"Then it’s sturdy."
For the first time, his mouth almost curves. Almost. And that tinyalmostdoes something extremely inconvenient to my pulse.
He glances at the logo on the side of my truck.
"Peak Bites by Madison," he reads.
"That’s me."
"Madison."
The way he says it makes my name feel heavier. Grounded.
"What’s your name?" I ask.
"Jake."
Of course it is. Short. Solid. No frills. Very him.
He steps closer to the truck, snow collecting on his shoulders.
"You staying long?" he asks.
"Just a quick visit. I wanted to get some content for my social media accounts."
He looks toward the darkening sky again, then leans closer.
"You might be here a while longer than that. Weather’s turning," he says quietly. "This isn’t a tourist flurry. It’s one of those early spring dumps. Roads will probably close later."
"I checked the forecast."
"You checked the internet," he says calmly. "I checked the sky."
Why is that attractive? It shouldn’t be attractive. It absolutely is.
My brain finally catches up to the rest of whatever I’m doing. "Hey, can I offer you something as a thank-you for helping me park?"
I step to the back and flip open the service window before he can respond.
"Welcome to Peak Bites! What can I tempt you with?" I give him my best customer-friendly smile.
Jake leans casually against the side of the truck like he has nowhere else to be. Like he’s not the only thing I’m suddenly hyperaware of.
"Surprise me," he says.
Oh. Confident. I like that.
I hand him a container after warming it up — one of my signature brown butter cinnamon buns.
He takes a bite. And everything shifts. His eyes widen slightly. Not dramatically. Just enough. Like he didn’t expect that. Like he doesn’t get surprised often.
"Well?" I ask.
He chews slowly. Swallows.
"That’s…" He pauses. "Dangerous."
I beam.
