I finger the ends of my hair. “I used to have long hair. I chopped off ten inches before I left. I almost dyed it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
Connor grabs a strand and lets it slip through his fingers. “I like your hair this length.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, running a hand over the back of my head.
“What else do you miss about your old life?”
I look out the window, the trees flying past us, and bite on the end of a nail. After a moment to think, I drop my hands into my lap, squeezing them between my knees. “I miss the work I did. It was fun meeting people, talking to them, getting them excited and wanting to party. I’m sure to you that sounds empty, but I was a social person. I could talk to anyone. I used to walk around the clubs I worked for and introduce people, get them hyped, and make them want a table and bottle service. I miss being capable of something. It wasn’t about giving them something they didn’t want. I was showing them what was available to them, when they didn’t know it was there.”
“So you’re an educator.”
My head tips as I think. “Yeah, I suppose, in a non-traditional way.”
“You educated me.”
“How so?” I ask.
Connor pulls off the interstate and turns right. “I wanted someone to spend time with, I just didn’t know you existed.”
I smile at him. “Connor—”
He waves a hand between us. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t say things like that.” He flashes me a smile. “It’s my turn to educate you on blueberry muffins. I’m about to ruin you for all others.” He pulls into an open spot and gestures out the front windshield.
In front of us is a quaint storefront. It’s red brick, attached on both sides to other stores. Looking down the street, I realize it’s all brick storefronts and up front parking. It’s adorable, like something from a movie.
“I’ve been to a lot of places, but this might be the cutest.” I climb out and walk to the front of the truck. Connor slips his hand over mine and points to a window painted with a cup of coffee with steam swirling up from it and a muffin.
“That’s Lady J bakery. Kiss all other muffin memories goodbye.”
He leads me over and holds the door open. Stepping inside is like stepping into someone’s grandmother’s kitchen. My mother never baked, or even cooked. She called herself anassembler. One bag of salad with one container of pre-cooked chicken and dinner was served. My grandmother was a different story. She baked every Sunday, and her kitchen smelled like this bakery—warm spices and sticky sugar.
A bell chimes overhead, announcing our arrival. It’s late in the afternoon, and there are only a few other customers. Connor steps right up to the counter and orders.
“Two blueberry muffins, please, and two coffees.”
“Sure thing,” chirps the friendly girl at the register. She gets everything together and sets it on the counter between us. Connor pays while I grab the two coffees and paper bag and find an empty table.
“Thanks,” I tell him when he sits down across from me.
“You can thank me later,” he winks.
“You’re insatiable,” I say, but the muscles in my thighs tighten at his suggestion.
Taking the muffins from the bag, I set them in front of us and choose one. They smell too amazing to waste time removing the wrapper. I sink my teeth into the top of what is the most delectable thing ever to be created in the history of everything.
“Ohhhh,” I moan, taking a second bite even though I haven’t swallowed the first.
“I know,” Connor says, doing the same.
“I don’t know whether to thank you or be furious you’ve stolen all future muffin joy.”
He uses a napkin to brush crumbs from the corner of his mouth, and sits back, watching me. “Would you rather have something exceptional once, or something basic all the time?”
I stretch my legs out so they reach between his under the table, and lean back against the chair. “I know what you’re asking, and you should know my answer.”
“When we get back to your place tonight, I’m going to exceptionally—”
Riiing.
