Spencer about the strict secrecy of this project. Mr. Motormouth was going to blow her cover before she’d made her first delivery.
“Excuse me for a minute, Mike,” Spencer said over his shoulder. Then he whispered into Lorelei’s ear, “What is wrong with you, woman?”
“You can’t tell him what I’m doing,” she hissed once the screen slammed behind them and she’d pulled him far enough away to not be overheard.
“What’s he going to do? Report you to the burnt-cookie authorities?”
She smacked him again for the sarcasm.
“If you do not stop hitting me—”
“No one in town can know these cookies come from me or they won’t buy them.”
“What?” he said, brow furrowed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I need this, Spencer. I can’t take the chance of someone finding out. Not right away.” She hated it, but Lorelei edged closer to begging. “Don’t blow this for me with your infernal need to tell the truth all the time. Please.”
He hesitated, as if fighting with his conscience, before caving in. “Fine. If you don’t want people to know, then they won’t hear it from me.”
“Good,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see the man outside. “Now who is that? Did you know he knew my mother?”
“I had no idea,” Spencer answered. “Mike moved to Nashville after high school and worked a lot of construction. I think he went down to be a country singer, but it never panned out. About a year ago he came back and started his own construction business. He gives me a lot of work putting in custom cabinets.”
That statement won her full attention. “You build cabinets?”
“That’s my business. Boyd’s Custom Cabinets.” Spencer raised a brow. “Where did you think I went all day?”
“I don’t know.” She hadn’t thought about it. She knew he had a job—seeing as that fancy truck didn’t pay for itself—but it never occurred to her that he owned his own business.
“I’m going to try not to take your lack of interest in my life as an insult.” Spencer snatched the spatula from her hand and tossed it on the island. “Now step outside and try to act normal.” He looked down her body. “And you might want to take that apron off. The flour is a dead giveaway.”
“Well, shoot,” Lorelei said, untying the apron strings and gently tugging the ancient material over her head. Granny never threw anything away, which was why Lorelei was wearing the same apron Granny’s mother had cooked in nearly a hundred years ago.
Spencer held a hand out for her to take. When it remained empty, he turned around. “What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t need to hold your hand to walk onto the porch.” Lorelei stepped up beside him. “You have to stop acting like we’re picking up where we left off.”
“Where we left off was you throwing a ring at my head and telling me to go screw myself,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’re picking up someplace else.”
“We’re not—” Lorelei started to argue, but Spencer stepped through the door before she could finish. She followed, pasting on a friendly face for their visitor. It wasn’t until she reached the rail that Lorelei questioned why she had to return to the porch at all.
“Sorry about that, Mike. Lorelei got a spoon stuck.”
Such a freaking jerk.
“Not a problem.” Mike scratched his head. “Are we going to discuss the job sitting out here?”
“The job?” Lorelei asked. Why did she need to be out here to talk about cabinets?
“The kitchen isn’t totally clean, so Lorelei would prefer to do this out here, yes.”
Lorelei would prefer to do what out here?
“Fine by me. Should we sit?” the older man asked.
“Of course.” Spencer carried a white wicker rocker down the porch. “Lorelei and I will sit on the swing, and you can sit here,” he said, indicating the rocker for their guest.
Lorelei shuffled across the wood planks before Mike could join them. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Excuse me for a minute, Mike,” Spencer said over his shoulder. Then he whispered into Lorelei’s ear, “What is wrong with you, woman?”
“You can’t tell him what I’m doing,” she hissed once the screen slammed behind them and she’d pulled him far enough away to not be overheard.
“What’s he going to do? Report you to the burnt-cookie authorities?”
She smacked him again for the sarcasm.
“If you do not stop hitting me—”
“No one in town can know these cookies come from me or they won’t buy them.”
“What?” he said, brow furrowed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I need this, Spencer. I can’t take the chance of someone finding out. Not right away.” She hated it, but Lorelei edged closer to begging. “Don’t blow this for me with your infernal need to tell the truth all the time. Please.”
He hesitated, as if fighting with his conscience, before caving in. “Fine. If you don’t want people to know, then they won’t hear it from me.”
“Good,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see the man outside. “Now who is that? Did you know he knew my mother?”
“I had no idea,” Spencer answered. “Mike moved to Nashville after high school and worked a lot of construction. I think he went down to be a country singer, but it never panned out. About a year ago he came back and started his own construction business. He gives me a lot of work putting in custom cabinets.”
That statement won her full attention. “You build cabinets?”
“That’s my business. Boyd’s Custom Cabinets.” Spencer raised a brow. “Where did you think I went all day?”
“I don’t know.” She hadn’t thought about it. She knew he had a job—seeing as that fancy truck didn’t pay for itself—but it never occurred to her that he owned his own business.
“I’m going to try not to take your lack of interest in my life as an insult.” Spencer snatched the spatula from her hand and tossed it on the island. “Now step outside and try to act normal.” He looked down her body. “And you might want to take that apron off. The flour is a dead giveaway.”
“Well, shoot,” Lorelei said, untying the apron strings and gently tugging the ancient material over her head. Granny never threw anything away, which was why Lorelei was wearing the same apron Granny’s mother had cooked in nearly a hundred years ago.
Spencer held a hand out for her to take. When it remained empty, he turned around. “What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t need to hold your hand to walk onto the porch.” Lorelei stepped up beside him. “You have to stop acting like we’re picking up where we left off.”
“Where we left off was you throwing a ring at my head and telling me to go screw myself,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’re picking up someplace else.”
“We’re not—” Lorelei started to argue, but Spencer stepped through the door before she could finish. She followed, pasting on a friendly face for their visitor. It wasn’t until she reached the rail that Lorelei questioned why she had to return to the porch at all.
“Sorry about that, Mike. Lorelei got a spoon stuck.”
Such a freaking jerk.
“Not a problem.” Mike scratched his head. “Are we going to discuss the job sitting out here?”
“The job?” Lorelei asked. Why did she need to be out here to talk about cabinets?
“The kitchen isn’t totally clean, so Lorelei would prefer to do this out here, yes.”
Lorelei would prefer to do what out here?
“Fine by me. Should we sit?” the older man asked.
“Of course.” Spencer carried a white wicker rocker down the porch. “Lorelei and I will sit on the swing, and you can sit here,” he said, indicating the rocker for their guest.
Lorelei shuffled across the wood planks before Mike could join them. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
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