Page 18 of Win a Date with a Baker

“What kind?”

Her eyes brighten despite herself.

“Warm. Cozy. The kind of place where regulars come in and you know their orders before they reach the counter.”

I can see it.

I can see her behind the case, smiling at customers. Flour on her cheek. Music playing in the kitchen. Her name painted across the window.

“What would you sell?”

“Everything.”

“That’s not a business plan.”

“I’d narrow it down eventually.”

“Eventually?”

She grins. “Cakes. Pastries. Really good cookies. Maybe bread on weekends.”

“Maybe?”

“Bread takes a lot of work.”

“It sure does.”

She studies me. “You’re agreeing with me a lot.”

I laugh under my breath. “Don’t get used to it.”

Then her smile fades. “I was too scared of failure. So I took the easy path.”

She says it simply. No dramatics. No attempt to soften it.

I lean back against the opposite table. “And now?”

“Now I’m good at a job I don’t care about.”

Something in the words hits harder than it should.

Maybe because I’ve spent years hiding inside work I do care about. Maybe because she did the opposite and hid from hers.

She looks around my kitchen again. “That’s why I admire you.”

I almost laugh. “For being sleep-deprived and emotionally attached to yeast?”

“For doing it.” Her eyes meet mine. “For building this.”

I don’t know what to say.

People compliment the bakery all the time. They tell me it’s beautiful. They tell me the donuts are incredible. They tell me they drove across town or flew across the country to try them.

But no one says it like she does.

Like she sees the years of hard work and fear underneath it.

“I almost didn’t,” I admit.