Amy Vastine - The Girl He Used To Love

Dean let his ears, nose and stomach be his guide. They did not lead him astray. The kitchen’s soft butter-yellow walls were so much brighter in the hazy morning light that streamed in through the windows in the cozy breakfast nook than they were last night. On the kitchen table were cooling racks covered in dozens of perfectly golden-brown, chocolate-chip cookies. He could almost taste the melted chocolate, brown sugar and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

The only thing that could pull his attention from these tempting cookies was the woman who’d made them. Faith slipped another cookie sheet into the oven. Her hot-pink apron was tied around her slim waist. Again, he was struck by how grown-up she looked. Where had the time gone? What would Addison have looked like at thirty years old?

He shook off thoughts of his baby sister. He couldn’t go there. Not when they threatened to unleash feelings he had successfully boxed up and put away years ago.

“Do I smell whiskey?” he asked, finally putting his finger on the mystery scent.

Faith jumped, clutching her chest and shrieking loud enough to be heard for miles. Before he had the opportunity to apologize, she whacked him with her spatula.

Dean tried to protect himself. “I’m sorry! Stop. Stop!” he pleaded.

She gathered her wits and appeared remorseful. “Oh, my gosh, I’m sorry.” Then quickly added, “But you really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

Keeping a safe distance, Dean tried to explain. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you. You didn’t even give me a chance to say good morning before you went postal on me.”

She pushed some stray strands of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “I’m not used to people walking around the house like mice. Sawyer whistles everywhere he goes, so I always know when he’s coming.”

“Well, I apologize for not being a noisier guest. I’ll be sure to stomp through the house so you hear me coming from now on.” He reached for a cookie, figuring she owed him that much for attacking him. He was so hungry and the smell was so mouthwatering...

Faith smacked his hand with the spatula before he could grab one.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” she said, her cheeks turning red. “Just don’t touch my cookies.”

Dean was ready to wrestle that spatula from her hand. If she swatted him one more time, that thing was getting tossed outside as far as he could fling it. “You make cookies for breakfast, but I can’t have one?”

“These are for Mr. Middleton and the church bake sale tomorrow. Not for you. If you want a cookie, you can buy one tomorrow at church.”

“You made cookies that smell like whiskey for the church bake sale?”

There were dark circles under Faith’s eyes. “It’s my thing. I make cookies with a kick. I’ll have you know that the people in this town love them and come to the Sundown every Friday night to get their hands on them.”

“You sell cookies at the Sundown?” Temptation got the best of him and Dean reached for a cookie. Tennesseans sure did love their whiskey, and Dean was no exception.

Faith raised the spatula, but he gave a warning of his own. “Put that thing down before one of us gets hurt. And by ‘us’ I mean me or that spatula.”

She set her weapon down and stepped back toward the oven. “My Salted Whiskey Chocolate-Chip Cookies happen to be my biggest seller. If you eat them, you are stealing from the church. You wouldn’t want to do that, now, would you, Dean Francis Presley?”

Using his middle name was unkind. His mother was the only one who used it. When he was younger, it had been said quite a bit. Addison and Faith had thought it was so funny.

“That’s a low blow. Maybe I want to steal one from Mr. Middleton. Come on, have mercy on your stranded houseguest.”

Faith pursed her lips. Sawyer had said she often said yes when she wanted to say no. He hoped this would be one of those times.

“Fine,” she relented. “You can have one cookie. But if I see you take any more than one, I’ll charge you five dollars per cookie.”

Dean was willing to accept any offer. He plucked the biggest cookie with the most chocolate from the nearest cooling rack and took a bite. It practically melted in his mouth. It was obvious these cookies were the ticket to heaven. One was not going to be enough now that he’d had a taste.

* * *

FAITH COULDN’T HELP but smile as she watched Dean share a moment with his cookie. He might have been falling in love. The expression on his face reminded her of Addison’s after her first kiss with Kenny Gordon.

Dean dashed out of the kitchen and, as quickly as he had disappeared, he returned with a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. He closed the distance between them, leaving her no way to escape.

Clean and dry looked good on him. It smelled even better. He had the kind of hair that women needed to grab by the fistful when he kissed them and made their knees weak. She felt sixteen again, infatuated with the unattainable. Experience told her that when you played with fire, you got burned, and that was not something she wanted to experience again.

“That was the best cookie I have ever had in my entire life. I think you should change the name to Faith and Whiskey Chocolate Chip, though. They’re sweet with a kiss of sass. Just like you.” He slipped the bill into the small pocket that was sewn on the chest of her apron. Faith held her breath as a devilish grin spread across his face. “I’ll take four.”

Stepping away, he snatched his paid-for cookies off the counter. His eyes closed when he took a bite.

Thankfully that left him completely unaware of the effect he had on Faith and her racing heart. Weak knees were nothing compared to her current state. Dizzy and hot, she felt like she had been knocked on the head and shoved in the oven. She spun and opened the refrigerator, letting the air inside cool her burning cheeks. Faith and Whiskey. She liked it. More than she should.

Dean wasn’t going to be around long enough to eat or name any more of her cookies. He’d be gone and nothing but a memory, like his sister. Faith poured a tall glass of milk and set it on the kitchen table where he had taken a seat to finish his cookie breakfast.

“The milk is on the house.”

“You are so much nicer without that spatula in your hand,” he said with a mouthful of cookie.

“I know your mother taught you not to talk with food in your mouth.” She shook her head and went to check on her last batch. She needed to remember why he was here.

Dean had run away while she’d spent the last decade trying to make amends to a ghost. Now he was back and talking about making her brother a star. That was not happening. Sawyer didn’t want to be a country music star. He was happy here, content to keep their father’s farm running, like she was.

“What time does your brother usually get up?” Dean must have read her mind.

“Sawyer’s already up. There are always chores to be done around here.” Faith figured pointing out how much work her brother had to do would help discourage Dean from pursuing his crazy idea to lure Sawyer to Nashville.

“Oh, I was going to ask him for a lift to my car. I figure the sooner I get that tire fixed, the sooner I can get out of here.”

The sooner the better, as far as Faith was concerned. No reason to delay the inevitable. “If you help me deliver these cookies, I’ll get you to your car faster than a jackrabbit on a date.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “See? Sweet and sassy,” he said with a shake of his head. “I missed you.”

His confession seemed to shock them both. All the air left Faith’s lungs and it was almost impossible to breathe more in. Dean’s face flushed red and he stood to place his empty milk glass in the sink.