Not a Chance (Sweet Nothings) - By Carter Ashby Page 0,4
with some strange man..."
"That's just it, Arden. I'm not a strange man. You and me have lived in this tiny hick town all our lives. We go to the same church, for Christ's sake. We're even friends with some of the same people...although certainly not at the same time. All I'm saying is, drop the kidnapped princess act and let's be like normal people for tonight. Okay?"
Arden's face was red and hate beamed from her eyes. Travis felt kind of afraid. But then her expression changed and she seemed to back down. "You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. I'll try to behave more graciously."
Travis stood stunned.
Arden seemed to pick up on his doubt. "I'm serious. I know you're right and I'm sorry. It's just, I don't socialize outside my tiny circle of friends very often and I'm clearly not good at it. I'll try to keep quiet. Okay?"
Travis swallowed and glanced away. "You don't have to be quiet. Just...stop being mean."
Arden smiled warmly and nodded.
"So...is sleeping with me back on the table now?"
She grew wary and lifted her chin. "No, Mr. Lanier. It was never on the table."
Travis drew himself up tall in mock indignation. "Well, Miss Butler, I think you'll change your mind." Then he gave her a grin and a wink and went upstairs to find blankets and pillows to sleep on.
CHAPTER THREE
They woke up that first morning starving. They rummaged in the kitchen cabinets and found lots of little, moldy balls of stuff. But they also found some canned foods and sealed up pantry items. They sat across from each other on the floor checking expiration dates and sorting out anything that looked or smelled spoiled.
“Wish I’d gotten stranded with Shannon Murphy,” Travis muttered. “She could probably whip up five kinds of pie out of this.”
Arden glared at him. “Well I wish I’d gotten stranded with Russ Murphy. Because he would have killed a rabbit or something by now and made us a stew.”
Travis seemed unperturbed. He continued to study the mish-mash of would-be ingredients.
"I think we can rig up some pancakes," Travis said, gesturing to a group of ingredients that included flour, creamed corn and baking powder.
"Don't you have to have eggs or something?" Arden asked.
"I don't know. If I eat breakfast I eat at the diner. Or Sweet Nothings whenever Dustin drags me there."
"So you can't cook?" Arden sat back on her heels and rubbed her upper arms.
Travis glanced up at her. "Nope. I was kind of hoping you could."
"Me?" Arden asked. "The princess? I have people who do that sort of thing for me."
Travis gave her a wry smile. "We'll figure it out together," he said.
They found a cast iron griddle and put it on the coals in the fireplace. Then they mixed their ingredients in a bowl they'd found until they wound up with a thick mess of something resembling batter. It stuck to the griddle and they burned the first batch, but they started figuring it out after that and by the third try wound up with some fairly edible corn cakes.
They ate with their fingers on the living room floor in front of the warm fireplace. Travis was thoroughly happy for the moment. Of course, he was a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. And this moment felt warm and communal and peaceful.
"What kind of pie is your favorite?" Arden asked him without looking up.
Travis frowned in thought. "Apple, I guess. But only if Rita Hendricks makes it. She may look like a hardened career woman, but she’s got a serious Martha Stewart streak in her."
“Apple pie,” Arden shrugged. “That’s very all-american of you.”
“‘Course Mrs. Tomlin...do you know her?”
Arden nodded.
“She makes a mean peach cobbler. So that might be my favorite.”
Arden was suppressing a grin, now. “You sure?”
He thought for a moment. “You know, little Amy Simmons made a blueberry pie for her 4-H cooking project last year. It had this layer of cream cheese stuff on the bottom. That was pretty damn good.”
“Little Amy gave you a pie?”
“Well, yeah.” He shrugged.
“She’s eleven.” She was grinning and maybe trying not to laugh.
“Well she can bake as good as the grandmas around here.”
Arden shook her head. She took a monstrous, very unladylike bite of her corn cake.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s just cute, that’s all.”
He grinned, then. “So what’s your favorite pie.”
"I like coconut cream," she said, with her mouth full. "But I don't know how to make it."
"You don't know how to make pie?"
She shrugged. "I don't know how to make anything. Do you?"