Page 23 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

“You were going to.”

“I might have wanted regular.”

“No, you weren’t.”

He accepts the coffee without arguing, which proves my point. His attention moves toward the display. I try not to watch him study the filled shelves, but his reaction matters more than I want it to.

“It works,” he says.

“It does more than work.”

Jake walks closer. His gaze moves across the rows of muffins and cinnamon rolls, then to the handwritten flavor cards I placed in small black holders.

“You already photographed it?”

“Four times.”

“Only four?”

“I may take more when the light changes.”

He nods as though this confirms something he already suspects about me.

I point to the upper shelf. “The apple crisp cheesecake muffins look especially good up there.”

“They taste good up there, too.”

“You ate yours standing beside the counter.”

“Location doesn’t affect flavor.”

“Presentation affects the entire experience.”

“I thought eating was the experience.”

“That is why I own the bakery and you build things.”

Jake reaches toward a caramel apple muffin. I tap the back of his hand with the tongs.

He withdraws it slowly. “I was looking.”

“You were touching.”

“I built the shelf.”

“That does not grant you unrestricted muffin access.”

“What does?”

The words are simple, but the look accompanying them is not. Before I can decide how to answer, the bell rings again.

Three men wearing Dalton Restoration shirts enter together. Unlike Jake, they bring enough mud with them to plant a small garden.

My newly softened attitude toward work boots faces its first serious test.

Jake looks over his shoulder. “Wipe your feet.”

The men stop. All three back up and drag their boots across the mat. I smile before I can stop myself. One of them, Cole, the man who helped bring in the display, looks from Jake to me.