded. “Your entire life revolves around responsibility. When you’re not working at the Grille or whipping up new recipes for your Instagram and planning your foodie takeover of Spring Forest, you’re volunteering at Furever Paws. And now you’re planning a massive fundraiser. You deserve to have some fun every now and then.”
“I have fun. Loads of it.” It might have been a slight exaggeration, but that was okay, wasn’t it? Belle was making it sound like Amanda’s life was nothing but drudgery and that simply wasn’t true.
“Romantic fun?” Belle waited a beat for Amanda to respond, but she refused, focusing instead on gathering the ketchup bottles from the tables so she could refill them before customers starting piling in. “I rest my case. Come on, boss. I’ve watched you get all swoony over this guy for weeks. This is your chance. If you honestly think this isn’t a date then you should ask him out on a real one. Today. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Amanda whirled around to face her. “Seriously?”
Belle winked. “What are the odds it would happen twice? A million to one?”
The bell on the front door chimed as Mollie McFadden walked in and headed toward one of the booths. As usual, she had a dog in tow—a fluffy collie mix, this time—but the sweet pup lowered into a down position on the sidewalk just outside the door, waiting patiently with its head resting on its paws.
Amanda had never been so happy to see a customer before, especially Mollie. She ran a dog training business, which would be a perfect fit for one of the booths at the barbecue cook-off.
“Good morning, Mollie.” Amanda gave her a wave, then whispered to Belle, “Hand me a menu, would you? I’ll take Mollie’s order because I want to ask her about taking part in the fundraiser.”
“Because that’s easier than asking Ryan Carter out on a date?” Belle slid a menu off the stack near the register and offered it to her.
“You’re fired.” Amanda snatched it from her hands. “Again.”
“You’re weakening. I expected you to fire me ten minutes ago.” Belle tied her apron around her waist with a satisfied flourish.
One of these days, Amanda was really going to fire her. Except she couldn’t because she loved her too much.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of activity. Mollie was thrilled to hear about Amanda’s plans for the barbecue cook-off and happily agreed to run a booth at the event. The collie mix she was busy training for a client who lived in Raleigh never budged from his spot on the front walkway, and Amanda almost asked her if she could try transforming Tucker into a pet someone might actually want to take home, but she figured one favor was enough.
Still, by the time the breakfast rush was over, Amanda had served omelets and pancakes along with her sales pitch to several local business owners, each of whom had agreed to attend the fundraiser and man a booth. Even local farmer Cade Battle promised to show up and sell produce with his dad. It shouldn’t have surprised her since he’d helped out the Whitaker sisters many times in the past. But somehow it still did, probably because Cade was cranky enough to make Tucker seem like the most likely pup to win the Miss Congeniality title in a dog show.
All in all, the plans for the barbecue cook-off were taking shape rapidly enough that she felt like she’d actually have something to talk about when Ryan showed up wearing one of his impeccably cut suits in all his perfectly posh glory.
Except the Ryan Carter who walked in the door five minutes before their scheduled appointment wasn’t the Ryan Carter she’d been expecting. He was the same man, obviously—same piercing amber eyes, same charmingly rumpled hair, same broad shoulders. But for the first time since he’d blown into town like some strange and foreign treasure the tornado had dropped into her path, he wasn’t wearing a coat and tie. Instead, his muscular form was covered in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of worn jeans.
She almost didn’t believe her eyes.
Amanda blinked hard, wondering if she was seeing things. Or maybe Ryan had an identical twin she didn’t know about. Bryan Carter, perhaps?
But then he aimed that intense, bone-melting gaze of his directly her way and she knew without a doubt that it was him. She’d know that stare anywhere. She took a shuddering inhale and tried not to ogle his chest, which was apparently more finely sculpted than it had looked under all those suits he’d been wearing. What was going on under that soft, luxe cashmere? He looked so good it was almost obscene.
The sweater appeared expensive—not to mention, soft as a baby kitten. Amanda wanted to bury her face in it and purr.
Oh God.
Maybe Belle was right. Maybe it had been too long since she’d been on a date.
“Hello.” His mouth twitched into that almost-smiling thing he did sometimes, and her tummy flipped.
“Hi.” Why did it feel like everyone in the diner was staring at her, waiting for her to be sick to her stomach?
Amanda glanced around. Everyone seemed much more focused on their burgers and club sandwiches than her awkward conversation. Even Belle was busy taking orders instead of spying on her.
Calm down.
She was fine. This was a simple interview for the paper, nothing more. “Shall we take a seat in one of the booths and chat about Furever Paws?”
“Sure.” He motioned for her to lead the way.
She chose the booth in the farthest possible corner so they’d have a little privacy. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
> After a quick dash to the kitchen, she returned with a tray of food and two frosty glasses of fresh strawberry lemonade. “I hope this is okay. I thought since we had things to discuss, I’d just whip something up for us instead of having you order off the menu.”
Ryan blinked and then his mouth curved into an actual smile. Amanda almost wished she’d tucked her phone into the pocket of her jeans so she could take a picture of it. “Are those what I think they are?”
“Fried green tomatoes?” She nodded. “Yes, but I’ve done kind of a gourmet spin on them and incorporated them into a caprese salad.”
“Wow. Impressive. Is this going to be a new menu addition?”
She wished. Her mom would never go for it. “No, but I like to experiment. Someday I’m hoping to expand the Grille into high-end catering.”
She swallowed. Had she just said that out loud?
Other than Belle, she hadn’t told a soul about why she’d been playing around with new recipes and posting them to Instagram. Not even her family. Catering from the Main Street Grille was more of a wish than an actual business plan at this point, and now she’d gone and shared it with the editor of The Spring Forest Chronicle. “I don’t know why I told you that. Please don’t put it in the paper.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. There was that smile again. “Your secret is safe with me.”
She almost wished he’d go back to his normal solemn expression. He was too handsome when he smiled, too charming. It was unnerving. Who knew what that smile would make her say next?
Amanda took a gulp of lemonade as he opened a small notepad.
“The Whitaker sisters spoke very highly of you,” he said. “Tell me about your plans for the barbecue fundraiser.”
“Birdie and Bunny are sweethearts. I’ve been volunteering at Furever Paws for about three years now, walking dogs mostly. The Grille is slowest Mondays, so that’s my usual day. When I saw how hard the tornado hit the shelter, I wanted to do something to help.”
