Page 52 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

Jake reaches for another piece of my roll. “Make two.”

“I’ll make one test batch.”

“What will you call it?”

“I haven’t decided.”

I look at Jake happily destroying a cinnamon roll with bacon, and know exactly what the new recipe will be called. The Dalton. He does not need to know that yet.

By the time the celebration begins winding down, only seven muffins remain. I have collected three catering inquiries, a pageof holiday orders, and more compliments than I know how to accept without becoming emotional.

Jake helps me pack the flavor cards and empty trays. Every time he notices something that needs doing, he looks at me first. I nod or give him an instruction. He follows it. The difference is so simple I wonder why neither of us understood it before.

When the last customer moves toward the bar, I join Jake beside the empty display.

“You were very good at taking orders tonight.”

“I had a demanding boss.”

“You liked it.”

“More than I should.”

“Thank you … for everything,” I say.

His expression becomes serious.

“The display. The plumbing. Moving the kitchen. Listening when I told you what I needed.”

“You asked me to help. I wanted to do it your way.”

“I noticed.”

Jake waits, giving me room to continue.

“I’m still not happy about the inspection.”

“I don’t expect you to be.”

“But I know you aren’t my ex-husband.”

Relief moves across his face, although he does not step closer.

“I made you feel the same way,” he says. “That was enough to make it wrong.”

The apology contains no defense. That matters, too.

Kayla calls my name from the kitchen, asking where I want the remaining boxes.

“In my car,” I answer.

Jake reaches for them automatically, then stops.

I smile. “Yes, you may carry the boxes.”

He collects all three at once. Show-off.

An hour later, the display is packed into Jake’s truck, the bakery supplies are inside my vehicle, and The Foundry is nearly empty.