Sweet Sunshine (7 page)

“
Felt
,” I lie, emphasizing the hell out of the tense.

“Huh?”

“I
felt
that way about you, not
feel
. Past tense, not present.”
Shut up you moron
. “I mean, it was just a silly crush,” I laughed uncomfortably, trying my best to cover up the truth. “But I’m totally over it,” I said with a wave of my hand. I might have even snorted for effect. Because I was awesome like that.

His brows shot up on his forehead, those hazel eyes going momentarily wide. “Oh. Okay, well great. But either way, I just wanted to explain, it’s not you. You’re great. It’s me—”

“For the love of God,” I groaned. “Please stop. Seriously, stop. This is probably the second most humiliating moment of my life. Just… stop talking.” First place would forever and always go to that time in middle school when I started my period for the very first time… while wearing white jeans — because white jeans couldn’t be embarrassing enough on their own. I may or may not have tried to play it off that I stabbed myself with a pencil. Didn’t work, of course.

“What was the first?” he asked, an eyebrow shooting skyward.

I groaned again. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that, and that this entire conversation
never happened
, okay? I’m just gonna squeeze my eyes closed really tight…” I did, “…and pretend that this whole day was just one big nightmare.”

I opened my eyes and looked at Derrick. His expression was far too amused for our current situation. “Nope, didn’t work. Hold on, let me try again.” I clenched my eyelids shut a second time.

“Chloe,” Derrick said, his voice full of poorly suppressed laughter. I opened my eyes with a defeated sigh, my shoulders hunching and my head dropping forward.

“Yeah?”

“Are we okay?” he asked, using the rough tips of his fingers to tilt my chin back up. It was a smooth move, one that made that overly kind, extra-forgiving part of my personality kick in.

“Yeah,” I sighed again. “We’re good.”

“Great,” he grinned. “’Cause I really do want to be your friend, not just a passing acquaintance. We live in the same town, have the same friends, and my daughter seems to really like you. And I trust her judgment.”

“You should,” I replied. “I’m totally awesome.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “So what do you say? Friends?” He extended his hand to me while I stood there, trying my best to pretend my chest wasn’t cracking in half. Man, being friend-zoned sucked balls!

“Friends,” I offered with the closest imitation of a genuine smile I could muster as I took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

He gave my hand a tug and began pulling me along with him. “Fantastic, now that that’s settled, let’s go whack some moles. My girl needs that ugly-as-shit bear.”

If that wasn’t an
FML
moment, I didn’t know what was.

Chloe

TWO WEEKS HAD
passed since my and Derrick’s impetuous — at least on my part — agreement to become friends. And in that time, he’d stuck true to his word, determined to treat me as more than the casual acquaintance we’d been for over a year and a half.

He stopped by the bakery daily for a cup of coffee and a pastry if he was in the mood. The only difference was, now, instead of shooting me a wink and heading on his way, he actually sat down and started chatting. Most of the time it was just simple small talk, but he made an effort.

Every.

Single.

Day.

I was miserable and elated all at once, which, let me tell you, was a hard as hell combination to deal with. On the inside, I felt giddy at his attention, because clearly, my inner-self was a boy-band-adoring teenager who loved to squeal incessantly. I was constantly having to remind that inner teenager that we were just friends, that he didn’t have those kinds of feelings for me. You’d have thought the damned girl was reliving the breakup of One Direction all over again. It wasn’t pretty. But I was coping.

Or at least trying to.

“What about on-line dating?” Harlow asked through a mouth full of food.

“How about you swallow so I don’t throw up at the sight of your chewed-up food?” I shot back, stacking the last load of clean mugs so they were ready for use the next day.

“Can’t help it,” she mumbled, spitting coffeecake crumbs onto the recently cleaned bar top. “You’re baking is just
sooooo good
,” she finished on a groan.

“Come on!” I laughed, grabbing a cloth and wiping down the spot I’d just cleaned a few minutes ago. “You’re so gross.”

“I’m pregnant. I’m hungry all the time, I’ve forgotten what my feet look like, I literally sweat
all the time
, and every time this baby kicks my bladder, I pee on myself a little bit. Your pastries are pretty much the only thing I have to look forward to until this little demon pops out. So you don’t get to judge me!”

“You must make Noah feel so good about himself,” I giggled.

She gave me a careless shrug, finally swallowing her food and wiping her mouth with one of my pretty napkins. “Don’t change the subject.”

“What subject?” I asked in all seriousness, having forgotten what she’d said between having to watch her graze and hearing about all the miseries of pregnancy.

“Online dating!” She smacked her palm on the counter then promptly got sidetracked when she spotted a batch of cookies I’d made, playing around with the recipe, trying to get it just right. “Ooh, cookies!”

“Hey!” I cried when she grabbed one and stuffed the entire thing in her mouth! “I haven’t taste tested yet, back off!”

She let out a long, garbled groan as her eyes rolled back in her head. “I volunteer as tribute. I’ll be your taste-tester for life.
Oh my God
, what’s that flavor? It’s like a party in my mouth. Gimme another!”

Smiling at another apparently successful creation, I pushed the plate in front of her. “It’s almond extract and cinnamon. It’s a new recipe I was thinking of adding to the menu.”

“You should totally do it,” she sputtered, spitting more crumbs. “And you should make a special batch every single day just for me, you know, because you love me so much.”

