Come on, have mercy on your stranded houseguest.”
Faith pursed her lips. Sawyer had said she often said yes when she wanted to say no. He hoped this would be one of those times.
“Fine,” she relented. “You can have one cookie. But if I see you take any more than one, I’ll charge you five dollars per cookie.”
Dean was willing to accept any offer. He plucked the biggest cookie with the most chocolate from the nearest cooling rack and took a bite. It practically melted in his mouth. It was obvious these cookies were the ticket to heaven. One was not going to be enough now that he’d had a taste.
* * *
FAITH COULDN’T HELP but smile as she watched Dean share a moment with his cookie. He might have been falling in love. The expression on his face reminded her of Addison’s after her first kiss with Kenny Gordon.
Dean dashed out of the kitchen and, as quickly as he had disappeared, he returned with a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. He closed the distance between them, leaving her no way to escape.
Clean and dry looked good on him. It smelled even better. He had the kind of hair that women needed to grab by the fistful when he kissed them and made their knees weak. She felt sixteen again, infatuated with the unattainable. Experience told her that when you played with fire, you got burned, and that was not something she wanted to experience again.
“That was the best cookie I have ever had in my entire life. I think you should change the name to Faith and Whiskey Chocolate Chip, though. They’re sweet with a kiss of sass. Just like you.” He slipped the bill into the small pocket that was sewn on the chest of her apron. Faith held her breath as a devilish grin spread across his face. “I’ll take four.”
Stepping away, he snatched his paid-for cookies off the counter. His eyes closed when he took a bite.
Thankfully that left him completely unaware of the effect he had on Faith and her racing heart. Weak knees were nothing compared to her current state. Dizzy and hot, she felt like she had been knocked on the head and shoved in the oven. She spun and opened the refrigerator, letting the air inside cool her burning cheeks. Faith and Whiskey. She liked it. More than she should.
Dean wasn’t going to be around long enough to eat or name any more of her cookies. He’d be gone and nothing but a memory, like his sister. Faith poured a tall glass of milk and set it on the kitchen table where he had taken a seat to finish his cookie breakfast.
“The milk is on the house.”
“You are so much nicer without that spatula in your hand,” he said with a mouthful of cookie.
“I know your mother taught you not to talk with food in your mouth.” She shook her head and went to check on her last batch. She needed to remember why he was here.
Dean had run away while she’d spent the last decade trying to make amends to a ghost. Now he was back and talking about making her brother a star. That was not happening. Sawyer didn’t want to be a country music star. He was happy here, content to keep their father’s farm running, like she was.
“What time does your brother usually get up?” Dean must have read her mind.
“Sawyer’s already up. There are always chores to be done around here.” Faith figured pointing out how much work her brother had to do would help discourage Dean from pursuing his crazy idea to lure Sawyer to Nashville.
“Oh, I was going to ask him for a lift to my car. I figure the sooner I get that tire fixed, the sooner I can get out of here.”
The sooner the better, as far as Faith was concerned. No reason to delay the inevitable. “If you help me deliver these cookies, I’ll get you to your car faster than a jackrabbit on a date.”
Dean snorted a laugh. “See? Sweet and sassy,” he said with a shake of his head. “I missed you.”
His confession seemed to shock them both. All the air left Faith’s lungs and it was almost impossible to breathe more in. Dean’s face flushed red and he stood to place his empty milk glass in the sink.
Faith couldn’t believe how much three little words could affect her. He obviously didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. She knew all too well what it was like to really miss someone. Faith missed her mother and now her father on a daily basis. She missed Addison so much it hurt. She could even admit to missing Dean, but he hated her. He had said as much the last time they had stood in this kitchen together.
“I’ll go get changed and then I’ll take you up on your offer,” he said, making his escape.
Faith could finally breathe again. She had often wished for just one more day with all of those people she missed. Now, standing in the kitchen with her stomach in knots, she realized one day would never be enough. Not when she had once wanted forever.
“THANKS FOR WASHING my clothes. I assume that was you,” Dean said, returning to the kitchen, ready to go.
“You’re welcome,” she replied as the oven buzzer went off. Effortlessly, Faith grabbed the fresh batch of cookies, set the baking tray on an empty cooling rack and went back to stacking cookies in travel containers. The woman had done this a time or two. She was in a zone.
Sleep was not something Faith apparently indulged in very often. How else could she have closed up the bar, done laundry and baked a hundred cookies all before eight in the morning? If this was normal for her, her work ethic rivaled Dean’s.
She placed a bowl of uncooked rice in front of him. “I also dried your phone.”
Dean fished it out. “In rice?”
“It’s a little life hack I learned from my friend Josie. Her daughter has ruined more than one phone in her short fifteen years.”
Dean powered up his device and silently rejoiced when it came to life. Work was his life and had been since he’d graduated from college. Hired straight out of school as a member of the Artist Development team at one of the biggest record labels in country music, Dean’s first job had been to nurture new talent and help them slowly build their careers with a string of album releases.
He’d been good at it, too, which was why his firing had come as such a shock. Apparently, product—not artist—development had become the company’s focus. Forget about supporting the creative side of an act. Sell, sell, sell.
It had made Dean furious and even more determined to prove the big guys had it all wrong. Using every penny he had saved and then some, he’d teamed up with his best friend and started an independent label with a focus on finding a balance between fostering creativity and making a profit. Grace Note Records was supposed to be the solution to all that was wrong with the music business. Dean still had high hopes. Landon not so much.
“Did it work?” Faith asked.
He had three missed calls from Landon and one from Boone Williams. “It did. Thanks again.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to make a couple calls while you finish up.”
Faith pressed a lid on one of her containers. “I’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”
“Perfect.”
