“Not bad,” Gram says. “But you’ll need more practice. And maybe divine intervention. I’ll ask the minister to pray for you. Take some rolls for your MC brothers.” She boxes them up. “And Kieran? Don’t mess this up.”
“I know.”
That’s why I’m about to make a fool of myself baking in front of half the town.
But I’ll be close to Juniper, in competition with her.
Nowthat’sdivine intervention.
Chapter Three
JUNIPER
My shift at The Coffee Heart drags like cold molasses. Kieran was gone all day yesterday, and I went to bed early, so I didn’t hear him come home. I was up at the crack of dawn, prepping my pastries for today until the oven started acting up.
His motorcycle was parked outside, so I kept the noise down and left quietly, trying not to bang the door.
At least everything I’ve baked is selling fast, including my cinnamon rolls. But every time the bell over the door jingles, my pulse jerks, expecting broad shoulders and a leather cut. He doesn’t walk in. I tell myself I don’t care as I wipe the front counter. Again.
“You’ve wiped that spot six times,” Luna says, hip-checking me as she sails past with a tray of mugs. Her glossy ponytail swishes in accusation. “What’s up, Junie?”
“Nothing. Thinking about the competition.” I steam milk like the wand owes me a favor.
“Mmhmm.”
“And I’m just tired. My oven is being weird. It keeps heating up and then switching itself off. It’s not ideal.” I line up the cups like soldiers.
“That sucks. Have you been practicing?” Luna asks.
“Yeah. I don’t have much else to do. I live the life of a nun. I deleted all those dating apps; I just don’t think I’m a hot proposition right now. I'm going to concentrate on winning the competition tomorrow instead.”
The bell chimes.
It’s not him. The pastel-clad Mrs. Trent wants her decaf and to lecture me about how I should be dressing more up-to-date. I make her drink, smiling sweetly and biting my tongue.
“Junie.” Luna’s voice goes soft as she slides back over beside me. “You know your biker neighbor special-orders your baking, right? Every week. Sometimes twice. Always asks ifyoumade them.”
My hand stalls on the filter. “He does?”
“For months.” She bumps my shoulder. “Maybe stop assuming you’re destined for singledom when a guy who looks like he stepped out ofSons of Anarchyis chasing your pastry.”
The bell chimes again, and this time my whole body knows who it is before I look up.
Kieran fills the doorway, leather cut over a gray T-shirt that clings to every plane of muscle. His dark hair is damp, as if he’s just showered. When his eyes find mine across the crowd, heat arcs through me so sharply that I have to hold onto the counter with both hands.
“Kieran!” Luna calls, far too cheerfully. “Your usual?”
He nods and makes his way to the table near the back. There’s a festival planning committee meeting going on, and with his leather and boots, he looks almost comically out of place. I’m acutely conscious of his eyes on me as I needlessly rearrange the pastry display.
Kieran’s brother Grayson comes in. He runs the local wildlife rehabilitation center and is a bona fide mountain man. He walks over to greet his brother while Luna makes his order. I’m busy with the afternoon rush, so I don’t notice Grayson leaving.
It’s quieter when Kieran stands up and his big boots thud toward the counter. Shit, is he coming to talk to me? Maybe all the early morning music I play bothers him, despite his being nice about it yesterday? Or is he going to give me some more advice about brown butter?
I smile, looking up into his green eyes and trying my hardest not to blush.
“More coffee?”
“Actually, I need to talk to you, Juniper.”
