Page 6 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

FIVE

SHEPHERD

I don’t often admit it, but I have an addiction. I would join a support group, but I’d probably punch anyone who wanted to join.

Every week, I buy a pie from Blackbird’s. The flavor isn’t important to me as long as Wren’s the one who made it. She also needs to be the one who sells it to me. There’s no point in going to the bakery if she’s not there.

She sometimes comes into my shop to argue about whatever, but I can’t count on her having a reason to. Not as often as I’d like to see her. So here I am like a puppy with attachment issues, needing to be near her. Talk to her. Eat something she poured her time and attention into.

It’s not normal, I know. I also don’t care.

The bell over the door jingles as I walk into the bakery.

They walled off part of the space and turned it into Hope Parrish’s gift shop a while back, but what’s left is cheery.

Shiny vinyl floor with a subtle purple sunburst pattern, a glimmering white countertop with an extra-large, refrigerated display case, and a couple of pale purple two-top tables in the front windows.

Occasionally, I order a hand pie and eat it here. Wren glares daggers at me the whole time. It lights me up, but I know better than to press my luck too much.

Even if, sometimes, going for broke feels like the only logical conclusion to my addiction.

She’s behind the front counter, smiling as she boxes up a pie for an older man. She glances at me, and her smile falters. It only takes her a second to regain her composure, but that brief moment of uncertainty is what I’m here for.

I’m not much of an optimist, but sometimes if I catch her off guard, her first impulse when she sees me is to smile. It used to be, once. Maybe I keep coming in here in the hopes it finally will be again.

A younger guy wearing the dark purple Blackbird’s apron moves across from me behind the counter. “Hi there,” he enthuses. “How can I help you?”

They’ve hired on a few new employees in the last couple of months. It makes my visits to the bakery trickier. Unlike her sister, they haven’t learned yet I’m only here for Wren. But maybe I can get some information out of the guy whose name tag reads Jamie .

“What’s new on the menu?” I ask. Lately, Wren’s been experimenting with flavors. I’m guessing, since I don’t have much to go on, but she’s the one who makes the most unusual varieties.

The guy grins wider. “We just added a peanut butter and banana pie, a pear pie, and a cranberry silk pie for fall, in addition to our regular menu flavors.”

He waves a hand at the large chalkboard sign on the wall that I already have memorized.

“Those sound hard to make.”

Wren side-eyes me from behind the register where she’s ringing out her customer.

Her lips twitch like she’s dying to react.

Too bad she’s stuck in service mode and can’t do it.

I come in during lulls to maximize the opportunity to talk with her.

And because when this place is packed, I break out into a sweat.

“I’m pretty new here, so I still make basic pies like apple and pumpkin.

But our specialty pies are made by the masters.

” Jamie makes a flourishing gesture at Wren as if she’s royalty.

“Today, Maureen made the peanut butter and banana pies, and Wren made the cranberry silk pies. I think the pear pie is just like making an apple one, though.”

Thank you, Jamie.

As soon as Wren’s customer is out the door, her smile drops. She turns toward me in slow motion, her lashes fluttering. The glare she shoots me scrambles my synapses.

It’s messed up, but at this point, I want anything she’ll give me.

“Why do you want to know how hard it is to make our pies, Callahan?” she asks. “Planning on adding to Get in Gear’s offerings?”

I pretend to consider it. “That’s not a bad idea. ‘Biking with Pies.’ I see no issues there.”

“You can pair it with your bread.”

“Aw, Krause. Still thinking about this weekend and my…bread?”

Her mouth thins. A shame, since her plush lips knock me out. “I’m thinking about how you wormed your way into my romance book club.”

She’s still big mad about the book club. I expected that. Pretty sure there’s nothing I could do that wouldn’t have a result like this. Move away, maybe, but what would be the fun in that?

“You guys are in a romance book club?” Jamie’s gaze bounces between the two of us. “Cool. What are you reading?”

“Cowboys,” Wren says without looking at him. “What’s your real angle there, Callahan? ”

I affect my most innocent tone. “Isn’t it enough to enjoy the wonders of reading with good friends?”

“Not when those sweet ladies could easily be taken advantage of.”

She really thinks I’m villain enough to scam them somehow? I drop my teasing and hope she’ll hear what I say. “I would never do anything to harm those women. When Rosetta invited me, it sounded like fun. Even I need to be around people sometimes, Wr?—”

I catch myself and correct before I say something I’ll wish back. “Krause.”

