Chapter 2

chapter

two

Summer

"I don't know how I let you talk me into these things," Harmony mutters as we set up our booth an hour later than when we were supposed to start.

I've explained how this works a dozen times to my sister, but I remind myself that she needs extra patience. So I don't respond to her complaining and instead think about how frazzled I am in the moment.

"Excuse me, I need to get around you." It was nice of the cute guy's brother—or twin, maybe—to haul some of our supplies through the expo hall for us, but now the lumbering dude is getting in the way. I'm unsure why he's still hanging around, gaping at us. Or at Harmony, specifically.

Never mind that. I have cups to fill with frozen treats and sprinkles to…sprinkle. And the lineup in front of our booth is ten people deep.

We're so far behind, but hopefully, once the masses taste our product, the rest of this event will be smooth sailing.

"Sorry, I'll get out of your way."

"Thanks for your help," I say, shooting him a smile, wishing he was his brother, the one I flirted with earlier.

I shoot Harmony a look that reminds her to be polite and say thank you, but she's barely making eye contact with anyone. Instead, her face is crimson, and she's elbow-deep in the ice chest, helping me.

People are getting restless. I can't focus on her being rude right now.

Scoop, sprinkle. Scoop, sprinkle. Ignore the comments. Smile and say hello and try to compensate for Harmony's sour puss.

I'm so flustered about being late that I'm not paying attention to what I'm doing, and I end up accidentally mixing up the mojito flavor with the Paloma.

One potential investor, boasting a famous New York investment firm on his lanyard, tastes a sample and comments, "Interesting choice to mix grapefruit and mint."

Right. He doesn't find the flavor interesting at all. He means it's terrible.

The man tosses the sample in the trash bin and leans in too close to me. "So, where are you girls from?"

"Oh," Harmony pipes up. "It's a small town not far from here called I'll Kick Your Ass If You Call Me Girl Again. You'd hate it."

I squeeze my eyes shut as the guy walks away, probably with an assload of cash the likes of which Harmony and I have never seen in our lives.

Sigh.

"Harmony, you can't say stuff like that," I scold my sister.

"Sorry, I'm just not impressed with the caliber of people here today."

"Are you kidding me? The MacKenzie heirs have come out of the woodwork for this thing. Can you believe how adorable they are?"

"Meh."

Harmony is still jaded from her last relationship, so she thinks all men are suspected of high crimes until proven otherwise. So, I let it go.

I'm so distracted by the rush of people waiting while I assemble samples of bourbon frozen yogurt with apple crumbles on top that I lose my balance in my stiletto heels and twist my left ankle.

"Ow!"

Harmony grabs my arm, preventing me from going down. "Are you okay?"

I shake it off as the pain jolts up my leg. "I'm fine."

She sees me wince and gasps, "You can't even put weight on it!"

"Yes I can," I lie. "Ow, ow, ow." I sit in the chair she shoves toward me, and I massage my ankle. "Or I will be able to put weight on it, just as soon as someone gets me an ibuprofen."

Harmony shakes her head. "That's a bad omen. I told you this was a bad idea."

"Stop being such an Eeyore."

I ignore pessimism most of the time. Harmony didn't used to be like this. Ever since that loser ex-fiancé cheated on her two years ago, she lost all interest in going out and meeting people.

Well, I haven't had an easy time of it either. I hold my chin high and smile through life because I like to stay positive. And if I'm going to be the one pulling this train to make our dreams of opening our own frozen yogurt shop come true, then I'll do it.

To perk Harmony up enough to shower this morning, I bought her favorite shower steamer and corresponding scented candle.

She almost bailed when I showed her the outfits we'd be wearing, which I'd "borrowed" from the club where I work.

When she correctly pointed out these outfits were not business-like and made us look like a sex kitten pop duo, I explained the situation, just like I'm doing now. Again. For the tenth time.

"I'm not being an Eeyore. I'm being realistic. You can't wear stilettos and hot pants to a business event. It's tacky, and now it's backfired," Harmony says.

I fire back, smiling through the pain as I rub my ankle. "I told you. There's one surefire way to attract the attention of a potential finance bro. Dress like a bottle girl and get them drunk," I tell her.

"Did you read that in Forbes?" Harmony mutters, plopping samples of Triple Sec dreamsicle on the table.

"The worst that could happen is someone doesn't like our product and isn't interested," I say, recovering enough to get back to work, scooping out a bowl of Absolut Peach cinnamon and topping it with a tablespoon of homemade cobbler. I hover over the ice chest as I stand on one foot, trying not to put weight on the other.

