“Well, we’ll take a look and get her all fixed up at the shop. Don’t you worry.”
“Mikey’s worked on it before, so I trust she’ll take good care of it.”
“Ah, yeah. Mikey’s great with her hands, isn’t she?”
I think I’m going to puke on Rob’s shoes.
I don’t say anything in reply. Ican’tsay anything. If I open my mouth, I’ll demand answers I’m not sure I want. The thought of Mikey with her hands on this guy makes me green with jealousy. It’s an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.
I don’t have a reason to be jealous. I don’t have a claim on her.
We haven’t seen each other in three months. We haven’t exchanged numbers. We shared a few brief meals, not love confessions, but my heart has decided I’m hers.
But that doesn’t mean she’s mine.
Fuck.
When we finally pull up tothe shop, I nearly sigh with relief. If I have to hear Rob talk about his high school baseball career and how he could have played in the majors if not for his tragic wrist injury any longer, I’m going to lose it.
He drops me off at the front while he pulls my van around. Through the door, I see a familiar head of cocoa hair sitting at the front desk and relief fills my lungs.
Her head pops up as the door jingles, and her pretty lips part as her teal eyes bounce around my figure. Her hair is different today. She’s cut some wispy bangs so they fall along her forehead and frame her full cheeks while the rest is pulled back into two plaited braids.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she teases as she stands, handing me a clipboard.
“Can’t seem to catch a break,” I muse as I sign, handing it back to her. Our fingers brush, and goosebumps erupt under my flannel.
“I’ll say. Four times in—hey, it’s been exactly one year since your first time here. Happy anniversary.” She chuckles. “What are the odds?”
Pretty high since I planned this.
“You keeping track of me, sweetheart?” I lean against the counter, angling myself closer to her. Mikey’s lips part at the term of endearment.
Oops. That wasn’t supposed to slip out.
Go bold or go home alone, I guess.
Mikey flicks one braid over her shoulder and shrugs demurely. “Kind of hard to forget a guy like you.”
I lean forward, spurred on to keep flirting with her. If she’s not going to shut me down, I’m not going to stop now that I’ve started. “A guy like me, huh? What kind of guy is that, Mikey?” My voice turns low and husky as my eyes lock on hers, and I wonder if she can sense the undertone of desire.
My eyes catch the movement of her tongue swiping across her bottom lip, but I keep my gaze firmly stuck on hers.
“You know,” she waves a hand in my direction, “a big lumberjack, Viking of a man.”
A wave of satisfaction rolls through me at the way she says it, with a hint of appreciation in her tone. My deflated hope from earlier bursts back to life. Maybe I have a chance after all.
“Not a lumberjack. Or a Viking. Just a baker.”
Mikey rolls her eyes, breaking our staring contest. “I know thatnow.But I assumed lumberjack was your profession with the flannel, beard, and, ya know… the muscles.”
I’m about to ask her if she likes that type of thing when the shop door bangs open, and Rob bursts through, whistling loudly. He stops, his eyes bouncing between me and Mikey.
“Van’s all yours, Mikes.” He tosses the keys, and Mikey fumbles to catch them, a scowl forming on her face. “I’m going on my lunch break.”
“It’s barely eleven.”
“No one else is here, and you’resomuch better than I am at this stuff. I’ll be back in an hour, babes.” He winks at her and walks out the front door without another word.
