The Devine Doughnut Shop(49)

“I inherited this office when my dad retired five years ago. I’ve always loved that view. It makes me feel like I’m not cooped up in an office at all.”

“I could understand how it would,” she whispered. If she had a view like this back home, she might never want to leave the doughnut shop.

“I thought we could do buffet-style and take our plates to the table and enjoy the view while we visit. What would you like to drink? I like a cold beer with my meal, but since you’ll be driving home . . .” He let the sentence dangle.

She set her box of doughnuts on the end of the table. “Sweet tea would be great. Thank you.”

Travis crossed to a bar on the far side of the room and brought back a bottle of cold sweet tea and set it on the table. “Please, help yourself to the buffet. I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I just had my chef set it all up like a pizza bar.”

Grace picked up a bowl and made herself a salad, topped it off with French dressing, and carried it to the table. Then she went back for breadsticks and two slices of pepperoni pizza. Food usually took care of all her problems—anxiety, joy, sorrow, anger. That afternoon, she fully well expected it to take care of all the emotional upheaval of the past few weeks, plus sitting down to eat with Travis. His smile was genuine, and his slow Texas drawl was soothing to her ears; plus, his eyes sparkled with life and excitement.

The bowls and plates were fine china with the Butler Enterprises monogram in gold. The stemmed glass full of ice that Travis brought to the table along with her bottle of sweet tea was etched with the same. With all the fanciness and the view, she felt as if she were eating at a five-star restaurant, not in an office.

Travis brought a salad and then a plate piled high with pizza and breadsticks and a small bowl of marinara to the table. “I love pizza, but I love your doughnuts even more. We’ve done some research this week, and the consensus here at Butler Enterprises is that the ones you make are the best in this part of Texas.”

“How did you decide that?” Grace asked, suspecting she knew the answer.

“Remember when I came into your place and bought doughnuts of every kind a few days ago? We had a taste test. We cut each one into four pieces and then asked my employees from the think tank to taste test them against several bakeries here in town. Hands down, Devine Doughnuts won,” he answered.

“Thank you,” she said, then frowned. “‘Think tank’?”

“The first floor is devoted to my younger business-development people,” he said.

“You’ve got lettuce in your teeth,” she said and immediately wished she could shove the words back into her mouth.

He removed the bit of lettuce with a napkin, then smiled again. “Is it gone?”

“Yes, and I apologize.” Grace fought back a bit of heat in her cheeks. “I’m used to living with two teenage girls, my sister, and my cousin, who is like a younger sister. We say what we think too often.”

“I like honesty, and there’s no need to apologize,” Travis told her.

“So, one whole floor is a think tank?” Grace asked. “Is this whole building just for your business?”

“We have a big corporation here, and we’re growing every year,” he said between bites. “You are aware that Claud and his cronies would like to see your doughnuts sold all over the United States, and so would I. I’d be willing to buy the recipe and let you continue to use it in your shop for the next say”—he frowned—“twenty-five years. That way, your lifestyle could continue as it is, but I could—”

Grace held up a palm. “Stop right there.”

“Is there a loophole where you wouldn’t sell me the recipe?” he asked. He went on before she could assure him again that she was not selling: “Maybe instead of getting money, you would own a nice big chunk of stock in the bakery, and I could hire you to show my staff how to make the doughnuts in small batches. We could only make a certain amount to ship out each day. Law of supply and demand would work.”

Grace was getting a little annoyed at his constant asking and trying to figure out ways to get her to agree to his plans. It was very evident that he was only talking to her because of the deal, and that was a waste of her time. “Like I said the first time you asked about buying my recipe: even if I could, I wouldn’t. And I’m not interested in owning shares of a mass-production bakery. Even doing what you suggested would put the recipe in the hands of other people, who might take it home with them and put it on the internet. So the answer is and will always be no. But thank you for the offer.”

“That just burst my bubble,” Travis said with a long sigh. “I guess I can be thankful that Devine is only half an hour away and I can either drive down there or send someone to get pastries for me anytime I want.”

“You better buy extra on Saturday,” Grace said with a smile. “We aren’t open on Sunday.”

Travis bit into a slice of pizza. “I’ll remember that.” He chewed quickly and swallowed. “Would you consider selling me the acreage around your business so I can put in a housing development?”

Grace shook her head. If awards were given for persistence, he would have a blue ribbon. “That land belongs to all three of us, so I couldn’t make that decision,” she answered. “My first notion on the idea is to turn the offer down. That would put a housing addition right next to our shop.”