Her expression softens minutely. A rare win in these confrontations.

“It’s not fair you got in the group while I was still begging to be invited.”

She’s jealous. Maybe even hurt that she wasn’t included when she wanted to be. Her frustration with me is misplaced—I’m just a guest at the party. But I know how to stop her feeling sorry for herself. Not the way I want to, but the remedy at my disposal.

I smirk. “I’m sorry I missed that. I’d love to see you beg.”

Her eyes narrow, self-pity cast aside. “You don’t have anything I’d beg for.”

“Are you sure?” Slowly, I move one hand to the opposite cuff of my open flannel shirt and start to loosen the buttons.

Her eyes lock on my movements, pink washing over her cheeks. Yeah. I thought so.

My satisfaction must betray me because she snaps out of her tattooed forearm-fog. Her gaze returns to mine, flustered but stormier than ever.

“What do you want, Callahan?”

“A cranberry silk pie, please.”

Her glare stays fixed on me, but her blush deepens. I’ve been ordering pies that only she makes for weeks on end. Surely, she’s figured out my pattern by now.

While Wren boxes up a pie, Jamie leans his palms against the countertop and addresses me. “It’s cool that you’re not ashamed to read romances.”

My attention shifts to him. I don’t care what he thinks about me, but for his sake, I hope Wren’s new employee isn’t judgmental. She’ll put a stop to that real fast.

“Why would I be?”

His expression crumples a touch. “I didn’t mean that you should be ashamed, just that some guys are. I read them, too. Uh, mostly M/M, but I’m accepting enough to read M/F sometimes.”

I laugh at that. “It’s always good to be open-minded.”

“What was the last one you read about?”

I glance at Wren, but she’s still focused on my pie. Might as well shake the hornet’s nest a little.

“It’s about a man who’s secretly obsessed with the woman next door, but she keeps resisting him.”

Wren’s head snaps up. “You already finished next month’s book?”

I hold her gaze. “No.”

We play eye contact-chicken over the front counter for a minute. Confusion swirls behind her eyes and I swear she’s going to ask me something, but her expression hardens again.

“Sounds like a stalker.” She slides the boxed pie to the front of the counter and gives me the total.

I tap my card and take the pie. “She’s secretly obsessed with him, too.”

Her blue eyes zero in on mine, her mouth set into a pert frown.

Not smart. I just whacked the hornet’s nest out of the tree, picked it up with both hands, and made a kissy face at it .

“That’s the thing about romance books,” she says, acid lacing her tone. “They’re full of stuff that would never happen in real life.”

“I know what you mean. What was that crazy scene in the last one? The couple got caught in the rain and took shelter in a castle’s ruins where they stayed warm by?—”

“Callahan!”

Her pink cheeks do something dangerous to me. Worse, they make me want to do something dangerous.

“Not in front of the youth.” She gestures at Jamie, who’s watching us open-mouthed.

I forgot he was here.

“I’m twenty-three,” he says.

Wren goes on staring at me like she needs me to keep my mouth shut. I’m just not sure which one of us will regret it the most if I don’t.

“They lit a fire,” I finish.

“Is that…not something people do in real life?” Jamie asks.

I point at her employee. “I think he’s right.”

She lifts a hand as though shoving an invisible wall between us. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“Oh. What were you thinking of?”

Her cheeks flame bright pink. Almost the same shade as the cranberry silk pie I’m going to savor in my cabin tonight like an absolute lunatic.

“Well. I’ll see you around, Krause.” I’ve gambled enough for today. Seeing her speechless will have to satisfy. I move to the door and push it open with one hand, the other cradling the pie Wren made. I turn back one last time.

She’s frozen, her gaze stuck on me, her expression a mix of anger and something else. The mystery of that something else will keep me humming along until the next time we cross paths.

In my shop, I pass Palmer, who’s helping a family with bike rentals, and make my way into the back.

I scribble my weekly “Do Not Touch” sticky note and put it on the pie box before carefully tucking it in the mini fridge.

My employees know by now not to mess with my pies, but the reminder won’t hurt them.

Not the way I will if they touch my pie.

My phone buzzes. It’s Leo. His calls are either extra short because he didn’t have time to phone in the first place, or he’s in a chatty mood, and I have to hang up on him. I’ve got a few more minutes left on my break, so I answer.

