tightened.
And blue icing oozed all over her cake.
Chastising herself, she looked away. Darn it! She’d been so proud of herself that she’d managed to resist the man’s charm, then he walks in the door with that you-want-me-you-know-you-do grin, and suddenly she can’t breathe? How did he do that? she thought irritably.
Every head had turned. Conversation had died. When he walked through the crowd, it was like someone had rolled out a red carpet. And when he flashed that smile on the women in the bakery, they all but swooned.
He owned the room, Tina realized. His confidence, his demeanor, his presence. And his looks, she thought, appreciating the stretch of broad shoulders under his black polo shirt and the low slung worn jeans across lean hips and long legs. A woman didn’t stand a chance.
Well, except her, of course.
It took all of five seconds for the bakery to erupt into chaos and converge on Reid, another forty-five seconds for Tina’s mother to come around the counter and push her way through the crowd like a linebacker at the Super Bowl.
‘‘Let the man sit.’’ Mariska shooed everyone away. ‘‘Jason, bring our new neighbor a cup of coffee.’’
When Jason mumbled something under his breath, Tina shot him a warning glance. Nothing but trouble and heartache would come from any kind of public confrontation between the two men. A scowl on his face, Jason turned away, certainly not appeased, but for the moment, at least, contained.
‘‘Thank you.’’ Reid plucked a ticket from the number machine. ‘‘But I can wait my turn.’’
‘‘Of course you will not wait,’’ Mariska said and everyone who still had tickets in their hand nodded their approval. ‘‘Latte, cappuccino, espresso?’’
Tina rolled her eyes, surprised her mother didn’t add, my daughter’s hand in marriage?
‘‘Black would be great,’’ Reid said. ‘‘But—’’
‘‘We have strudel still warm from the oven.’’ Mariska didn’t give Reid a chance to protest as she pulled him to a chair. ‘‘Tina, a slice of strudel for Mr. Danforth. And a nice apricot rugala.’’
‘‘Please, call me Reid,’’ he said to Mariska, then looked at Tina with a grin that clearly said he was enjoying himself. ‘‘I really don’t want to be any trouble.’’
‘‘It is no trouble,’’ Mariska said cheerfully. ‘‘Is it, Katina?’’
Though it hurt, Tina smiled. ‘‘No, of course not. No trouble at all.’’
‘‘So tell me.’’ Mariska sat in the chair beside Reid. ‘‘Will your wife be helping you with the campaign?’’
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Tina turned to slice the strudel. Her mother couldn’t have been less subtle if she’d pulled out a calendar and asked him what day he was available to plan a small wedding for four or five hundred.
‘‘I don’t have a wife,’’ Reid said. ‘‘But I’m certainly looking for volunteers.’’
Tina’s head shot up. Every female in the room drew in a breath.
But before Mariska—or any of the other women in the room—could offer their services, Reid said, ‘‘To help with the campaign, of course.’’
Disappointment rippled through the bakery.
‘‘Ah.’’ Mariska’s shoulders sagged, then straightened again as she smiled brightly. ‘‘My daughters will help,’’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘‘We are all big supporters, you know.’’
What! Since when were they supporters of any political campaign? Tina stared at her mother in horror.
‘‘That’s very generous of you, Mrs. Alexander.’’ Reid slid a glance at Tina. ‘‘But maybe you should ask your daughters how they feel about that.’’
‘‘Sophia and Rachel will be happy to volunteer,’’ Mariska said, waving a don’t-be-silly hand at him. Then she added as an afterthought, ‘‘And my Tina, of course.’’
Tina clenched her jaw at the murmurs and nods from the customers who weren’t even pretending not to listen. It wasn’t bad enough she’d lost out on her restaurant to Reid and his family, now she was supposed to help them? She had to stop her mother before this got out of hand. Snatching up the plate of strudel and the cup of coffee Jason had poured, Tina hurried over to the table.
‘‘Mom,’’ she said as sweetly as she could muster. ‘‘I’m sure Mr. Danforth is looking for volunteers with some political knowledge.’’
‘‘Not at all.’’ Leaning back in his chair, Reid glanced up at her. ‘‘We’re having a volunteer welcome gathering tomorrow night at seven-thirty. Why don’t you and your sisters come by?’’
Tina opened her mouth to say she was busy, but her mother was much too fast.
‘‘They will be there. We will all be there,’’ Mariska said firmly. ‘‘I will bring cookies and rugala.’’
When Mariska rose, Reid stood, as well, smiling as he extended his hand. ‘‘Thank you, Mrs. Alexander. You are an extremely generous woman.’’
When Reid smiled, Mariska’s cheeks bloomed red and she giggled. Tina’s jaw went slack. Her mother never blushed, and she most certainly did not giggle. Disgusted, Tina watched her mother hurry back into the kitchen.
Did all the Danforth men have the ability to make women act and feel stupid? she wondered, glancing back at Reid. If they did, Tina could only hope that one day some brilliant female scientist would be able to isolate that gene and come up with a vaccination.
She’d be first in line.
‘‘Your strudel,’’ she said tightly, sliding the plate onto the table and setting the coffee beside it.
‘‘Thanks.’’
‘‘Don’t mention it.’’
When she turned, he surprised her by reaching for her arm. Darn it. There it was again. That jolt of electricity. She looked at him, prayed he couldn’t feel it, too. Prayed that he couldn’t see the effect he had on her. With so many people watching, it would really be embarrassing if she swooned.
‘‘Here.’’ He took her hand and laid a key in her palm. ‘‘I had a copy made.’’
To anyone watching it was a completely innocent exchange. To Tina it felt personal. The touch of his fingertips on her skin, the press of the key in her palm. The almost imperceptible lingering of his hand against her own.
She closed her fingers tightly around the key and pulled her hand away. ‘‘Thanks.’’
‘‘Till tomorrow, then,’’ he said with a nod.
‘‘Right. Tomorrow.’’ When she turned and walked away, she could have sworn
