She squints. "Is that his flannel?"
I blush furiously. "I was just—"
"Oh, sugar, relax. I’ve got eyes. I’ve also got a kettle on. Come have some coffee before your walk of pride. You earned it."
I laugh despite myself.
She winks. "Good for you, sweetheart."
Chapter 7
Willa
It’sbeenfivedayssince I arrived in Hope Peak. The last few days, Sebastian and I have spent almost every spare minute together. After he fixed my water heater a few days ago, he stayed. And hasn’t really stopped staying.
We’ve been stealing kisses during the day and losing ourselves in each other at night, like two people who forgot what it feels like to be touched and seen.
This morning, I throw myself into work.
The doors open at seven, and by six thirty, the counter is lined with trays of cinnamon rolls, coffee cake, and pecan sandies. The scent of sugar and spice fills the air, warm and comforting.
Customers start trickling in soon after. Loretta, of course, is first. She buys a dozen cinnamon rolls and a dozen cookies under the guise oftaste testing.
Then comes a couple of flannel-clad men with beards who order coffee and scones. A group of teenagers swarms the cupcake display, giggling when I compliment their Christmas sweaters.
The morning rush settles into a rhythm. I pour coffee, slide trays into the oven, restock the pastry case, and chat with anyone who has a story to tell.
It’s midmorning when the bell above the door jingles and Sebastian steps inside. He ducks under the frame, and somehow, just by being here, makes the whole space feel smaller.
He’s wearing a dark green henley, the top button undone to reveal a glimpse of ink at his collarbone. His hair is damp, like he just stepped out of the shower. He smells like soap and cold air. A spark of heat flares low in my belly.
He holds up a paper bag. “Trade?”
I lift a brow. “What’s in it?”
“My mom’s minestrone. She heard you’re surviving on cinnamon rolls and wanted to make sure you’re getting some vegetables.”
God, I really like his parents.I’d been nervous to meet them, but they’d made it so easy.
My throat tightens. “Tell her thank you.”
He sets the bag on the counter and slides onto a stool. “How’s it going?”
“Busy,” I say, wiping my hands on my apron. “In a good way. I already sold out of muffins.”
He grins. “Not surprised. Reid told everyone at the auto shop. And Harry stopped a woman in the street to rave about your scones.”
“Speaking of raving,” I lean a little closer, lowering my voice, “I heard you moaned over another one of my cinnamon rolls yesterday.”
His ears flush. “Loretta talks too much.”
“Loretta is my new favorite person.” I slide a plate of lemon tarts toward him. “Try these.”
He takes a bite.
And groans.
A real, low, honest-to-God groan that coils hot and fast through me. My thighs clench on instinct.