I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to bake more cinnamon and almond cookies tomorrow morning when Harlow suddenly remembered what she’d been talking about before morphing into a bottomless pit. “So are you going to do it? I bet guys would go crazy over your profile. You’ll have more dates than you know what to do with in no time.”

My lips were parted, ready to respond when something outside the bakery window caught my eye. Noticing that my attention had drifted, Harlow spun around on her stool to get a look at what I was staring at. Through the pristinely cleaned glass, Derrick walked down the sidewalk with his arm draped over a tall, leggy brunette. As if sensing our eyes on him, his head shifted to the side, the hand on the woman’s shoulder came up in a wave, and he grinned as they continued to pass.

It was a direct hit.
Son of a bitch
! When the hell was I going to get over that guy already?

“So…” Harlow drew out as she spun back around, her eyes full of sympathy. “About that online dating thing…”

“Bring it up one more time, and I’ll never make you cookies again.”

She let out an affronted gasp and picked up another cookie, staring at it in adoration before looking back at me. “Consider the subject dropped.”

A FEW DAYS
later, the door to Sinful Sweets opened, causing the bell to chime out its typical greeting. When I looked up, my eyes landed on a weary-looking Derrick. His shoulders were slumped in exhaustion as he made his way to the counter, only offering small friendly smiles to the customers he knew as he passed instead of being his usual laidback, charming self. But even visibly rundown and ragged, he was still the most gorgeous guy I’d ever laid eyes on, in his faded jeans and olive-green t-shirt that hugged his muscled frame to perfection.

Pushing the lustful thoughts to the side, I studied the dark circles under his hazel eyes. “You look like hell,” I said as soon as he reached me. Shit, I really hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He glowered as he dropped onto one of my cushioned barstools. “Thanks,” he uttered dryly before scrubbing at his bristly cheeks. It looked like he’d gone about two days without a shave. It was a
really
good look on him. Damn him. “These night shifts are gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, propping his elbows on the counter.

“If you’re on nights, what the hell are you doing awake at…” My head shot to the side so I could look at the large clock hanging on the wall, “…seven in the morning?”

The heavy sigh coupled with the unhappy expression on his face told me whatever he was about to say wasn’t good. “Layla called and woke me up.” I was right. “She says her car won’t start and needs me to come pick up Eliza for her first day of school.”

My forehead wrinkled as I asked, “She doesn’t have anyone closer that could help? Jackson Hole isn’t exactly on the way for you.”

The look he shot me clearly reflected exactly how he felt about his ex-wife. “And bother someone else when she can make my life a living hell? Now why would she do something like that?”

“I’m sorry,” I offered softly, not knowing what else to say in this situation. “If there was something I could do to help I would.”

“You can help me plenty by getting me the largest cup of coffee you got, sunshine,” he answered with a smile. Even at only half its potency, it was still a sexy enough smile to throw my slightly off kilter.

“Uh… sure. Coming right up.” I filled a paper cup to the brim before snapping a lid on the top and sliding it his way. “That’s on the house,” I informed him when he shifted, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket.

“You don’t have to—”

Cutting him off with a wave of my hand, I smiled at him. “I know I don’t, but that’s what friends do, right?” The smile that statement earned me filled my chest, it was like getting an unexpected gift, and I felt niggling desire to do whatever I could to earn myself another one.

Calm your tits, Chloe
, the rational voice warned the squealy teenage girl in my head, earning herself the middle finger.

“I appreciate that.” He took a sip of the strong brew and I began restacking a display of muffins I’d already stacked just to give myself something to do other than ogle his throat as it bobbed with each swallow. Terrific, now I was mooning over the guy’s throat.

“Yeah, sure,” I shrugged, feigning a casualness I never felt in his presence.

Suddenly a sultry, feminine voice spoke up, drawing my attention away from the perfectly situated blueberry muffins. “Well hey there, Deputy Anderson.”

I’d been so enamored with all things Derrick that I hadn’t even heard the bell over the door sound when Carla Fitzgerald walked in.
Carla Fitzgerald,
the town bike, only beaten in sluttiness by Tammy Bradford. It took everything I had to suppress the sneer that threated to curl my lips. She’d never done anything to me in particular, but seeing as she had her surgically-enhanced tits pressed against Derrick’s arm in that moment, I instantly hated her.

“Miss Fitzgerald,” Derrick answered amiably. He wasn’t overtly checking her out or anything, but just the fact his attention was on her and he was grinning, suddenly seeming a lot less tired than when he first walked in, made my skin tingle with annoyance.

“I’ve been hoping to run into you,” she simpered, batting her overly-mascaraed eyelashes.

“Is that right?”

Ugh, kill me now, Lord. Strike me with a bolt of lightning or something
!

“Mm hmm,” she hummed, running her fake nails over his bicep. “There’s a new restaurant having their grand opening in Jackson Hole this weekend. My friend’s the hostess and managed to get my name on the list for Saturday night, and I’d just
love
for you to join me.” Her voice dropped even lower as she added, “The food is supposed to be better than anything you’ve ever tasted.” Her sensual tone was enough to make me throw up in my mouth a little.

Spinning on my heels, I gave the two of them my back, unable to watch Derrick accept a date with another woman. I knew it wasn’t fair to feel hurt when I heard him murmur that he’d love to be her date to the opening. I mean, after all, I was the one who’d told him I didn’t have a crush on him anymore, for Christ’s sake. But that didn’t make the pain feel any less suffocating. My hands trembled as I fiddled with the espresso machine, moving aimlessly in the effort of looking preoccupied.