“I should be able to spare a few hours. Thing is, instead of paying me for the time do you think I could take one of the pies with me?”
Peggy looked slightly surprised but she nodded. “You can take one. I’ll pay you for your time, though. Got a hankering for pie?”
More like she thought she owed someone a peace offering.
3
Aspen pulled up outside the club in her car. It didn’t even make that squeaking noise as she turned around corners. She shuddered to think what it must have cost to fix everything that had been wrong. She just hoped that Saxon didn’t want his money back quickly.
She climbed out and a wave of dizziness hit her. Her whole body ached. What she wouldn’t do for a hot bath and a beer. She smiled and shook her head. Baking half a dozen pies after working a shift at the diner made her feel like she was closer to eighty than twenty-two.
She grabbed the box holding the pie and walked to the door, pressing her finger down on the buzzer.
Curiosity tugged at her as she stood there. If she hadn’t thought it would come with a price, she might just have taken him up on his offer of a tour.
The door opened, but instead of Saxon, a thin, gray-haired man stood there. He had to be in his early sixties but he stood straight as an arrow, dressed in a dark shirt and pants that were neatly pressed. He looked down his nose at her. “Yes?”
Maybe she was only imagining the hostility in his voice.
“Um, hi, is Saxon here?”
“No.”
That was it. Just no. She cleared her throat and held up the box with the pie in it. “I brought this for him.”
Did the other man just sneer? All right, so she looked like a hot mess, it wasn’t an excuse to be a jerk to her. “It’s a pie,” she added lamely.
“Mr. Saxon doesn’t eat desserts.”
He didn’t? Who the heck didn’t like pie? That was just weird.
“Right. Well. I guess I’ll take it back with me then.”
“Thomas! Thomas!”
She turned at the deep, masculine voice and spotted a huge bear of a man striding towards them. He was dressed in a chef’s jacket and had short, dark hair with hints of gray. She couldn’t stop staring as he stormed towards them.
“Where’s Saxon?” the other man demanded.
She heard the old guy, Thomas—he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself—sigh and mutter something to himself.
“He’s out Mr. Renard.”
“Well, when will he be back?” Mr. Renard asked with exaggerated patience.
“In a few hours, he had to drive into Freestown.”
“I need some saffron, and this god-forsaken town doesn’t sell it. Call him and tell him to get some.”
God-forsaken town? She loved this little town. Sure, it was different but that wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, this was the best place she’d ever lived.
Thomas stiffened further. “I am not your employee, Mr. Renard.”
“Yeah, but you’re his. And I need saffron for the dish I’m making, so hop to it.” He actually clapped his hands. She stared on in amazement, expecting Thomas to erupt. But the other man was obviously too dignified for that. Instead he shut the door. Quietly.
“Got a fucking stick up his ass that even an excavation crew wouldn’t be able to remove,” the other man muttered then turned to her. “Who the hell are you?”
“Uh, I’m Aspen.”