All I Have. Nicole Helm
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next weekend, and they promised to return.
Take that, Magic Mike.
“Dell keeps looking at you,” Cara stage whispered in her ear as Mia filled a bag with greens.
Mia refused to look over her shoulder. “So?”
“So? I don’t mean he’s looking at you like, oh, he happened to look over here. I mean, he’s jaw-dropped looking at you. Like, ‘damn, that girl is fine’ looking at you.”
She waved Cara off, placed the new bag onto the table. As another family passed their booth, she greeted, chatted and focused on her job. Once they were gone, she couldn’t take the curiosity any longer.
She lifted her eyes over the aisle to Dell’s table. There he was in all his shirtless glory, flirting with an older lady. Totally not looking at her.
Except when he handed the woman a bag of broccoli, his gaze met hers across the aisle. Something in her stomach flipped uncomfortably, and a warm sensation zinged down to her toes. Mia quickly looked down at her table, all too aware she was probably beet red from her shoulders to the roots of her hair.
From that point on, she promised herself not to look at Dell, and not to replay that weird moment his eyes had locked on hers and she’d felt something. Just from a look.
Nope. Not thinking about it.
She made it through the rest of the morning, pleased to see they’d sold more than last week. Some of that might have had to do with more people coming as the season went on, and that it wasn’t raining today as it had been last week, but still, progress was progress.
“Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” Cara said under her breath.
Mia looked up as Dell sauntered to their table.
She focused on packing up the leftovers. When he leaned his arms on her table and ducked under the awning, she was only momentarily mesmerized by the fine blond hair on his tanned, muscular forearms.
So not fair.
“That’s quite a getup,” he said, none too pleasantly.
She would not blush. She would not blush. She would not blush. She stood to her full height, chin up to add a few centimeters. Fisting her hands on her hips, she managed her best intimidating glare, even if her cheeks were probably pink as she looked down at his hunched-over frame. “What getup?”
He stood, motioned a hand up and down her front. “That.”
“What?”
He did the motion again. “That.”
Mia cocked her head, folded her arms under her breasts. When Dell looked at the sky, she nearly giggled. “I never pegged you for the modest type. What with the stripping and all.”
He scowled down at her, and it took a little extra effort to suck in a breath.
“I do not strip,” he said through gritted teeth. He leaned closer and, by God, her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. But she stood her ground. Standing her ground felt really good.
“I see what you’re trying to do here.”
“And what’s that?” Her voice wasn’t even breathless. Go, her.
He held up his hand to do the gesture again, but stopped midway. His baffled look turned steely and grave. “I’ve got too much to lose to let you beat me. A nice ass and breasts aren’t going to suddenly win you a bunch of customers. If you haven’t noticed, most of the market’s customers are families and women, not single guys looking for a hot girl to hit on.”
Oh, she was so not flattered that he’d said she had a nice ass and breasts. Or insinuated she was the hot girl. She was not at all pleased he’d noticed. In fact, it was totally demeaning.
She’d work on her outrage later.
“Yeah, families, Dell.” Mia pointed to the sign Anna had made her. Pruitt Farms, Family-Friendly Fruits and Veggies from Our Land to Your Table. “And I’m guessing a family with wife, husband and kids are going to come over to our booth with people fully clothed and kid-friendly activities. Free kid-friendly activities, at that.”
Dell’s jaw set tighter. “So what’s with ditching the baggy clothes if you’re so family oriented?”
Mia worked up her best dismissive smile. “Maybe I’m trolling for dates. Maybe I wanted to look different for fun. Maybe it’s a business tactic. Maybe it’s not. All you need to know is it’s none of your business.”
He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring with the effort. “You won’t win, Mia.” He shook his head and walked away.
Mia grinned. His words were a lie. He kept coming up to her demanding to know what was going on. He kept getting irritated by her tactics.
She was absolutely winning, and it felt awesome.
“DOYOUKNOW how many calories are in one small square?”
“Moooom,” Cara groaned. “Don’t ruin this for everyone.”
“Well, it’s never too early to start being careful about your health,” Mom said primly, taking a sip of her milk. Skim milk. “There are ways to make desserts healthier.”
“It’s Grandma’s recipe!”
“Remember when Grandpa said they used to feed skim milk to the pigs when he was growing up?” Anna said with a grin, causing Mom to roll her eyes and huff out an annoyed breath.
“Yes, we did,” Dad said, taking a defiant bite of brownie. Dessert was about the only thing he ever got defiant over.
Mia picked at the brownies Cara had brought over. Like everything Cara made, they were delicious, but ever since the market this morning she’d felt...weird.
Buoyed, yes. But, and she hated this but, Dell saying she was hot kept playing itself over and over in her mind, and her stomach felt all jittery and nervous and not at all interested in food.
She did not want to care that Dell said she had nice...assets. Why would she care? Why would that please her? It shouldn’t. It was all very unstrong, unfeminist, unbusinesswoman of her.
But she was pleased. She couldn’t help it. A guy thought she was hot. That had never happened before. At least not that she knew of. The fact it was Dell?
You are an idiot.
“Earth to Mia.”
Jostled out of her annoying, embarrassing thoughts, Mia looked up at Cara.
“Ready to go?” She nodded toward the door, the international Cara symbol for “get me away from Mom before I lose it.”
“Yup.” Separation was definitely best when Cara got that squirrelly look about her. Mia didn’t feel like playing peacemaker tonight. She wasn’t sure what she felt like doing, but it wasn’t that.
They got up from the table, offering Anna hugs and Dad goodbyes while Mom followed, the typical anxiety waving off her.
“Why don’t you girls stay the night?” Mom engulfed Mia in a cinnamon-scented hug. She lowered her voice. “Sweetie, next time maybe you should wear one of those—what are they called?—camisole things under that shirt. It’s a little low cut. You wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what she wants,” Cara whispered, earning herself a jab in the side.
“What, dear?”
“Nothing.” Mia pushed Cara toward the door. “Ignore her. Do you want us to take the leftover brownies?”
“Oh, yes. Your father will inhale