“Whoa.” Sean’s hand jumps across the table to land on mine. “Stay with me, London.”
I force a smile and slip my hand away from his. It was too warm under there.
“I’d tell you how it really is, but I don’t want you passing out on me again. Next time you want a free ride in my arms, all you have to do is ask.”
I choke on my bite of cinnamon roll. That’s the one part of yesterday's events I don’t remember and… I wish I did. Because it was probably awful to be cradled against his broad chest, right? And teenage me would feel a small measure of justification that the man who seemed to have everything was lacking in some way. But of course, it wouldn’t be awful to be in his arms.
“There won't be a next time,” I say.
He smirks but doesn't push it. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple weeks setting up.” I pull out a napkin and wipe down the already clean table. I keep talking before he has a chance to ask about the name. “I opened last week as a trial run before my grand opening.”
He glances around. “This looks like more than a trial.”
I shrug. “I’m not a marketing genius. I don't know what I’m supposed to be doing, but I feel more confident easing into things when I know what to plan for.”
“That makes sense.”
Who is this serious Sean and where is the one who flew in here yesterday on a whim?
“So, you’ve been in Phoenix all this time?” Sean asks.
I nod. “You?”
“Yep.” His eyes are contemplative like he’s trying to figure something out. About me? I’m not sure I want to know.
The bell rings, and I jump up to greet the customers. I assume Sean will leave but instead, he walks around, perusing the kitchen, the office, and the front of the shop, opening cupboards and drawers. He’s so nosy.
After the customer is gone, I find him in the bathroom, slamming the vanity door. The door falls halfway off its hinge.
“Are youtryingto break that thing?”
“It’s already half broken,” he mutters. “These are awful cabinets.”
“I’m not a carpenter.”
He pops up with a grin. “Lucky for you, I am.” He jogs, like actually jogs, right out the front door.
Well, I guess he’s gone then.
The door chimes again, and I greet the new customers. I’m almost sold out of cinnamon rolls and donuts. And have two cake orders I need to make by next Saturday. To anyone else, these things wouldn’t mean much, but this is my dream. And to me, this is a success.
The door chimes again while I’m busy writing down another cake order.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.” But when I look up, the shop is empty. Strange.
I take my three cake orders and head to my office to enter them on the computer. Paper evidence is faulty, subject to water, flour, or egg damage. I’ve learned the hard way.
I knock the door open with my hip and run right into a wall that’s never been there before.
I fly backward, my notebook slipping from my hand.
“London?” Sean screws up his brows.
“Yes, it’s me.” I right myself. “In my own shop. What on earth are you doing here? And everywhere?”
He holds up a tape measure. “Measuring.”
