Aww, damn, Jazzy. You blew it.
She heard a vehicle door slam and darted a glance out the window. Roan had finally gotten out of the truck and was sauntering toward the bakery, adjusting his Stetson lower on his forehead. She couldn’t see his eyes or get a read on his body language.
Her heart thumped harder with each step he took toward her. When he reached the door of the crowded bakery, she leaned over to open it for him.
His eyes met hers, murky and impassive.
Yikes! She had blown it.
“Roan?” she said, her voice coming out shaky.
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Are you... is everything...” She pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth, worried it. “Are you cross with me?”
“Why would I be cross?”
“Because I said something you didn’t want to hear.”
“Who says I didn’t want to hear it?”
She stared at him, hope pulling her mouth into an O shape.
“Roan!” A voice from behind the counter called to him.
They glanced over simultaneously to see the owner of the bakery, Christine Noble, limp around the counter to greet them. Once, Christine had been an avid skier whose Olympic dreams ended when a car hit her while she was out on a training run. Christine had won the Twilight Christmas CookieContest so many times, she’d been the first inductee into the Twilight Christmas Cookie Hall of Fame. Christine was in her early forties, married to a cutting horse trainer with four children. They lived in Jubilee, not far from where Roan lived.
Christine hugged them both, first Roan, then Jazzy and said with a bright smile, “Two of my most favorite people. Y’all come on into the back.” She waved for them to follow her.
“You’ve got a long line of customers,” Roan said. “We can wait.”
“Amy’s got it covered. She’s a dynamo.” Christine flapped a hand at the assistant behind the counter. “You two are special. Let’s go check out the cookie vault.”
“Cookie vault?” Jazzy giggled.
“Where I keep my top-secret recipes.”
“And you’re willing to share them with me?” Jazzy asked, stunned by Christine’s generosity.
“I’m willing to share them with Roan,” Christine said. “He and Claire gave me invaluable advice when I opened the bakery and I’ve just been waiting for the chance to repay his kindness.”
Claire.
To Jazzy, the biggest sticking point in exploring a relationship with Roan wasn’t their age gap, but rather, the ghost of his dead wife. Claire cropped up everywhere. Worse, after watching every single campfire cooking video Roan had uploaded to YouTube, Jazzy adored Claire too. She was clever and quick-witted and beautiful. She had a high beguiling laugh as sweet as an oboe and a sly way of looking at the camera that seduced the viewer.
No way could Jazzy ever compete with Claire’s innate sensuality. Her hopes rode a downdraft and two words lit up her brain bright as neon signs.
Tread lightly.
Okay, she would pretend she hadn’t said a word to Roan in the truck and if he didn’t make a move, she’d just let things die out. They’d just go through Christine’s cookie vault and pick out the most unique or difficult cookie to use for the contest. Roan had said that strategy would help her stand out in the crowd. She was scared that she couldn’t pull off a complicated recipe, but Roan paraphrased Ellen Johnson Sirleaf. “If your dreams don’t scare you, they’re not big enough.”
Christine led them down a small hallway. Her bustling kitchen buzzed with activity and delicious smells as they passed by it on the way to Christine’s office that doubled as a tasting room.
“Have a seat.” Christine waved them down into two chairs in front of her desk crowded with open notebooks which were filled with photographs of cakes, cookies, and pastries for weddings, graduations, family reunions, and other large celebrations.
She plopped down behind the desk, reached into the bottom drawer, and pulled out a large metal file box. The box sported numerous Christmas stickers. The top was labeled with masking tape in Christine’s handwriting.
Top-Secret Cookie Recipes.