Gluten for Punishment by Nancy J. Parra Read Free Book Online Page B

if I spoke a foreign
     language.
    “My specialty is allergy-safe foods.” I pointed to the gluten-free flours on the shelf.
    “Oh.” His face fell a little.
    “No, no,” I reassured him. “It’s all really good.” I reached down and grabbed a small
     cheesecake square out of the taster tray I kept filled. “Here, try.”
    He looked skeptical but desperate enough to try anything. Until he popped the small
     square in his mouth; his eyes grew wide and a seductive-as-hell smile broke out on
     his face. “Wow! That’s good!”
    “Thanks.” I beamed. I couldn’t help it. There was something heartwarming about having
     a hot guy taste your food and love it. “How many are at the party?”
    “Let’s see, there are four tables of four plus the dealers . . .”
    “Dealers?”
    His mouth went flat. “Gram’s serious about her poker.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
    “We’re talking approximately twenty people?”
    “Give or take.”
    “Great, how about sample platters?”
    “Will they have more of those cheesecake pieces?”
    “Certainly, I have cheesecake, brownies, pumpkin tarts, and caramel apple tarts. How
     does that sound?”
    “How fast can you put them together?” His eyes flashed and the corners of his mouth
     lifted.
    “Less than five minutes.” I poured him a complimentary cup of coffee. “Here, drink
     this while you wait.” I scooted back into the kitchen and pulled together four platters,
     boxed them in thin pizza-shaped boxes, and brought them out to the front.
    “You’ve saved the day.” He paid me. “Do you take tips?”
    “Oh, no,” I said and handed him his change. “But it would really help me if you could
     put one of my cards by each platter.” I handed him my fancy business cards. “Then
     the ladies will know where to come to buy more.”
    He picked up the cards. “Baker’s Treat . . . wait, weren’t you the one in the newspaper
     yesterday?”
    I looked down and waited for the floor to swallow me whole. It didn’t. “Um . . .”
    “Oh, Gram is gonna love this. Thank you. Like I said, you made my day.” He plopped
     his cowboy hat on his head, winked at me, and walked out into the darkness.
    I crumpled against the back counter as I let my knees go weak at the memory of his
     wink. It was a fun and flirty little moment, and I enjoyed it. It didn’t hurt to enjoy
     it. It wasn’t like I was going to date him or anything. Still, he was pretty in a
     very rough-hewn way. I walked to the door to lock up, caught a whiff of his cologne,
     and tried not to think about how long it had been since I’d felt a little zing in
     my veins. No wonder Tasha glowed.
    • • •
    I was still thinking about the hot cowboy the next morning as I blasted Matchbox Twenty
     and Rob Thomas songs through the bakery and turned on the ovens in the back. At five-thirty A.M., I was filling the display cabinet when I thought I heard a noise outside. I went
     to the window and peered out, but Main Street was dead quiet. The sculpture of the
     cowboy across the street had his hand on his Stetson, his brass coat swirling around
     his boots. On the next block were a pair of Victorian ladies, their bronze heads tipped
     together, arms full of packages. On my side of the street was a horse sculpture, and
     in front of my store was a replica of a horse trough and a tying post. It gave Main
     Street a ghost-town feel at night. Every twenty feet were replica gaslights, the pools
     of light braving through the darkness, leaving too much in shadow.
    Not seeing anything, I shrugged and went back to work. By seven, the sun had started
     to come up and I was ready for anyone wanting to stop by for breakfast or to grab
     a box of pastries for work. I opened the shades on the door, unlocked it, then stepped
     out to collect the bundle of Wichita newspapers I offered my early patrons.
    It was then I noticed the horse trough had arms and legs dangling out of it. Weird.
     I glanced around, but