The stairs to my apartment are right by the door. It’s not like I couldn’t walk through the bakery, but it’s clean and I’m dustier than Lane’s new shop. The guy has his own maintenance bay in that place.
I always thought the Foster brothers sprouted from a ranch, two fully grown cowboys who can make excellent spirits. Cruz has to be about my age and I’m thirty-two. Plenty of time to have a whole life between the childhood years and now. Lane’s a few years older than him, but Cruz didn’t mention doing anything other than what he’s doing now. Did he go to school for something else?
Too soon, we’re at the back door. My day of socializing is done. I need to get out more, but I also need to bake even more goodies and come up with tons of gimmicks to increase sales.
Yet I’m not ready to retire to my apartment alone. I’m not ready to let Cruz drive off while I wonder if I’ll get more than a polite smile the next time he comes in.
An idea pops into my head, and I go with it before logic interferes. “Want to try them now?” When he turns a perplexed gaze toward me, my heart stutters. “I made a dozen of each, so I have a lot left. They’re going to be my breakfast too. I owe you.”
“You don’t have to,” he says carefully.
“You’ve gone out of your way. It’s the least I can do.”
“Elodie—”
“Let me pay you back in this small way. It’s all I can manage.”
I must’ve said the right thing to persuade him. He kills the engine. “If you insist.”
Pleased more than I care to admit, I hop out and unlock the building. I wave to a small table where I have most of my meals, away from the baking area. It’s on the other side of the room from where he caught me grinding to one of my favorite wake-up songs. “Have a seat and I’ll grab them.”
“Mind if I use the bathroom first to wash up?”
“Go ahead.” He cleaned the worst of the grit and grease off his hands at Lane’s. So did I, but I give mine a rinse before retrieving a serving platter, plates, several forks for sampling, and two of each batch I made.
By the time the table is set, he returns. “Looks good.” He presses a hand to his stomach. “I’m hungry enough to eat a bear, but I hope you don’t take offense if I only have a taste of each. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
He missed dinner because he was helping me. “You can have it all.”
He winces, but the corner of his mouth kicks up regretfully. “I hate to pass on the offer, but I need some protein to go with my sweets or I get sick.”
“Are you diabetic?” Then I cut my hand through the air. “None of my business.”
“No.” He chuckles. “Not diabetic, just a hazard of how I used to eat. Lots of heat and serve—if we were lucky. When I went to live with the Baileys, I got quality meat morning, noon, and night, and I just don’t feel right if I don’t keep that up.”
Heat and serve if he was lucky? We? Is he talking about him and Lane? What did he meanwhen I went to live with the Baileys? People talk in the bakery and I’ve heard about the Foster brothers. I’ve heard that their oldest brother was an actual foster kid for a time. My curiosity about Cruz is becoming boundless.
He has more dimensions in his story than I assumed, but then I have a whole-ass story I don’t want to talk about too. “I can make some eggs.”
“I’ll rustle up something when I get home. It’s not a problem. I don’t want to take more of your time.”
Irritation at myself scrapes raw against the back of my throat. I don’t know Cruz, but I miss the lopsided smile now more than ever. “It’ll take ten minutes. Again, it’s literally the least I can do.” I rush to the fridge before he can argue. “I also have some veggies— An omelet?”
“Really, Elodie, you don’t have to.”
“I know. Please let me do this.” I set a boundary earlier. He respected it. Now I’m regretting what I said. What if he’s really a nice guy?
I can’t take the chance, but I can show him appreciation for helping me out instead of ditching me. A lot of guys would’ve passed without the promise of sexual favors.
“All right,” he concedes. “An omelet would hit the spot.”
He sits quietly while I work. I look over my shoulder, hoping he’s got his attention on me, like when he meets the guys at the bakery. They’d all be talking, and out of the corner of myeye, I’d see him studying me, but not in a creepy way. It’s made me hyperaware. But my heart drops like a rock. He’s scrolling through his phone.
Isn’t that what I want?
I whip the eggs extra hard. The omelet’s done in no time, and I slide a plate in front of Cruz and set one by my chair. He tucks his phone away, and I search his face as he inspects his food.
“I think you’re going to put the café out of business.”
