Page 60 of Working For Her Sweet Treats
“I know.”
“And the roll.”
“You haven’t placed an order.”
Jake rests both forearms on the counter. “One maple-cinnamon coffee, one caramel apple muffin, and two of the new rolls.”
“Two?”
“One is for somebody else.”
I stare at him. His expression remains solemn for almost three seconds. Then he smiles.
He has never successfully delivered a Sweet Treats pastry to another person. His employees now come in and purchase their own because they understand that anything entrusted to Jake will disappear before reaching the job site.
I pour his coffee and set a caramel apple muffin on a plate.
“No roll?”
“Not yet.”
The front bell rings again. Loralee enters carrying a stack of small cards tied with gold ribbon.
She glances at Jake, then at me.
“You told him?”
“Not yet.”
“Told me what?” Jake asks.
I reach beneath the counter and retrieve the chalkboard sign I finished last night. Jake watches while I place it beside the cinnamon rolls arranged across the top tier of the display he built for me.
The new rolls are wider than the classics, with bourbon-maple filling spiraled through the dough and a glossy maple glaze dripping down the sides. Candied bacon is crumbled across the top with a final dusting of cinnamon.
The handwritten sign reads:
TODAY’S FEATURETHE DALTON BOURBON MAPLE BACON CINNAMON ROLL
Jake reads it twice.
“You named a cinnamon roll after me.”
“I named it The Dalton.”
“That is my name.”
“It is also the name of a bakery product.”
Loralee steps beside him. “Food is an expression of devotion in several spiritual traditions.”
“Please don’t help,” I tell her.
Jake continues staring at the sign. “The Dalton.”
“You don’t like it?”
His gaze lifts to mine.
