Page 5 of Gobble Me Up

3

cydney

If I thought yesterday’s run-in with Oliver was a fluke, I was totally wrong.

Because 7:30 rolls around Wednesday morning, and right on the dot… there he is.

Today’s suit is light gray with a black shirt underneath that makes him look like he’s the world’s sexiest spy. When he turns slightly to hold the door open for an older woman, I spot the way his fitted pants hug his perfect rear end and almost swallow my tongue.

“Morning, Cydney,” he greets me, causing my hussy girly bits to wake up.

“Back for more?” I manage to mutter.

He leans on the counter, brows slightly raised. “Thought I’d try your pumpkin scones today. Unless you think there’s something more dangerous on the menu.”

“The scones are definitely dangerous…” I toss back, holding his gaze, and I swear he’s undressing me with his brain while I love every freaking second of it.

I pop his scone in the microwave, and the second I hit Start, Oliver leans in close. The heat from the machine is nothing compared to the way he’s looking at me. I swear, if he ever turned those eyes up to full power, I’d be the world’s first human puddle. I take a sip of my iced coffee, hoping to cool my jets a little.

“So, tell me,” he rumbles, folding those arms over his chest. “Where’d you get the name Gobble Me Up?”

I almost snort coffee out of my nose. The truth is, it wasn’t exactly a committee of geniuses.

“Let’s just say, Tessa and I weren’t marketing masterminds. After college, we knew we wanted a bakery, but every name we came up with was terrible. Like, genuinely horrifying. So, we bribed our families with cinnamon rolls to help us. We threw everyone’s suggestions in a hat and pulled one out.”

I place his warm scone into a box, grinning. “Tessa’s little brother’s idea won out. He was six, and honestly, the rest of us were just desperate for caffeine and sugar at that point.”

Oliver’s mouth tips into a full-blown smirk. “Gobble Me Up. I’m guessing you get a lot of interesting comments.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” I slide the box across to him, careful to brush his fingers with mine. Is it sad that this qualifies as the highlight of my entire week? Don’t care. “One time, a guy asked if we did private events. I think he was hoping for something a little spicier than cinnamon rolls.”

Oliver’s eyes darken like he’s imagining exactly what kind of private event I’m up for. “I bet you keep things interesting in here.”

I lean in, elbows on the counter. “Depends on what you’re hoping for, Mr. Burkhardt. I can be very accommodating.” It comes out way dirtier than I meant it, judging by the way his eyes darken.

His jaw tics. “Accommodating, huh?” That voice drops another octave. “You keep talking like that, and one of these days, I’m going to see just how far you’re willing to go, Cydney.”

Holy. Shit.

My tongue goes dry while every nerve ending lights up like a Christmas tree. I might be the reigning queen of small-town sass, but there’s zero chance I’ll survive if he actually calls my bluff. He’s not grinning, either. He’s looking at me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he’s plotting to devour me for breakfast and lunch and dinner, too.

I can’t decide if I want to faint or throw him down and climb his body like a jungle gym. Maybe both.

I force out some kind of sound, which, shocker, comes out like a whimper. “Well… good thing you’re not afraid of a challenge.” My voice is so breathy it barely counts as real speech, but the man just grins like I’ve handed him a winning lottery ticket and he can’t wait to cash it in.

His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth, lingering long enough that I forget how to swallow. “I never back down from a challenge, Cydney.” He’s so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. His thumb brushes the lid of his coffee cup, slow and deliberate, and my brain short-circuits.

I’m not sure if I want to faint or melt into a puddle of goo right here in front of the entire population of Worthington Hills.

“Good to know.” I somehow manage to keep my voice steady, but my knees are straight-up knocking together under the counter. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m planning something seriously sinful.”

Oliver just gives me that look. I mean, THE LOOK. The kind that makes my breath catch and my girly bits sing.

“Counting on it.” His voice is so deep, I swear the glass in the pastry case almost vibrates. “I’m always game to see what you’ll come up with next.”

Holy mother of carbs and caffeine.

I’m standing here, trying to look composed, but what I really want to do is crawl over the register and see how much work it is to peel that suit off his muscular bod. Instead, I lean in, dropping my voice so it’s full, smoky, and maybe a little bit filthy. “Careful, Oliver. If you keep showing up, I might just start thinking you’re obsessed with me.”