Fifty thousand dollars covered her parents’ mortgage. A new car. Deposits into savings accounts for her sisters’ kids. A voice inside she’d tried to shut down a thousand times whispered, Culinary school.
“Wow,” Mila whispered. “Fifty thousand?”
“May I suggest investing in real estate with your winnings?” The corner of Jared’s lips curved skyward. Her seat offered a prime view of the suggestion of stubble peppered across his strong chin. He shaved every single day. Always so pulled together, so . . . on purpose.
She glanced down at her own ensemble. A greasy dribble of ranch dressing decorated the curve of her left breast. She cringed. Sexy.
Maybe if she won this contest she’d invest in a larger apron.
“Now,” Vin said, “we know you’ve paid good money to enter this contest, and we know you’re the best this community has to offer. So impress us. Blow us away. Knock our socks off. We want your weird, your wonderful, your incredible creations. Does anybody have any questions?”
Hands shot up around the room, and Mila leaned back in her chair, allowing her imagination to drift. Would her chocolate-bacon-orange creation be enough to get her to the final round? Her mother’s sour expression when she entered her apartment as she baked said otherwise. Sourcing local ingredients threw another wrench into her plan, and doubts crept in like ghosts.
Aunt Georgie’s voice sounded in her ear. You’re as good as them, Lee Lee. Better, even.
Mila crossed her legs and tucked her hands between her thighs. What did Aunt Georgie know about baking, anyway? Cooking, sure. She had her five-dish repertoire. But baking? Not a chance. The woman treated Entenmann’s like the Second Coming.
As the information session wrapped up and people began tucking themselves into outerwear and drifting out of the room, Mila stood from her folding chair and stretched her legs.
“So?” Jared said, standing to meet her and tugging on his coat. “You feel any better? Empowered? Or you feel worse?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Same?”
He laughed. “Hey, maybe whipping up a caramel apple will boost your confidence?”
“Wow, J, thank you so much for the suggestion. You’re a peach.” She zipped up her coat and slung her purse across her chest as they made their way through the throngs of people to the front exit. “I have to add my name to the registration list and make sure they have Aunt Georgie’s check on file.”
“Okay, cool. I’ll catch you later, then.”
“Hey.” She touched his wool coat sleeve as he turned away, catching his attention before he bolted. “Thanks for sitting through this with me.”
His smooth cheeks flushed blotchy red, and he blinked at her. “Yeah. Sure. No sweat.”
For a moment, they stood staring at each other. Something unspoken flowed between them, but she couldn’t be sure what it was from his side. Did he ever think about that night after the lake? She remembered it all the time.
He’d stared at her so curiously, so heavily, that she couldn’t ignore the shift. When he followed her to her car and offered to walk her home, she thought maybe he’d bridge the chasm of friendship and tell her he wanted more. But as they stood outside next to her car, both shifting awkwardly in the summer air, he blathered something about a burglar on the loose in Pine Ridge and then bailed. A few weeks later he told her he’d hooked up with Chloe, and Mila took it as a sign. A big fat sign. Never gonna happen.
Jared coughed into a fist and broke the spell. “Well, all right. See ya later.”
She turned to make her way to the registration sign-up sheet when she rammed shoulder-first into another body.
“Oof, Jesus,” she grunted. “Sorry.”
She looked up to find Vin Ortiz grinning down at her. His heavy cologne assaulted her sinuses, forcing tears to her eyes and reminding her of middle school, when boys began discovering drugstore body spray.
“My fault.” He grinned. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
She offered him a tight smile and took a step toward the registration table.
“Are you entering the bake-off?” he said before she could fully move past him.
“Yeah,” she said. “I am.”
Cool, Mila. Very cool. What if he had something to do with judging?
“That’s great,” he said. His attention lasered in on her, and he took a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you from Pine Ridge?”
She nodded. “I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“Wow, really? Must be a very special place.”
