Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

J esse

That Tuesday, after five and a half weeks, Moe returns with zero fanfare. I arrive at the shop in the morning, all ready to open, and there he is polishing the counter. “Hi,” he says simply. He hasn’t aged a single day since the last time I saw him. I think he’s wearing the exact same red flannel shirt and dark wash jeans.

I, meanwhile, feel like I’ve lived about a thousand lives. And there’s pig snot on my jeans. Fricking Edward.

“Wow. Hi. How was your trip?”

“Eh.” Moe shrugs. “Fishing, you know. Good job here. I knew you could handle it.”

“Thanks.” His faith in me seems unfounded, but I’m weirdly touched anyway.

“You can take the day off, if you want.”

“Oh.” I stick my hands in my pockets and glance around the store. I planned to restock the caulk guns and then dig through the back storage room for Fourth of July decorations.

Moe waves a hand in the air, dismissing me, and turns to the computer. “See you tomorrow.”

I turn on one heel and step back outside.

I shouldn’t be this unhinged. It’s just that my days have become so pleasantly routine. Wake up, feed animals, breakfast with Laura, work, home, dinner with Laura, hot sex with Laura. How am I going to fill this nine-hour Laura-less gap in the middle of the day?

I walk around town for the approximate five minutes it takes to get to the end of Main Street, then turn and walk back. Emma Larson waves as she unlocks the door at Time Enough at Last, a paper bakery bag caught in her teeth. Tourists, all likely staying at the hotel on Elm Street, wend their way past the restaurants and storefronts. There is the Curds This Way Cheese Shop; down that side street is the elementary school and the town library. Have I really lived here long enough that people wave to me as I walk by? People call out greetings, ask me how I liked the fish fry, if Laura and I are going to polka this weekend.

It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

For half an hour, I circumnavigate the town of St. Olaf until I end up on the strip of Cherry Lane that many of the locals refer to as The Dryden Line. Apparently, here are all the businesses owned and operated by Dryden families. Right in front of me is Sugar Kisses.

I’ve only been in the back of Laura’s bakery, but I’ve seen her setup through the front windows. She has a different vibe, one of pastels and warmth. Sugar Kisses is sleek blue and chrome, everything neatly packaged with the price list on a digital board behind the counter. Behind the store is a larger building under construction. Maybe that’s the winery the Drydens are building, the one Laura told me about.

What constitutes a betrayal? If I go inside to taste the competition, knowing it will never be as good as Laura’s, is that still a punk move because I’ll be giving money to the competition? I don’t really have an urge to taste the food, but I’d love to be able to tell Laura exactly how much better hers is.

“Don’t bother,” a low voice says beside me. I turn to see a tanned, blond man in an expensive tailored suit standing beside me. “Don’t ever tell anyone I said this, but Sweet and Salty is better by far.”

“I agree.” I hold out my hand. “Jesse. I work at Moe’s.”

The other man gives my hand one tight shake. “I’ve heard about you. Monroe Dryden. Please don’t lump me in with my family.”

“Never.” Though I’ve heard plenty about them by now, Grandma always said to treat people as individuals.

He eyes me with curiosity. “So you’re Jesse? You know the Marshalls.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Touché. I’m sorry about the cabin. Clara told me it’s not in good repair. Obviously we won’t charge you, and we apologize for the inconvenience. The person we had overseeing the rental clearly dropped the ball.”

“It’s all right.” Especially since I haven’t been back.

“Take a good offer when you can. I’ve got to get going. If you see Frannie, tell her I said hi.” He steps past me, then pauses. “On second thought, don’t. Take care, Jesse. See you around.”

He walks off down Cherry Lane, taking out his phone as he strolls like the ground is made of gold blocks instead of red bricks.

Weird. My stomach churns, but I haven’t needed much convincing to give Sugar Kisses a hard pass.

I’d rather hang out with animals anyway.