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“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
She looked in the fridge. It was crammed with all manner of fresh fruit and vegetables. She moved the milk and cheese and withdrew a jar of dill pickles. Dan shook his head at her offer.
She withdrew a pickle for herself and recapped the jar. “Bottom line—I still want a hand in restoring the property where I grew up.” She took a bite of the pickle, catching the dripping juice with one hand cupped beneath the other. Appearing as if the sour taste were heaven—and who knew, maybe it was to a pregnant woman—she continued, “And the thought of having the money to start a restaurant and a line of peach, strawberry, blackberry and plum products with my family’s name on it is tempting.”
Dan studied the glitter of excitement in her eyes. “Even if it means working closely with your ex?”
Emily turned on the spigot and washed her hands with lavender soap. Some of her pleasure faded. “I think I can handle Tex.”
Dan ignored the stab of unaccustomed jealousy and pointed out, “You didn’t seem that sure earlier.” He watched as she dried her hands with a towel, determined to let her have her say. “When you were pretending I was someone of significance in your life.”
Emily flushed, as if guilty as charged. She helped herself to a wrapped candy on the counter, then pivoted toward him. The tantalizing drift of orange-blossom perfume teased his senses. “First of all,” she corrected archly, “I never actually said that.”
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