Page 25 of Win a Date with a Baker

“I never actually thought you were a jerk.”

“No?”

“I thought you were interesting.”

His smile fades into something gentler. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Then he reaches up and brushes a loose curl behind my ear. “Think we can finish what we started?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

He cups my cheek, giving me every chance to pull away. Instead, I rise onto my toes and kiss him first.

He makes a soft sound against my lips that feels suspiciously like surprise before kissing me back.

This second kiss is different.

It’s less searching and more intense.

His free hand settles carefully at my waist, drawing me closer until I can feel a prominent bulge through our clothes. I rest my hands against his chest, smiling into the kiss when I feel his heartbeat racing every bit as fast as mine.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You’re making it very hard to remember I’m supposed to be working.”

“You have a terrible attention span.”

“Only around you.”

Laughing, I hop onto the sturdy stainless-steel counter he’d cleared earlier, bringing us eye to eye.

He steps between my knees, one hand braced lightly beside me while the other stays respectfully at my waist.

The kiss that follows is warm, lingering, and completely capable of making me forget my own name.

A familiar voice cuts through the bakery. “Well, well, well.”

Tyler freezes and winces.

I slowly open my eyes.

His sister is standing in the doorway with her purse over one shoulder, looking far too amused.

“...I’d say your date is going better than you thought it would.”

Tyler closes his eyes. “I really need to remember to turn off the lights and lock the door.”

“Too late.” She grins and holds out her hand to me. “I’m Rachel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

SIX

TYLER

By the time I flip the sign fromOPENtoCLOSED, my feet are screaming.

Concert weekends always wipe us out. Tonight was worse.

Between the desserts for the concert, Frank’s wedding order, and the normal Saturday rush, I’ve been moving since two-thirty this morning. Every muscle in my back reminds me exactly how many fifty-pound bags of flour I’ve hauled today.

The crew filters toward the employee door while I start wiping down the espresso machine. Rachel is counting the register, humming under her breath, when the bell over the front door jingles.