Gluten for Punishment by Nancy J. Parra Page A

But then you didn’t go to school with us, did you?”
    “Hello, Tasha. No, I’m from Towanda, originally. I went to school there my whole life.
     It’s probably why we haven’t met.” He shook her hand as well, then turned his attention
     back on me. “I’m here with my grandma.” He turned to Tasha. “Grams moved into Oiltop
     to live in the assisted living center. I brought her here for some comfort food after
     being poked and prodded by her doctor.” He pointed his hand toward a table near the
     front door. Grandma peered at me through her thick lenses and I smiled and waved.
     I wondered if she knew Grandma Ruth. I almost asked Sam if she did, but thought better
     of it. Grandma Ruth was cool and quirky, smart and loyal, but her independent streak
     gave her a reputation some elderly ladies didn’t like much.
    Not that I wanted to make a good impression or anything. Or could, even if I tried.
     I tried not to sigh. My family always made the impression first. There was no way
     around it. Sooner or later, Sam would figure it out.
    “I wanted to stop by and introduce myself and thank you again for saving me.” Sam’s
     smile had my cheeks glowing.
    “Hey, anytime.” I watched him walk back to his table, admiring the way he wore his
     Levi’s.
    Emmi arrived to block the view and put china plates with generous servings of steaming
     food down on the table.
    “You’ve been holding out on me,” Tasha said as she grabbed a French fry from her plate
     and dipped it in ketchup.
    “There’s nothing to hold out.” I peppered my casserole. “He came into the bakery and
     needed some platters for his grandma’s poker tables. I set him up with several dessert
     sample platters.”
    “And gave him your card . . .”
    “It was purely business.” I lifted my empty glass at Emmi and she nodded and turned
     toward the bar. “I told you, I’m never going there again.” No matter how much my heart
     went pitter-patter. It’s what got me in trouble with Eric, and I was never trusting
     that feeling again. “You enjoy yourself with Craig.”
    “Oh, no, Sam Greenbaum is not easily ignored.” Tasha waved her glass Emmi’s way as
     well, jangling the remaining ice.
    “He’s probably married with five kids.” I refused to look at him again no matter how
     much I wanted to. It would be too obvious.
    “I happen to know he’s a widower with no kids.” Tasha wiggled an eyebrow at me. “You
     should ask him to come to the dinner party on Friday.”
    “What? No.”
    Emmi set down fresh drinks and took away the empty glasses. Now we wouldn’t look like
     lushes, although I was starting to feel like one as the gin buzzed in my head. “No.
     No. No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Well, for one, I don’t ask guys out. It’s a rule of mine because it sets a bad tone
     for the entire relationship. And B, I can’t date now, not with the dead guy and all.
     It seems kind of disrespectful. And three, I don’t have time. I have a business to
     get up and running, which takes every minute of my day and most of my nights, planning
     and baking and such.”
    Tasha narrowed her eyes and pursed her mouth. “We’ll see about that.”
    “And don’t you ask him either,” I said. “You promised not to set me up.”
    “Hell, why did I go and make such a fool promise, anyway?”
    “Because you’re my BFF. Cheers.” I toasted her and we clinked glasses. I took a sip
     of my drink and took a peek at Sam. His head was bent over the menu and he pointed
     out something to his grandma. His dark hair curled a bit around his collar and his
     smile was filled with love for the older lady. And yeah, I might have sighed a little.
    My divorce was less than a year old and it had been ugly. I don’t know how Grandma
     had done it after thirty years. Eric and I were married only five. Of course, I later
     found out he’d been sleeping with everyone and possibly their brother the entire time
     we were married. First I’d discovered