“Hold my purse,” I told Kerrianne, striding toward the table.
“Nothing good ever followed that statement,” Kerrianne whispered harshly.
“Chelsea, Casey, is there a reason my brookies are on the back table, instead of being set out for sale?” I asked sweetly. “It seems like you’ve sold just about everything else.”
Chelsea was about to speak, but Casey interjected, “I guess no one’s in the mood for brownies tonight.”
A few heads turned our way. Parents gathered in the entryway, who had been muttering to themselves about their kids’ progress reports, were now staring at the spectacle of Libby Stratton getting her brookies thrown back in her face. I was grateful, for once, that I was incapable of blushing, because my face would be on fire.
I glanced down at the platter to the left labeled “Brownies,” which was practically decimated. “Mmm-hmm.”
“We can bag them up so you can take them home,” Casey offered.
Now, under normal circumstances, in a normal town, that comment probably wouldn’t have stung. But here in the Hollow, bake sales were a big fund-raising business. Why? Because no treat was left behind. If a male Hollow resident saw that his wife’s or girlfriend’s cupcakes were about to be left on the bake-sale table, he would step in and buy leftover treats. It was a little bit like that scene in Oklahoma! where the cowboys bid for their sweethearts’ picnic baskets to publicly declare themselves a couple. It secured extra cash for the charity raising money, helped the lady in question save face, and gave the men a chance to beat their chests a little bit. In previous years, it hadn’t been an issue, because my triple chocolate chip cookies always got snatched up. But now . . .
I smiled sweetly, fangs fully extended, making Casey recoil. “You know what? Why don’t you take those bags of baked treats, wrap them up in craft paper, tie them with a pretty raffia bow, bend over, and shove them up your—”
A rough hand wrapped around my bicep, squeezing gently. “Actually, I was just thinkin’ a brownie would hit the spot.”
I looked up to see Wade giving Chelsea and Casey his best “aw, shucks, ma’am” grin. While Casey had drawn back, patting the worktable behind her to check for her purse, Chelsea’s smile ratcheted up several degrees, and she stepped closer to the bake-sale table, leaning over ever so slightly to give him a better view of her V-necked cleavage.
“Oh, well, then you’ll have to try my brownies, Wade, double fudge,” Chelsea practically purred. I arched an eyebrow. Chelsea was married to the main morning DJ for the local Christian-music station. Despite her husband’s cheerful on-air persona, I sincerely doubted that “Brother Happy” would be at all happy with the way Chelsea was staring at Wade’s tattooed arms. Frankly, I didn’t like the way she was staring at Wade’s tattooed arms.
“Actually, I got a hankerin’ for cookies and brownies all wrapped into one, so why don’t ya just give me those brookies back there?” Wade drawled.
“That’s fine.” Chelsea, a bit deflated, asked, “How many?”
Wade pulled his wallet from his back pocket, letting the chain that kept it in place slap against his thigh. “All of ’em.”
Chelsea’s baby-blue eyes bugged out. And I’m sure mine were twice as big.
“All of them?” I whispered as Wade dug cash out of his wallet. “Wade, that’s fifty dollars’ worth of brookies.”
Wade dropped the bills into Chelsea’s hand. “And?”
“I’m not going to let you spend fifty dollars on my cooking,” I hissed. “That’s throwing good money after bad.”
“I’m sure they’re gonna be delicious,” Wade said, just a little too loudly. The few parents who weren’t side-eyeing the proceedings had turned around to watch Wade’s transaction. I watched helplessly and accepted my less-than-stellar offering in return.
Wade stretched his hand out to me. “You ready to go, darlin’?”
The angry vise grip I had on my jaw was the only thing that kept it from dropping open. And Chelsea looked like she was about to fall over from shock. For all intents and purposes, according to Hollow tradition, Wade Tucker had just openly declared that I was his girl.
Stunned silent, I cleared my throat and slipped my hand into Wade’s warm human hand. He took the brookies in his free hand and led me past Kerrianne, whose equally shell-shocked expression was giving way to a sinister grin.
“See you later,” she whispered sotto voce. “And you’re gonna give me details, woman.”