Which shouldn’t surprise her in the least. But maybe a small part of her feminine pride stung that he wasn’t angling to spend time with her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Then again, she was broke. And it didn’t seem as if her grandmother was any better off.
“I could sell baked goods, not just cupcakes?” she clarified, thinking she could sell Gram’s jellies and pies, too. They could both earn some extra cash, assuming she could find somebody to run a booth for them while she oversaw all the other food vendors.
It sounded like a big job. Then again, what else was she going to do while she was home?
“Absolutely.”
Nina could already see why Mack was a success in business. He didn’t let a little thing like old heartbreak stand in his way of doing a job. Maybe Nina ought to be paying more attention to his methods.
“I’ll consider it,” she agreed, more than ready to return to the house and leave Mack Finley to his own devices. She hadn’t been prepared for this conversation.
“It could help us move on,” he reminded her. “Make peace.”
Nina knew he’d already moved on long ago—when he’d married Jenny. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t tamp down the words that bubbled up her throat.
“I’ve made my peace with the past.” She shot him an even look. “Once I learned not to trust a man’s promises, I’ve been a whole lot better off.”
NINA STARED AT him with more animosity than ever.
“Maybe it’s best to keep promises out of it,” he suggested, approaching her the same way he’d speak to a difficult employee or an unhappy customer at the bar. Keep things level. “We can just maintain a working relationship and build from there.”
Mack hadn’t expected to run into her today, but he couldn’t regret it entirely. First because just seeing her was a pleasure. He’d forgotten that. She wasn’t textbook beautiful, exactly. He saw a lot of that in Nashville, a city overflowing with pretty faces. Nina was more interesting, with full lips and expressive eyes that worked with her strong cheekbones for a face that was perpetually animated. He couldn’t take his eyes off her when she was around.
Plus, in spite of everything, he was glad for this time to talk to her. Maybe Scott had a point about putting the past to rest. Their history together was unhappy enough without piling on the awkwardness of not speaking to each other when they were both in town.
“Well I will admit I haven’t had anyone knocking down the door to hire me for anything else,” Nina finally said, staring down at the ground.
“We wouldn’t really see that much of each other, we’d have totally separate responsibilities. It would give you a chance to keep up your skills and turn a profit while you’re here. And I’d be able to cross something else off Scott’s endless list of stuff to take care of for the festival.”
She planted a hand on one hip. “You expect me to believe that Scott included ‘find a cupcake baker’ on your to-do list?”
“Not in so many words, but I trust you to hold up your end of the bargain more than Cecily Alan over at the sandwich shop.” The woman who owned the old diner on Main Street was warmhearted but disorganized. “She gets more eccentric every year.”
“And crankier,” Nina muttered as she scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe through the tall grass and weeds, stirring the scent of goldenrod. “I tried ordering dinner for Gram from her a few times when I’ve come down here, but she always has some reason why she can’t do deliveries.”
“You see why I’d rather work with you?” He watched as her hair slid forward over her shoulder, the lace of her tank top edging away from the narrow satin of a pale pink bra strap beneath.
His throat went dry as dust.
“I can’t use the name Cupcake Romance at my booth. At least not while the insurance investigation is ongoing.” She shook her head, her jaw tight.
Didn’t she realize he was trying to help her out?
“So call it Cupcake Love.” Was that such a big deal? “Bars change their names all the time and no one ever blinks.”
“Are you doing this just to help me out?” She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Because I will find work one way or another.”
Clearly, she could read him as well as she always could. He’d better be totally honest.
“It occurred to me you might be glad to have some work, yes. But even though you might have an independent streak, I also know you’re a stubborn perfectionist, and if you agree to take care of the food, I won’t have to think about it again.”
Her throaty laugh went right through him, vibrating along his skin like a touch. “Is that so?”
“You could probably get a story about the new cupcake business in one of the Nashville papers if you were willing to ship specialty baked goods. You could play up that you came home to find your roots...they love that stuff.”
“You’re very good at this. No wonder your business is thriving.” She shook her head, her smile fading. “But since when do I have roots?”
“Sorry.” He understood her point and regretted his choice of wording. She’d been devastated as a kid when her parents had abandoned her and left her with her grandmother. “But everyone in this town claims you as one of us. This town is your roots.”
The words were automatic, a sentiment he’d expressed to her more than once when they were kids and she’d been reeling from her parents’ betrayal. He reached for her automatically, too. Just a hand on her arm. A kneejerk way to offer comfort.
Not until his hand was on her bare forearm did the risks occur to him. But he felt the charge between them. It leaped from his hand to her skin. Or maybe the other way around. Whatever happened, the jolt was enough to make her gray eyes dart to his. Yanking his hand away didn’t seem right. It would be an admission that touching her had been a mistake.
But damn. Attraction like that was a powerful thing. He swallowed hard and pulled his hand back slowly.
“Thanks.” She said finally, her normally expressive eyes now inscrutable. “I guess it makes sense that my roots are deep in Heartache.”
A soft, peach-scented breeze teased his nose and ruffled her hair.
“That makes two of us.” He watched her fidget and wondered how to get back on track. “I know you’re not sure about the Harvest Fest, Nina, but can’t we move forward...as friends?”
She didn’t look at him for a long moment, her attention fixed on some peeling paint on a low windowsill of the barn.
“It’s a nice idea,” she said finally. “But that’s a lot of layers of hurt, Mack.”
For him, too. Not that he was going to say it in so many words. She ought to know better than anyone.
“How does the saying go—shoot for the moon and you’ll still hit some stars? We could at least make a stab at forgiving each other.”
“I’d like that,” she said finally, tucking her fidgeting hands into the pockets of loose jean cutoffs. “I’ll try doing some of the baking for the Harvest Fest and we’ll see what happens. I’m here, so I might as well be involved. Besides, it will be good for me to get back to work.”
He