The front of the bistro was empty and dim, with only a few lights on over the bar near the glass case and register. Brighter light spilled from the back, and I followed it, pushing through a swinging door and squinting against the overheads. The kitchen was smaller than I expected for the amount of food I knew Bab served. But after a quick glance around, I knew it was efficient and filled with professional-grade appliances.
Two large islands filled the center of the space, one with a white marble top and the other stainless steel. The scent of molasses and cinnamon floated in the air, softening the unforgiving hour, and the ovens built into the walls chased away the winter cold.
“Coffee’s on,” Bab said on her way past with a tray bigger than her covered in gingerbread. “You look like you need it.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Do you do this every morning?”
She didn’t even look tired.
“Such a city boy.”
I glanced at Archer standing at the island with a mug shaped like Santa already in his hand. He was wearing yet another flannel, this one green and gray, and overtop was a vest that made him look broader than he already was. I didn’t even have to look past his jeans to know he was wearing boots.
Pretty sure all the man owned was flannel, jeans, and boots.
And his beard. Why’d it look so good this early in the morning? Scratchy and soft all at once, a sensory treat for my fingers… Forget tired. I was delirious.
Completely and utterly delirious.
“As if you’d be up this early either,” I muttered, trudging toward the coffee. I hoped it was strong.
A husky chuckle followed me, inducing a different kind of shiver than the frigid air outside.
There were two mugs sitting beside the coffee carafe, one shaped like a reindeer and one like a snowman. I grabbed the reindeer and inhaled the rich scent of the French press as I poured.
“Actually, I would,” came a voice from right behind my shoulder.
I jolted, coffee splashing over the side of the mug and onto my hand. “Ow,” I swore, setting down the pot and shaking off the droplets.
Archer made a quick hissing sound, his mug thunking on the counter as he leaned around me to grab a towel and my hand. “Let me see.”
“It’s fine,” I insisted.
He ignored the protest and tugged me around to blot the spilled brew off my skin. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me. I just didn’t realize you were right behind me. Usually, you’re much louder.”
He laughed under his breath, the sound slipping out through the edges of his smile. I couldn’t help but notice his dimples and the way his skin crinkled at the corners of his blue eyes.
Tossing aside the towel, he crossed his arms over his chest to study me.
“You look like Paul Bunyan,” I blurted.
He arched a brow but said nothing.
Flushing, I spun back to the counter to finish pouring my coffee and add some maple syrup from a small decanter nearby.
“I made that,” Archer said, once again right beside my ear. This close, his voice was buttery and made me feel things I wasn’t supposed to.
“Bab, do you have any oat milk?” I asked, ignoring him completely.
“Oat milk,” Archer ridiculed. “What’s wrong with heavy cream?”
“It makes me bloat,” I retorted over my shoulder.
“In the cooler,” Bab called.
I walked across the kitchen to the cooler to get what I needed. When I turned back, Archer was leaning against the counter, one leg propped in front of the other, with the Santa mug back in his hand. His eyes sparkled with amusement as though the idea of me bloating was fun for him.