A masculine voice stands out from the crowd behind me. "I'm interested."

"Just a minute sweetie," I call over my shoulder as I work. Not the most professional, I admit it. Sometimes, working at bars makes me too casual with people. So what? I am what I am.

When I turn around, one of the MacKenzie twins stares straight back at me. The cute one. Oh. My. Gosh.

How can I tell them apart? I don't know how, but this one gaped at me a minute ago and complimented my outfit.

He makes me a little uncomfortable with his brooding gaze that looks right through me.

"Hi," I say, beaming at him, my heart pitter-pattering at his brown eyes.

"Hey," he grunts.

"Be careful with that smolder; you might set someone's panties on fire," I say.

"Huh?" His brow furrows in bewilderment.

I hit him with, "Never mind, sweetie. What can I get you? Sweet, rich, or tart?"

No hint of a smile forms on that sexy, masculine mouth. What's his problem?

"Are you…the caterer? I'm confused," he says, eyeing my outfit.

Adorably gloomy and thick-headed. Exactly the opposite of me. I can work with this.

"My sister and I are frozen yogurt entrepreneurs. You might have seen the article about our business, Little Spoon, in Gold Hill Lifestyle magazine," I say.

"I don't read magazines," he says, staring intently at my face, clearly trying not to let his eyes wander down to my cleavage. Good luck, pal. There's a lot of cleavage to wander into.

"Sometimes, when people are networking, they pretend to know what the other person is talking about just to play nice," I say.

"Why?"

Behind me, Harmony snorts, and I want to kick her, but my ankle is killing me.

I put on my best smile and say, "I don't know. Maybe we're all psychotic."

Why did I say that? Oh god…why? Why am I so weird?

To my relief, this glowering fellow cracks the faintest smile.

He says, "You pick."

"I pick what?"

"The flavor."

As he says this, his eyes rake down my body and back up, and hell, if that doesn't give me the fanny flutters. Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate.

"Hmm, let's see," I say, eyeing him up and down while Harmony hands out samples to other visitors to our booth. I should not be out here flirting, but there's just something about this guy—short-cropped hair, a rumpled button-down shirt hiding his physique. The slightly askew tie and those nerdy wire-frame glasses are the icing on the cake. The glowering stare and the juicy lips make him look like a male stripper dressed in a nerd costume. "I think you like melons."

His gaze dips down pointedly. "They're fine, I guess."

Was that…was he making a comment about my boobs? No way.

Yeah, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt because the alternative could get him slapped. And I don't want to cause a scene.

"I meant the fruit. Like cantaloupes." Flustered, I turn away and hiss at my sister, gesturing wildly. "Harmony!"

"What?" Her eyes bug out in annoyance.

"Get me the Midori mint!"

She looks doubly annoyed. "I'm. Busy." She says this through gritted teeth. So she is. My eyes briefly glance at the wall of chest across the table from her—the other MacKenzie twin. She's getting the hang of this mission after all.

With no other choice as people crowd around our table, I turn around and hobble to the cooler, where I dig around until I find what I'm looking for. The cantaloupe mint frozen yogurt with melon-flavored liqueur. Perfect.

And now I don't know how I'll stand back up in these heels with a throbbing ankle.

Grunting, I manage to peel off my stilettos and haul myself back to my feet. A little unsteady now, I smooth my hair, lean over the table, and hand the sample to the guy. "Try this and tell me what you think?"

"Are you hurt?" he asks, that beautiful brow furrowing again.

Be still my heart.

"No."

"Why are you lying? Is it the psychosis you mentioned?"

This is so unexpected that I burst out laughing, earning me my first genuine smile from the cutest MacKenzie twin. God, which one is he? Cooper or Carter? He looks like a Carter, but I don't know why.

"I twisted my ankle, but I'll ice it later. I am totally fine."

He grunts skeptically but then turns his attention to the dessert.

The man dips his spoon into it, then slowly—too slowly—puts his lips around the spoonful. My sister Harmony and I spent months perfecting with different ratios of yogurt and sugar and flavor, pored over recipes, and tested every bite. And this man is here making it look like we made porn in the form of dessert.

The groan from this man is far too erotic for a business expo.

I go with it because we're all adults here.

I ignore my flush of schoolgirl giddiness and say with utmost confidence, "It's better than sex, right?"

Without missing a beat, the rumpled, bespectacled man replies, "I haven't had enough of a random sampling, so I wouldn't know."

Was that another joke?

"That's funny," I snort.

"Uh," is his reply, stalling as he waits for the right words.

Instead, he turns and walks away, leaving me shaken, stirred, and in need of an ice-cold shower.