He had a kind face, an easy smile. The cologne was a total turnoff, but not the worst she’d ever dealt with. Nicole would tell her to flirt a little, put herself out there. It wasn’t every day a single man arrived in Pine Ridge and paid her attention. She should capitalize on the opportunity, even if Vin didn’t quite do it for her.
She smirked. “It has its perks.”
“Well, I’m here until the contest ends. Maybe you could show me around?”
A single laugh escaped her throat. “Yeah, we’ll start at the gas station and end at the diner. If we have time, I can show you the stoplight. You’ll be blown away by the booming metropolis that is Pine Ridge.”
His smile widened, revealing impossibly straight, white teeth.
“Whatever you love about it,” he said, “that’s what I want to see.”
She wanted to laugh. It had been years since anyone had so shamelessly flirted with her, and even then, it was only Marty, and he’d turned out to be the most boring boyfriend in history. He loved football on Sundays and tan pants, and when she’d asked him to sample her persimmon pie, he’d grimaced and said he didn’t eat seafood.
Her whole life she’d decided how she felt about new people within moments of meeting them. Marty was a basset hound, reliable and boring but ultimately safe. The handful of guys she’d dated before Marty fell somewhere within the same safe-but-boring spectrum. And where had that gotten her? Lusting over a friend.
Nothing could ever happen with Jared. The churning feelings would pass, Jared would move on to bigger and better things, and she’d move on, too. She’d take the next step without him, date and possibly marry a man she hadn’t even met yet. It had to be that way. Maybe now was the time to step out onto the ledge and take a chance on someone different.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m Mila, by the way.”
“Vin,” he said, extending his hand.
She dragged her own sweaty palm against the fabric of her coat as she pulled it from her pocket. His warm hand enveloped hers, and he lingered for a moment after she’d already let go.
“Very nice to meet you, Mila.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
He tugged his phone from the back pocket of his fitted jeans, unlocked it, and handed it to her. “You want to put your number in there? I’ll shoot you a text and we can set something up.”
With cautious fingers, she took his phone. “This isn’t against bake-off bylaws, is it?” she said. “Am I gonna find out later you’re a judge and I broke the rules?”
“Nah,” he said. “I’m an employee of Indigo, but I don’t have anything to do with judging.”
She forced down the warning bells in her gut, typed in her number, and handed the phone back. “I should go. I still have to sign up.”
He nodded, one side of his mouth turning up in a grin. Smooth. The guy was very smooth. “See you soon, Mila.”
chapter three
The icy air barely grazed Jared’s cheeks before he remembered he’d left his scarf inside. He turned on his heel and hurried back into the community center just in time to see that Instagram-influencer wannabe hand his phone to Mila.
Jared stopped short, and the woman behind him tumbled right into his ass.
“Oh!” she yelped. “Excuse me, son.”
&
nbsp; He stepped to the side, tucking himself against the wall to keep out of traffic’s way. Why was Vin smiling at Mila like that? She gnawed at her thumbnail the way she did when she got nervous, and a single toxic curl of jealousy wound through Jared’s gut.
He’d never been jealous before. Never had a reason to be. Mila hovered under the radar of most men in town, and there wasn’t anyone to date in Pine Ridge anyway. Her last boyfriend, Marty, barely counted as a romantic partner, and she’d confessed once after a couple of tequila shots that the guy refused any sexual position but missionary. Jared would’ve been more threatened by a golden retriever.
But this was something new. Mila tapped something into Vin’s phone and handed it back, the flickering, awkward smile never leaving her glowing face. When she walked away, Vin stared, checking out her ass.
Before he knew what he was doing, Jared strode across the room to stand directly in front of Vin.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Jared reached for Vin’s hand without waiting for his handshake to be accepted. He tightened his grip, and Vin winced.
“Fine, thanks.” Vin shook his hand out before crossing his arms over his chest.
“Pretty cool about the bake-off,” Jared said.
