She must see something alarming in my eyes, because she clutches my arm and stares into my eyes. “Can you tell me your name? Or wait—how many fingers am I holding up?”
I smile, touched by her concern. “Sean. Sean Bracelyn. I’m one of the owners here.”
“Oh. You’re the chef?”
“That’s me.” I try not get too excited that she knows who I am.
Her forehead is still creased with a frown. “Are you sure I don’t need to call anyone? An ambulance or maybe Bree?”
The thought of my sister storming in to tell me what a dumbass I am has me clambering to my feet in a hurry. I pull Amber up with me, not wanting to leave her sitting on the floor next to a dead turkey.
“What’s with the bird?” I ask.
“My sister asked me to bring it.”
“Because showing up with a plate of cookies is cliché?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Your sister wanted it for some photo shoot. Don’t worry, it’s stuffed. I didn’t just drop a freshly-killed animal on your floor.”
“Too bad. I’ve got a killer recipe for spatchcocked turkey with anise and orange.”
“Spatchcocked,” I say, putting a regrettable emphasis on the last syllable. “It’s where you lay it out flat with its legs spread wide and the breast—you know what? Never mind.”
Christ, I need a do-over. It’s not every day a guy comes face to face with the girl he’s had a crush on since he wore Batman Underoos. I rake my fingers through my hair and try again.
“This book reconfirms the magic that Tawna Fenske makes with her was words. You laugh, you blush, you feel a tug on the heartstrings.” – Becca, Goodreads
“Tawna Fenske has done it again and delivered another story that is equally hilarious, heart-warming, and swoon-worthy, while tackling some serious issues as well.” – Regina, Goodreads