Her eyes mist as she glances at me and then back to Hank. “Lordy, that brings back memories of picking up pecans after school and taking them home in the hopes of spurring my mom into making a pie.”
“Did it work?” Hank asks.
“I got lucky on occasion.” She chuckles and wipes at her eyes. My mother, who rules this town with an iron fist and a hairdo that won’t move a centimeter in the strongest wind, just got teary over a dessert.
Hank gives her a warm smile, his friendly demeanor far more charming than it should be. With every word from his lips, my attraction grows stronger. I’m a fool to let it rule me, but I fall under his spell right along with my mom. The same feelings from high school—longing chief among them—well up inside me. I need to get away from him, to regain my composure.
“I’d best get back to the shop.” Hank peers across the street. “Morning rush is coming up.”
I fight the disappointment that flows through my heart. “Thanks for visiting.”
“I’m going to need you to return the favor later this evening. I have something for you at the shop.” He opens the door for two more students, Lizzie and Grace. They shuffle in and strip off their coats, revealing svelte 19-year-old bodies and bright smiles.
He doesn’t look at them, not even a stray glance. His eyes are on me. “Please say you’ll come by.”
“I, um—”
“When a gentleman offers you a gift, you take it, Olive Rue Granderson. She’ll be by tonight, for sure.” My mom continues into the studio and lays her mat on the floor.
I glower at her. She doesn’t pay me any attention and starts up a conversation with Lizzie.
“She’s nice. I like her.” He pushes out the door and into the bitter wind. “See you tonight.”
“I don’t know—”
“Olive!” My mom barks.
“Oh my god.” I flush with embarrassment and curse the day I talked my mom into coming to yoga classes. “Fine. Yes. I’ll come by.”
“Thanks.” He grins. “See you tonight.”
Hank
She stands in her doorway, looking across the street at my shop and wringing her hands.
“Thanks for these. I’ll have to hide them from the kids or they’ll be gone before I have a chance to eat one.” Jenna, a friend from my high school days, stuffs some spiced chocolate drops into her purse.
“Good to see you again.”
“You too.” She hurries out into the blustery night, and I flip the switch to turn off the glowing candy sign.
Olive hesitates, and I can almost hear the war going on in her head. I want to put her at ease, but I also want to push her over the edge. And I think she’s more interested in falling than she lets on.
I open the door and call out to her, “Come on over. You’ll like what I have for you.”
I know how it sounds, and the double entendre is very much intended. After that kiss this morning, I ran to the shop, up the stairs to my apartment and took a cold shower. It was the only way I would be able to function for the rest of the day. A constant hard-on, thanks to Olive, didn’t seem like a good business plan for selling candy.
She looks both ways, then crosses the slick street. Her yoga pants hug her legs, and her heavy coat covers whatever top she’s wearing. When she steps onto the sidewalk, she inhales deeply. I don’t think she even knows she does it, but the sugar in the air is too much of a temptation, even for her. She revels in it, just like I do.
“What did you want to show me?” She hovers outside my open door.
“Come on in where it’s warm. It’s almost done.”
She scrunches her nose, then checks the street for any onlookers. Once satisfied that we’re alone, she steps inside, and I let the door close behind her.
“What is that?” She closes her eyes and shucks her coat, revealing a gray, long sleeved t-shirt underneath. “It smells even better than usual in this devil’s playground.”
I laugh. “Devil’s playground?”
She runs her fingers along the jars of lollipops. “Yep. Definitely.” She seems more at ease this time, though still liable to bolt if I make the wrong move.
“It’s your surprise.” I pull out a chair from a back table for her. “Please, have a seat, and I’ll bring it right out.”
A timer dings in the kitchen as she sinks into the chair.
“I’ll be back.” I hurry through the door into the kitchen and slide a mini pie out of my convection oven. The crust is a deep golden brown, and the apples inside bubble in a brown sugar syrup that coats the lattice along the top.
I slide the small pie onto a plate, scoop a dollop of ice cream on top, and drizzle caramel all over it. The ice cream begins to melt as I grab two spoons and head out into the dining room.