"Good dangerous?"
He takes another bite.
"Very."
There are people behind him now. A couple standing back a little, openly watching. The woman nudges the man and whispers something that makes them both grin. I pretend not to notice.
Two cute girls about my age walk past, bundled in matching beanies and boots.
"Jake!" one of them calls brightly. "We’re grabbing drinks. You should come warm up with us. Remember how much fun we had last time?"
He doesn’t even turn his head.
"Not tonight," he says, eyes still on me.
The girls exchange a look. Disappointed.
I suddenly become very aware of the flour on my apron. And very annoyed that I am aware.
Jake doesn’t look away from me.
"You make these yourself?" he asks, as if that exchange didn’t even happen.
"Every single one."
"From scratch?"
"Obviously."
He studies me for a second. Assessing. Like he’s deciding something. Then he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a card. Hands it to me.
"If you’re still up here tomorrow," he says, "call if you need anything."
Anything.
Not "a mechanic."
Not "directions."
Anything.
My cheeks warm, which is deeply annoying because I do not blush for strangers. I tuck the card into my apron pocket, biting my tongue to stop from making a joke about people still handing out business cards.
"I won’t need rescuing," I say lightly.
His gaze drifts once more to the sky. Snow is falling harder now.
"We’ll see," he says.
Chapter 2
Jake
I shouldn’t go back.
That’s the first thought I have after I walk away from her food truck.
I don’t go back. I don’t hover. I especially don’t check on women I just met because they make good cinnamon buns and their smile makes my heart stop.
