Page 10 of Win a Date with a Baker

“I wish I was kidding.”

“That sounds awful.

“And the comments.” He shakes his head. “People don’t even talk about the food anymore.”

I think back to the videos I’ve watched. The thousands of comments. The heart-eye emojis. The endless references to his forearms. My cheeks warm. Okay. Maybe I noticed those, too.

“They’re all...” He waves a hand vaguely. “’Donut Daddy this.’ ‘Marry me.’ ‘Take your shirt off while making sourdough.’”

I blink. “People say that?”

“It gets old.” His shoulders lift in a helpless shrug. “I don’t mind if people love the bakery.”

His blue eyes meet mine. “I just wish they loved it because the food’s good.” Something soft settles in my chest.

“I spent years figuring out these recipes.” His voice has changed. It’s steadier. Warmer. Like talking about baking is easier than talking about himself. “I obsess over every ingredient. Every temperature. Every rise. Every filling.”

He gives a self-conscious laugh. “I’ve thrown out entire batches because they were two percent too dry.”

I smile. “I believe that.”

“I don’t care if anyone knows what I look like.” He gestures toward himself. “This?” He shrugs. “It’s just genetics.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Mostly because I disagree. The broad shoulders. The flour-dusted forearms. The ridiculously blue eyes. No, those definitely aren’tjustgenetics. And they’re almost too distracting me from this conversation.

This really important conversation that is giving me insight into a man most people have probably never even imagined. I know I hadn’t until just now.

“But the donuts?” he continues. “Those took years.”

Suddenly last night’s interaction looks different. Not better. He was still rude. But different. The internet-famous baker who seems so confident online... is actually shy.

Painfully shy.

Rachel must be the one creating the polished, charming image everyone falls in love with. The real Tyler is more comfortable talking about yeast than himself.

“You know...” I say carefully. “The only reason I decided to keep this date...”

One dark eyebrow lifts.

“...was because your donuts were so ridiculously good.”

His expression changes immediately. Almost imperceptibly. But I catch it. The tension leaves his shoulders. “You came because of the donuts?”

“I came because I needed answers.”

He blinks. “Answers?”

“Yep.” I nod. “I needed to know: What is your secret ingredient?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I knew there had to be something. They’re just donuts.”

“They are absolutely not ‘just donuts.’” I lean forward. “I’ve had gourmet donuts. I’ve had brioche donuts.I’ve had artisan donuts.”

“I appreciate your commitment to the research.”

“But yours...” I point a finger at him. “Yours are so good, it’s unfair.”

He laughs from deep in his belly. The sound catches me completely off guard. It’s deeper than I expected. Warm. Unexpectedly infectious.