I blinked, realized I’d let my eyes fall closed as I conjured up very dirty thoughts about him. “Because no one would outbid Aunt Jean.”

Thatcher moved away, then laughed. “You’re right. Smart thinking.”

When he reached in and rubbed my cheek with his thumb, I sucked in a breath.

“Flour?” he asked.

The realization I’d been sitting here with flour on my face had me blushing and I pushed my glasses up out of habit. It was a reality check because there was no way Thatcher was going to go down on me in anything but my fantasies. “Oh, um… thanks. Job hazard.”

“It’s better than spilled beer,” he replied, his gaze roving over my face as if… memorizing it?

“That’s right. You own the Lucky Spur. I’ve only been there a few times. For lunch,” I admitted. “I work all the time and am in bed early because I have to be up to bake at four.”

“On the weekends, that’s when I go to sleep,” he admitted. “So, a date to your sister’s wedding?”

The auditorium was emptying quickly now. Only a few people remained chatting.

Right. He was a bought date. Nothing more. Which was exactly the point. A string-free, emotionless business arrangement. But as I looked at Thatcher, I realized that might be hard to do. Why had Aunt Jean chosen him specifically? Why not Graham Armstrong with whom I had zero connection?

I nodded, remembering he’d asked a question. “Next Sunday. I’m not in the wedding party so it won’t be too bad for you. Like being caught in wedding pictures or a receiving line.”

“Your sister’s getting married and you’re not a bridesmaid?”

I glanced away, moved an empty glass that had been left on the table. “Oh, no. I don’t fit into the dress she picked out for them.”

He frowned, then looked me over. I tried not to squirm as he did so. I wasn’t a supermodel. Hell, it was more like I’d eaten a supermodel. I was short and curvy. Very curvy. Boobs and hips and ass. I’d won the trifecta of big body parts, unlike my sister, Amy. And my mother, the former Miss Western Montana.

“What the hell does that even mean?” he asked.

I waved off his question because really, what woman wanted to have to say out loud that her family thought she was fat? That she had a job that kept her that way?

Neither of it was true. I’d been… big boned all my life. Exercise wasn’t going to make my boobs any smaller or make me grow six inches taller.

I was content in my body, except where my family was concerned.