Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(22)
“There has been a lot of pressure. The second our families found out we were trying, it was like open season on the baby questions.”
“Then give this a try,” Harper said. “Take a spontaneous trip up the coast. No pressure, no stress, no expectations, and no family. Just you and Nate letting nature work her magic.”
Frankie closed the book and rubbed Blanket’s head. “I’d need to find a sitter.”
“I’m allergic,” Harper said in case rumors of her sitting career had spread.
“Bummer. How much do I owe you for the book?”
Harper held up a hand and, whether it was because she felt for Frankie, or because she’d secretly kissed her brother then alluded to him being her boyfriend, she said, “On the house.”
Frankie rested her elbows on the counter, getting nose-to-nose with Harper. “You might want to check that whole deer-in-the-headlights thing you have going on. It makes you look guilty. Like you’re hiding something. That’s just some advice”—she winked and grabbed the bag—“on the house.”
It was Adam’s first day off this week. Normally, he’d stay in bed until noon, tangled up with a warm and sexy woman, then go for a run and grab a breakfast burrito for lunch.
Only normal had taken a hike right around the time he’d been drafted into planning Beat the Heat. Or maybe the problem had started with that dress. The slinky, body-hugging red one. Either way, Adam had woken up at the ass crack of dawn, frustrated and alone—and thinking about that dress. Which was almost as stupid as thinking about what was beneath that dress, because fantasizing about Little Miss Sunshine was a bad idea.
So he’d gone for a hard run until his legs were shaking and his mind was blank, and now he was in town. The breakfast burrito and a woman in his immediate future. Too bad the woman was wielding a knife and shooting him looks that were anything but warm.
The knife made sense. Emerson wasn’t only his brother’s fiancée, she was also founder, owner, and executive chef of the Pita Peddler Streatery, an award-winning gourmet food truck. The scowl shouldn’t have surprised him either, since she rarely smiled at anyone before noon—unless it was at Adam’s youngest brother, Dax.
“Sorry, that weekend doesn’t work for me,” Emerson said, not sorry at all.
Taking a breath, Adam glanced at Dax, who was standing at the prep station fashioning napkin rings out of twine and daisies in his deputy’s uniform and apron, using every bro-sign in the book to tell Adam to get out now, while he still could.
Knife or not, Adam wasn’t scared. Plus, bro-code was hard to decipher when the signer in question was dressed like Betty Crocker. “You catered the event last year, Em, and agreed you’d do it again this year.”
“Were you there?” she asked. “Did I personally tell you that I would?”
“No, but—”
“Then how do you know what was said?”
Adam looked down Main Street to avoid Emerson’s smug glare. The food truck was parked in the middle of downtown today, directly across from the community park and the annual Summer Blossom Showcase banner. Although it was barely eight, the sun was already burning up the asphalt, while Emerson’s chilly gaze was freezing his nuts right off.
“What’s your problem?” he asked.
“The Five-Alarm Casanova,” Emerson said, and the reference to his embarrassing-as-shit nickname caused the pressure behind his eyes to grow.
Three weeks.
If she agreed, he’d have to deal with this BS for three weeks. Then again, if she didn’t he’d be screwed.
“You proposed a sample menu.” Adam flipped to the catering section of the binder and found the order from last year’s event and a preliminary menu for this year. He held it up to the welcome window. “See?”
“See?” Dax repeated, sounding disappointed. “Come on, man, that’s your big strategy? To tell a woman she’s wrong in her own kitchen?” Dax shook his head. “And to think I used to believe you were really the lady-whisperer.”
“Don’t get upset, Dax,” Adam said, looking at his brother’s latest flowered napkin ring. “You might bruise the daisies.”
Emerson ignored the sparring and glanced over the counter at the menu, then looked Adam dead in the eyes. “That’s a great menu.”
Adam felt his chest relax a little. He had a meeting Friday to update Cap and Chief Lowen on his progress. Having a caterer and event planner locked down would give him a gold star. If he played his charm cards right, between Emerson and Megan at Parties to Go-Go, he might just wind up throwing the best Beat the Heat Festival in the history of the event—and not even break a sweat.
Wouldn’t that be nice.
“All I need is a great chef.” Adam slid one of the two to-go cups he’d set on the stainless steel serving counter toward Emerson. “How about we finalize the menu over breakfast burritos and morning beverages?” When she didn’t move to take hers, he added, “Fifty Shades of Chocolate latte. Your favorite.”
Lucky for him, nearly every woman in town now had the same favorite when it came to hot beverages. The Fifty Shades of Chocolate latte from the Sweet and Savory bistro was bold, heady, and perfectly whipped for St. Helena’s female sector.
“You didn’t bring me one?” Dax asked, eyeballing the cups.