“Yeah, man, it’s a great program. Indigo is big into community outreach and supporting the areas they build in.”
“I’m in real estate myself, so I can definitely see the risks in coming into a small-town area like this.”
What the hell was he doing? He never got into pissing contests, and he never boasted about his career. Something about this guy got under his skin, and he hadn’t even done anything wrong.
“Ah, cool,” Vin said. “What do you do exactly?”
“I’m an agent. Are you looking to move to the area? I could definitely hook you up.” He bunched his mouth, immediately regretting the offer. His brain was on autopilot. Sell, sell, sell.
“Nah, man, I’m here short term. Thanks, though.”
“You need a rental?”
Vin’s dark eyebrows rose past his glasses and into his forehead. “The company’s putting me up at a hotel just outside Utica.”
“Wow, really? That’s like, an hour from here. Without traffic.”
Vin ran a hand over his mouth, and his gaze drifted to the registration table where Mila scribbled on a clipboard. She flipped her hair to one side, chatted amiably with the woman at the table, rocked back and forth on long legs. Why hadn’t Jared noticed when he’d walked in how beautiful she looked today? Why hadn’t he told her? The curl of jealousy tightened around his lungs.
“Huh,” Vin said. He looked back at Jared, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe I should be closer. Plus I’ve got a buddy coming into town, and it’d be easier to have him stay with me.”
Shit. What had he done now?
Jared sniffed, forcing himself to chill. Mila was his friend. Did he want her to end up single and alone for the rest of her life? Why shouldn’t she go on a date? Even if he let himself admit there may have once been the possibility of something more between them, he’d never get married.
Ever.
To anyone.
And if Jared wasn’t going to marry her, then somebody should.
“Here’s my info.” Jared handed Vin a business card. “Cell service in Pine Ridge is almost nonexistent, so if you call and I don’t answer, just leave a message.”
“Jesus,” Vin said. “No cell service, no Wi-Fi. How does anybody get anything done around here?”
Jared bristled. He’d said the same thing himself a thousand times, but he’d be damned if he’d let anybody talk shit about his town.
“We find a way.”
Vin raised his eyebrows and held up the business card. “Thanks for the offer, man. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
* * *
Jared rolled the rough plastic casing between his fingers, set his feet, narrowed his gaze, and propelled the dart toward the bull’s-eye.
“Damn it.” Eighteen. Again.
“You’re distracted,” Sam said, retrieving the darts. “Get your head right, brother.”
Jared balanced his weight on the barstool and sipped his beer, the hoppy liquid cascading across his tongue. The alcohol soothed his anxious mind.
“I’m not distracted.”
Lies. He hadn’t been able to think straight all day. Slept like shit last night. This morning he’d poured orange juice in his coffee.
Sam yanked on the brim of his baseball cap before tossing a dart at the board. The stupid thing landed right in the bull’s-eye.
“That’s game,” Sam said.
“Good,” Jared said. “I’m done anyway. Those darts are all messed up.”
Sam slowly shook his head as they took seats at the bar. The bartender set a water in front of Sam and another IPA in front of Jared.
“How many is that?” Sam nodded toward Jared’s beer.
“Two.” As much as he wanted to argue, he knew where it would get him. Sam could be cool about his friends drinking, but when it came to his little brother, he monitored alcohol intake like a mama hawk.
“Just be careful,” Sam said.
“What do you mean? Be careful of what?”
Sam’s face tightened until he turned and caught Jared’s shit-eating grin. “Very funny.”
Sam ran a hand over his beard and stared into the row of taps behind the bar. Utz’s was quiet tonight, with only a smattering of people perched along the bar, watching the basketball game on TV and sipping their respective drinks. This was their place. His and Sam’s. The place they always talked.
“Sorry, dude,” Jared said. “You make it too easy.”
“Syd always tells me I should lay off,” he said.
“You give her a hard time about drinking, too?”
“No,” Sam said. “Lay off of you.”
