“Sugar daddy,” I chuckle but there’s zero humor in it, “you can’t know this but your attempt to shame me is laughable. Sure,sure, I have a sugar daddy. A man who treats me so good he paid for me to bust my ass on the daily, pour my heart and soul into a joint in a dying town, hope my meals are good enough to keep tourists fed and talking about them so I can keep my doors open.”
Something akin to realization or remorse flashes on his face, but it’s too late for that. I turn on my heel and stride away, ignoring how much it bothers me to do so. I don’t even know this man, so of course it doesn’t faze me.It doesn’t.
If anything irritates me, it's that I'm sure other people think the same thing. Last fall, after Chantel met Baker and fell hopelessly in love, we decided to come back home. She found a good man and he adores her—so much so thatmyhappiness as her best friend matters to him. So, when she took the leap to open her bakery, he gave me the same chance to open my place.
“Wait, hey I didn’t mean that,” his voice calls after me, twangy and cute but I try to ignore that, “even if he is your sugar daddy, that ain’t my business. I’m just sour I gotta explain my mess-up to my partner. Would you wait?” he calls louder as I storm away, trying to salvage some self-respect.
“Why? Yousort ofapologized. Good for you. Have yourself a good one, honey,” I snap this over my shoulder as I stalk away.
“Dammit. I didn’t mean it, Idoapologize. I will be seeing you again, firecracker!”
I grin as he shouts this after me, almost promising me another run-in. I don’t like that he assumed the worst about me, but I suppose some people do. They believe Baker is fucking me and Chantel and paying us good for it. It doesn’t seem to matter that she wears his ring and took his last name. I can’t convince them otherwise, so I stopped trying. I don’t care.
At least, I thought I didn’t care—until this cobalt-eyed pretty boy made me feel as if I should.