Page 72 of Sweet Poison

“Very good.” He took another bite. “Actually, almost as good as your pussy.”

My mouth dropped open with shock. “Cole!”

“What? I’m making a comparison. I’m not allowed to?”

I snatched the plate away from him. “You don’t deserve this.”

He started laughing softly. “You’re so fucking adorable, Montana.”

“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about Mrs. Dearborn.”

“Mrs. Dearborn. I remember her. She was wearing a blue hat. She asked so many intrusive questions, I thought she was the town gossip.”

“She is.” I nibbled at the cake. “But every year, without fail, she wins the Best Fruitcake title during the Best Baker summer festival. No one knows her secret. That special, elusive thing that makes her cakes so delicious.”

“Is that the Summer Festival next weekend?” he asked.

“Yes, the whole town looks forward to it every year. It's the best. You should take Anya to it. All her friends from school will be there. You will probably also get to meet a few more of the local women too.”

He looked amused. “To help refill my pantry?”

“There’ll be a waffle-eating contest.”

He looked at me indulgently and I realized I deeply enjoyed this light and airy attitude of his. He seemed relaxed, or least, a bit less on guard than usual.

“I’m just mentioning it because I am the undefeated champion. No one's been able to beat me for the past three years.”

“So you like waffles?” he asked.

My heart jumped like a wild deer. “Um … yeah. Waffles are good. But you’re the new face. You ready for some competition?”

“I won’t enter the competition, but I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“When I was at your ranch I saw a photo of your mother. You look exactly like her,” he said, changing the subject.

“Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re just being kind. My mother was the town’s beauty. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said.

I blushed. “I still miss her.”

“What happened to her?” he asked softly.

A smile came to my heart. As it always did when I thought about my mom. “She passed away from cancer,” I replied. “I was still pretty young, about six, but I still remember her vividly. When she smiled, she lit up the whole world. My father was never the same after she died.”

“I’m sorry, Montana.”

“It was a long time ago. I will see her again. What about your mom? Where is she?”

“My mother suffers from dementia. She’s in a care home.”

“Oh, Cole. I’m sorry.”