“Hey, Leo.”

“What is the protocol for fancy parties?”

I lean against the back counter and chuff a laugh. “You would know.”

Leo Dalesandro, former NFL darling, has been to more black-tie events than your average Sunshine resident. My social anxiety keeps my attendance to things like that at zero. Dressed up, all eyes on me, sometimes with a literal spotlight? Hard no.

“Not this one, my man. It’s a fancy lodge party. I figured you’d have the inside scoop for me.”

“There’s going to be a party at Moonlight Lodge?” My family owns and runs the resort on the outskirts of town.

“Party’s the wrong word. I want to say gala. That’s bigger than a party, right?”

“This is the first I’ve heard.” They usually at least give me a cursory invite to things like this.

“Oh, yeah. We’re planning a big event next month to celebrate opening up the new wedding venue in the barn. We’re raising funds for the children’s hospital, and your dad said we should go fancy. So…”

“Are you asking me what you should wear?”

“Yes. I’m going to text you pictures of me modeling different outfits. I need you to give me a thumbs up or thumbs down.”

I look around the storage and mechanical section of my shop. Gears, chains, and innards of an electric bicycle’s motor litter the workbench. I wear T-shirts seven days a week. The man who won two Super Bowls and three People’s Choice awards wants my advice on what to wear?

“I can hear you hyperventilating through the phone,” he says. “I’m kidding.”

I exhale hard, relaxing my shoulders again.

“I’ve got some good suits; that’s not the issue. I was thinking more…” He fidgets with something in the background, probably a pen tapping a tabletop. “If I should bring a date to this event.”

“You’re the one planning it.”

“Right, right. But like…what’s your family’s opinion on all that? Do you think?”

He would know more about that, too. He’s blended seamlessly into my family since we were kids.

More outgoing than I am by a landslide, his energy matches theirs.

Now that he’s back from playing pro ball, he’s pretending Mom and Dad are doing him a favor by letting him work at the lodge while he gets his feet under him again.

Really, he’s building massive buzz for the resort without having to do a thing.

He’s spent more time with them than I have since he’s been back. Not sure why he’s asking me their opinions.

“Just ask Charlie. I’m sure she’s fine with it.” My sister probably has a clear vision for this event just like she’s known exactly how to turn our grandparents’ old lodge into a luxury retreat. But she’s not the type to worry about anyone else’s dating life.

Thank goodness.

“You don’t mind if I ask Charlie?”

“Why would I?” I obviously don’t know what’s going on at the lodge lately. I didn’t even know about this gala, let alone whether or not Leo should find a date for it.

He makes a weird, strangled sound. “Okay. Yeah. That’s great. Thanks, man. I appreciate the trust.”

“Sounds like you’re putting your trust in Charlie.”

He laughs. “No kidding. Are we on for Friday?”

I do my best not to sigh. I love this guy like a brother, but our social batteries cap out at drastically different levels. I have to be dragged into a bar, and he has to be dragged out.

Switching up my routine is good, though. To an extent.

“We’re still on.”

“First round’s on you,” he says and immediately hangs up.

We both know he’s going to ignore everyone’s protests and pay for everything, but it’s one of his favorite phrases from his pre-NFL days.

Before I head back into the front to finish out the day, I text my sister.

Shepherd: How’s the barn coming along?

Charlie: Almost done! Stop by some time and see for yourself!

Shepherd: I didn’t know you were planning a big celebration for it

Which shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. I haven’t worked at the lodge for years. There’s no reason to keep me in the loop. But I’m still part of the family. It’d be nice to know about major events out there before the rest of the town.

If nothing else, I’ll know to expect traffic on the road home that night.

Charlie: I thought M&D told you already

This doesn’t ease my mind. Mom and Dad don’t space out on things. That means they left me out of the loop intentionally.

Shepherd: Leo did

Charlie: I should have told you

Shepherd: It’s no big deal.

It’s still weeks away, apparently. And it’s not like I want to go anyway.

Charlie: I’ve been busy. It takes a LOT of work to convert a barn and wrangle a golden retriever

Shepherd: You got a dog?

Charlie: I meant Leo

Charlie: I thought you were in a romance book club

I never should have told her that.

Charlie: I read the one you suggested

Charlie: I can’t believe you liked it

Charlie: So much pining

Yeah, well. Misery loves company. Even fictional company.