Page 38 of Win a Date with a Baker

“Please don’t leave.”

“I have to.” I turn before he can see my eyes filling.

His voice follows me all the way to the front door. “Elizabeth.”

I don’t look back. Because if I do... I’m afraid I’ll run straight into his arms.

EIGHT

TYLER

I pick up my phone and frown at the screen. No notifications.

Same as when I last checked. Five minutes ago.

“Stop it.”

I glance up and turn my glare to Rachel, who is fussing with the damn ring light. Like I want to film another video right now. “Stop what?”

“Whatever this is.” She waves her hand at me. “You need to stop it.”

“Why? Because it will ruin your shot?”

“Yes,” she quips. “And your bad mood is really starting to bum everyone—including your donuts—out.”

My eye twitches. “There’s nothing wrong with my donuts.”

“Clearly you haven’t been sampling your work.” She scoffs. “The past few days, they—and everything else int his shop—have tasted… off.”

She pauses dramatically.

“...off.”

I stare.

“My pastries have feelings now?”

“No.”

She points a whisk at me.

“They have attitude.”

“They’re pastries.”

“They’re sad pastries.”

“They’re brioche.”

“They’re depressed brioche.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“I regret teaching you baking terminology.”

“You never taught me anything.”

“That’s somehow worse.”