Page 9 of Win a Date with a Baker

Oof.

“I thought you were...” She gestures vaguely. “...well...”

I wince. “Less grumpy?”

“I was going to say charming.”

“…That’s worse.”

“And then I walked into your bakery and watched you lecture a complete stranger for taking one picture.”

I close my eyes for half a second.

Oh, shit.

Because hearing it back...

Yeah. It sounds exactly as bad as it was.

And this breathtakingly gorgeous woman with smoldering eyes and an even fierier personality has every right to hate me.

I’m a fucking idiot.

THREE

ELIZABETH

For a long moment, he just stares at me. Not in the cocky, smirking way I’d expected from the man in all those videos.

No. He looks...horrified. Like I just revealed I got him putting week-old fish in his jelly donuts.

“I...” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. I deserved that.” His voice is quieter than it has been all night. “I’m sorry.”

I open my mouth to reply but quickly close it. Stunned. I wasn’t expecting that. Not the apology itself. The sincerity behind it. He doesn’t sound defensive. Or annoyed. Or like he’s apologizing because he thinks it’ll get him out of trouble.

He genuinely looks embarrassed.

“I’ve been thinking about it since I sat down,” he admits. “Actually...before I sat down.”

“You have?” He nods. “When I realized you were...” He lets out a slow breath. “You.”

A laugh almost escapes me. “Very specific.”

“The woman from the bakery.” He sighs.” “I knew I’d messed up last night.”

Something about the way he says it chips away at the wall I’d built around myself since last night.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“No,” I agree. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I know there’s no excuse…” His fingers drum once against the edge of the table before he folds his hands together, almost like he’s trying to keep them occupied. “I hate when people come into the bakery and never actually look at it.”

I tilt my head. “They’re looking at it.”

“Through their phones.” He sighs. “They’ll stand there for ten minutes taking pictures while there’s a line of people trying to order. They’ll ask me to remake donuts because the glaze isn’t shiny enough for a reel. They’ll move tables around. They’ll ask my staff to stop working because they don’t want anyone in the background.”

My jaw falls open. “Seriously?”