Prodigal Prince Charming. Christine Flynn
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poking their noses into someone else’s business. She had never considered it before, but she supposed that poking its figurative nose in people’s business was exactly what the press did every time something went into print. It occurred to her that he routinely faced the nosiness of the Ridge on a global scale.
“Okay,” she said. Considering all he was willing to do for her, and having no desire to sabotage any of it, she took his hand. “Just between us.”
His grip tightened. “Thank you.”
Her heart did an odd bump against her ribs at his relieved smile. Not sure what to make of the little tug of sympathy she felt toward him, she slowly withdrew her hand.
“You have my number,” he continued, once more relaxed. “Call me with the name of the dealership for your truck and to set up a time for you to come to my place Saturday. I’d like dinner around eight.”
It occurred to her as she watched him give her a nod, go to the door, then hold it so two other customers could walk in before he walked out, that she hadn’t actually agreed to do his party. They’d only been in the discussion stages, and the last she remembered, she’d been balking because she truly didn’t feel ready. Yet somehow in the course of their conversation he had managed to let her know what he wanted, for how many and when, and walked out the door as if there had never been any question about whether or not she would take the job.
“Hey, Madison,” Mike called as, insides shaky, she headed for the door at the back of the bar. “Who was that guy? He looks familiar.”
“Just someone who’s going to help me replace my truck,” she replied, too excited about the opportunity Cord offered to feel railroaded, too apprehensive about it to overlook his knack for talking her into what he wanted.
Unfastening her fanny pack from around her waist, she took out the key to her apartment. She really didn’t want to go into details with Mike now, but she couldn’t leave him with only that. “It got totaled on a construction site.”
A dozen heads turned toward her. “You all right, girl?” old Tom asked.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she assured, pushing open the door to the kitchen. “I wasn’t anywhere near it when it happened. I just have to order another one now.”
Mike set the glass he’d just dried on the shelf behind him. “What about your route?”
“I have a van for the breakfast and break runs. I’ll tell you about it when I come back to make dough.”
She would mix up dough for her cookies and dry ingredients for her muffins after she dumped the ice chests, swept out the inside of the van and came up with a way to provide her customers with coffee. It relieved her to have those things to do. Being occupied kept her from thinking about things she didn’t want to think about. And right now what she didn’t want to think about was the man who had totally wrecked what had started out to be a perfectly pleasant day.
Unfortunately, her reprieve was short-lived. Word was already out about her truck.
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