“I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes,” the first woman says.
I smile blankly. Then, I take her order, and her cash.
I’m thrilled when I hand her the box of baked goods and she starts to leave after tsking loudly at me.
Oh boy. It’s gonna be a day for sure.
“Um, one second please,” I tell the next customer, excusing myself as the timer in the kitchen goes off.
I swap out the next couple of trays of finished cookies to cool on the rack, hastily checking the mixer has all the ingredients for my cherry red royal icing, then I run back to the front.
The customer left.
Frustration fills me, but before I can wallow in it the bell over the door jingles, and I spin around ready to snap—only to find six feet of infuriatingly handsome Honey Badger blocking the entrance.
“Morning, Honey,” Eb says, holding up a paper bag and two coffee cups like an offering.
“You look like you could use breakfast.”
My mouth drops open.
“What are you doing here?”
“Bringing sustenance. And backup.”
“Backup?” I echo, incredulous.
He sets the coffee on the counter, then takes one look around—at the flour-covered floor, the mountain of mixing bowls, the orders stacked to the ceiling—and reaches into his pocket.
“Tricia,” he says into his phone, voice smooth and commanding. “Did you finish canceling all my afternoon meetings? Good. Tell accounting to move the Anderson call to Monday. No, I don’t care. Just do it.”
My eyes widen. “You did not just?—”
“Oh, I did,” he says, rolling up the sleeves of his very expensive button-down. “Now, show me how this register works. I’ll take care of the front while you handle the kitchen.”
“You—you can’t just?—”
He smirks, that smug, heart-melting grin doing something dangerous to my pulse.
“Relax, Honey. I can manage a cash register and dole out cookies. How hard can it be?”
“Famous last words,” I mutter, but my heart’s doing somersaults.
Because for all his money, his suits, and his gruffness, this man—this Badger Shifter—just ditched his CEO life to run a cookie counter for me.
And I have no idea whether to laugh, cry, or kiss him senseless.
It’s chaos. Sweet, sugary, slightly burnt chaos.
The ovens are roaring, the timer is dinging every sixty seconds, and I’m up to my nipples in frosting, trying to finish tray after tray of cookies before the next batch comes out.
My kitchen smells like cinnamon and a desperate cry for help.
But I know I can do it. I just need to focus. So, I take a moment and I center myself, calling on all the meditation tricks I’ve learned along the way to help cope with those pesky visions that haunt me so.
Only, the second I close my eyes and try to breathe, my mind skips right to the storefront—because he’s there.
Eb Rogers, CEO, Badger Shifter, confirmed bachelor and self-proclaimed Christmas hater is running my counter.