Jared sipped his IPA. Sam had never been shy about reminding him of their father’s alcoholism or what a slippery slope awaited if Jared didn’t watch himself.
“I knew I liked her,” Jared said.
“Then why are you such a hater about us getting married?” Sam lifted the water bottle to his lips, took a long drink, and returned his patient gaze to Jared.
Shame creeped across Jared’s skin. He rotated the pint glass between his clammy hands, watching the foam head pop and dissolve. “I’m not hating. Seriously.”
Sam scoffed. “Right.”
“You and Sydney are perfect for each other,” Jared said. “If anybody in the world should get married, it’s you two. I guess I just have a hard time . . . seeing the appeal. Personally.”
“I don’t know, man.” Sam folded his hands on the bar top. “Imagine getting to spend every day with your best friend.”
Jared’s throat dried up like the Sahara in the summer.
“And then imagine,” Sam continued, “your best friend is incredibly sexy and she listens to you when you’re down and sometimes she bakes chocolate chip cookies.”
Or caramel apple pie.
“Syd bakes?”
Sam laughed. “Break and bake. But I’m not complaining.”
Jared nodded. The Indigo Hotels weasel featured prominently in his thoughts lately. What if he and Mila hit it off? What if they got married? Would the weasel see her the way Sam saw Syd? Would he savor every bite of each incredible baked good she came up with? No guy who wore ironic flannel would ever truly appreciate Mila’s dry wit or impossibly bad taste in grunge rock.
All of a sudden, imagining Mila married to some other guy made his stomach hurt.
“Syd’s one of the good ones.” His voice betrayed him, and he felt the weight of Sam’s stare on his face.
“Damn right she is.” Sam paused. “You know, there are other good ones out there. I hope you don’t think you’ve met every
woman on the planet. Maybe somebody’s out there who could change your mind.”
Jared huffed a bitter laugh. “It’s not a matter of meeting the right person.”
“Just don’t want to see you end up alone.”
“Why not? Doing what I want, when I want? Yes, please.”
The mantra he’d used his entire adult life suddenly sounded hollow.
Sam shook his head and smiled. “Okay.”
Jared swallowed the last of his beer. “All this marriage talk is giving me heartburn. I gotta get out of here. I’m showing a house off Tucker Road tomorrow at eight o’clock.”
“The Fullers’ old house?”
“Yeah.”
Sam whistled. “Damn, J. That’ll be a nice commission for you. That place is huge.”
At four thousand square feet and sitting on a stunning, heavily wooded three-acre plot bordering Fourth Lake, the Fuller house was definitely too much for one person. But Vin Ortiz screamed poser, and if the guy didn’t want to educate himself about the area, Jared would let the jerk pay way too much. No skin off his nose.
Jared tossed a twenty down on the bar and bunched his lips. “Eh, it’s not huge. Just a rental.”
“Who’s renting that big old place this time of year?”
Jared couldn’t bring himself to say it. His voice would probably give him away. Some dude who’s hard up on Mila, and I’m pissed off because I don’t think she should date anybody, but I’m not even sure why I feel that way.
“Some tourist,” Jared said. He buttoned his peacoat and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Hey, when are you proposing, by the way? Want to make sure I’ve got a bottle of sparkling cider in the fridge for you.”
Sam glared. “So thoughtful.”
“Kidding, of course.” The heavy mood required an easy dig. He admired Sam for always being the sober one in the room, for turning down whiskey shots when everyone taking them knew they were a bad idea. The guy had a level of discipline Jared couldn’t fathom.
“It’s happening soon,” Sam said. “I’ve had the ring for a while.”
“It’s . . . good. For you guys, I mean.” Jared cleared his throat and closed his hand around the keys in his pocket. The sharp metal house key dug into his palm as he fought against every natural urge to crack another joke about marriage or drinking or Pine Ridge or any of the other deep topics creeping under his skin like a rash. “Sorry I’m such an asshole.”
Sweet Love Page 4
