Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(27)

Holly looked surprised at his statement. “Me?” She blinked for a moment, and then went back to her customary bright smile, the one he now knew was for customers. It was the smile that said “I’m fine” when she wasn’t fine. “Just been a long day,” she said. “Seems to get busier the closer it gets to Christmas.”

“I bet.” Adam scratched her dog under the chin. “Wade should hire more people.”

“Probably, but then we’d make less in tips.” She shrugged, her brows furrowing. “Did you . . . come over to ask me about work?”

Yeah, that did seem weird, didn’t it? “No, actually. I did want to ask you about food.”

“Oh?” She gazed up at him, no smirk on her face, no anger in her eyes, no nothing. She just looked soft and tired and a little worn around the edges.

She also, he noticed, had the warmest brown eyes he’d ever seen, with long lashes that framed them perfectly. Her mouth was full and pink and seemed to be curved in a half smile even when resting. The tip of her nose was just a touch pink, as if she’d come out of the cold, and he realized . . . she was really damn pretty when she wasn’t scowling at him.

Really pretty.

She had a smudge of flour on her nose, too, but he didn’t point that out. It made Holly seem more approachable, far less like the hissing, spiteful waitress he thought of her as. She tilted her head at him, that ponytail swaying, and he realized she was waiting for him to say something.

Right. “Birthday cake,” Adam said. “For me.”

Her expression changed from amusement to pleasure. “Oh, is it your birthday this week?”

“Yup,” he lied. It was the only logical reason he could think of for her to bake him a cake, though. “On the fifth.”

“Tomorrow?”

Shit, was it tomorrow? “Yeah. Tomorrow, I guess. Time got away from me.”

She flipped the dough over and kneaded it again with her hands, all the while keeping eye contact with him. “And you want a cake? I can manage that.”

He smiled. “That’d be great. My mom always made cake for me when I was a kid. I haven’t had it since I left the Navy.” Yet another lie. They were all piling together right now, weren’t they? His mother had died when he was eight, and his father had bought him some stale sheet cake from the closest grocery store every time his birthday came around. No name on it, no candles, no nothing. Just the bare minimum for a birthday celebration. He was too busy trying to keep the farm running. Might as well go all in on the lies, though. “A cake would be great.”

“Any particular kind that you like?” she asked brightly. Her expression seemed lighter, and a hint of a smile played on her lips. “I know you’re not a fan of onions, so I guess onion cake is out.”

He made a face. “Tell me you’re joking and there’s no such thing as onion cake.”

Holly chuckled. “If there is, I’ve never heard of it. Carrot cake, yes. Lemon cake, yes. Onion cake, no.”

“Thank god.” Her dog wiggled in his arms and so he gave the ears one last scratch and then set it down.

“So . . . what kind of cake did your mother make for you?”

He thought for a moment, panicked. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead with his lie. “You pick. I’m fine with anything.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “You? Not making demands?”

Adam snorted. “Ha ha. It’s true. I’m usually not demanding. Sometimes I’m even capable of decent conversation.”

Her lips twitched. “I see.” She gave her dough another flip and knead. “Well, let me think. I could make chocolate with chocolate chips? I could make strawberry, or lemon. Pumpkin spice. I could go with a Christmas flavor of some kind. Chocolate mint? Gingerbread?” She tilted her head, thinking. “But I’m guessing you already got hit with a lot of Christmas stuff around your birthday every time, right?”

“Me? Why?”

“Uh, because it’s in December?”

Right. He’d been distracted by her lips and thinking about them and not the fact that his real birthday was in July. “Yeah, no Christmas flavors,” Adam amended. “Just for a nice change.” He paused, then asked, “Pumpkin cake?”

She shrugged. “Some people like weird stuff.” With a chuckle, she continued rolling the dough under her hands. “And sometimes a weird flavor combination is a good one.”

“Like birthday cake and pumpkin?”

“Well, maybe not that one.” Holly laughed again. “But chocolate and pear is a good combination.” When he made a face, she giggled. “Okay, not that one, then. I’ll think of something sufficiently manly for your cowboyish birthday needs.”

For some reason, he liked that little laugh of hers. It was bright and sweet, and he liked that despite the fact that she was tired and sad from the cake situation the other day, she still had a genuine happiness to her spirit. She really did like talking about baking. He tried to think of anything he was that passionate about and drew a blank. The most enthusiasm he ever had was for his dog, Hannibal, and even that darn mutt got on his nerves when he ate Adam’s socks.

But for some reason, he really liked Holly’s smile. “Well, the cake’s only if you have the time. I know you’re busy.”