Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

35. Chapter Thirty-Five

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

J esse

I stand behind the counter at Moe’s, counting the truths I’ve told. It’s a far shorter list than the lies, so it’s solely for the sake of expediency. Besides, there are only a couple of people in the shop this Friday afternoon. Most seem to have gone home early to get ready for the fish fry, and I’ve been told by more than one surprised customer how grateful they are I’m open.

Apparently, I’m the massive chump who doesn’t know Moe always closes early on Fish Fry Friday.

So it seems appropriate to count my failings—or lack thereof.

Truth: I’m starting to like St. Olaf. Not a lot. The weather is weird and mercurial, no one ever says “bless your heart,” and bears scare me far more than gators ever have. Still, it has a kind of charm that sneaks under my skin and smells suspiciously like Laura’s shampoo.

Truth: My grandma would have loved Laura. Not just liked her or tolerated her, but outright adored. She probably would have disowned me in order to adopt Laura and her entire family.

Truth—

“Hi. I’ll just get these.” The woman, with her blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail and extensive tattoos on her arms, places a few items on the counter. She came in with Opal Larson, who is still perusing the shelves.

“No problem.” I scan and bag the bandages and liniment, my mind still miles away in Laura’s bed, and throw in a package of Epsom salts and a bottle of iodine.

“Wait, what’s that?” The woman says, her question cutting through my brain fog.

I glance down at what I’ve done. Oops. “It’s nothing. I heard you talking to Opal. You mentioned your horse is lame? It could be an abscess.” I take her outstretched credit card and run it through the machine. “Soak the hoof in an Epsom salt bath, dry it off, and wrap it with the bandages soaked in iodine. Did the vet already drain it?”

“Wow. No.” The woman puts her credit card into the wallet attached to her cellphone. “I called him but he can’t come out until tomorrow. You know horses?”

Time for the lies. “A little.”

“Emma, honey?” Opal steps beside the blond woman and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You almost done?”

“Yeah.” Emma holds out her hand to me. “I’m Emma Larson. I run the bookstore. You should come by some time.”

Opal tugs on her arm. “Don’t bother. He’s dating Laura Marshall, honey.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not trying to date him, Auntie. I can be friendly. I am definitely not looking for anyone.”

“Pfft.” Opal waves her hand in the air. “Emma is a catch, isn’t she, Jesse? We are just so glad she moved back here from San Antonio. No hockey in San Antonio, dontcha know. Emma’s always been a great hockey player.”

“That’s awesome,” I reply. “Like Bobby Marshall.”

Emma coughs a word that sounds like hack and scoops the bag off the counter. I guess she’s not a Slingshots fan. “Let’s go, Auntie. I want to bandage Hoopla before the fish fry. Thanks for the advice, Jesse.”

I raise my hand as a farewell and wait until they leave before I lock up for the evening.

After all, I promised Laura I’d be on time.

What the hell does one take to a fish fry? It sounds like a potluck kind of situation? Grandma always used to take ambrosia, but as much as I loved her, I hate ambrosia.

Esme never agreed to go to potlucks. Even when my clinic staff organized one, partly in an attempt to meet her, Esme had always found a way to weasel out before the party was due to start.

But I don’t want to think about Esme, not when I’m standing at the back door of the bakery, holding a jumbo-sized bag of potato chips instead of a bouquet of flowers.

I knock twice, and Laura flings open the door and launches herself into my arms. “You are never going to believe what just happened!”

My heart leaps as I hug her, warm in her shared happiness. “What is it?”

Her eyes dancing, she takes my hand and drags me over the threshold. Holy fuck. Her bakery smells of chocolate, cinnamon, sugar, and creamy, freshly made coffee. If I die and go to heaven, it will probably smell like this. “What did you make?”

She waves a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “Mexican hot chocolate kringle. It didn’t turn out how I wanted. Try some if you like.” I glance around greedily before realizing she’s still bouncing on her toes, clearly wanting to tell me something. So I ignore my stomach, place my potato chip bag on the counter, and perch on a stool so she will have my undivided attention.

“Okay!” She claps her hands together. “Have you ever heard of the TV show America Bakes! ?”

Esme refused to watch it, citing sugar as the downfall of civilization as we know it. There were red flags in that relationship. I was just blind to them. “Yeah, of course.”

“They called me!” She squeals, jumping up and down. “Can you believe it? They asked me to audition! I’ve already checked my email, like, forty-five times and they haven’t sent me the information yet, but isn’t this amazing?” She hops around in a little circle. “I can’t believe it! I never thought I was good enough. Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe—”

The spiral isn’t difficult to see. Standing, I cup her face between my palms and tilt her chin to look at me. “Don’t go down that pathway,” I say softly. “You are more than good enough. Your food is out-of-this-world beautiful, and it tastes exactly the way it looks. The only surprise is that they haven’t called you before this. If anyone deserves this opportunity to showcase their talent to the world, it’s you, Laura.”

Her entire body stills, a marked contrast to her earlier pixie energy. “What?” Her tone is so full of mistrust and disbelief, the only thing I can think to do is wrap her more firmly in my arms. She melts against me. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do. And everyone else agrees with me.”

She slides her arms up my body and circles them around my neck, then rests her cheek against my shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” Exhaling, I draw her closer to me. “I don’t believe in false hope, Laura. The real thing can be fleeting enough, and we shouldn’t cheapen its power. You will rock that audition.”

She shivers in my arms. “I’m really glad you moved here.”

“Me too.” Something deep behind my shoulder blades unclenches. “We should get going, if we don’t want to be late. Someone told me the parking fills up.”