“I don’t know.”
“Ella.”
“I wasn’t taking notes.”
“If someone put a gun to your head and made you name his eye color.”
I sigh. “Brown.”
She smiles slowly. “So youdoknow.”
“Facial hair?” she presses.
“Thick stubble.”
“Tattoos?”
“Yes.”
She leans back, victorious. “HA! You know everything about him.”
“I knowsomethings,” I argue. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means you noticed,” she says gently.
I open my mouth to protest, then close it. “I don’t know what it means,” I admit. “I just know he’s the kind of attractive that makes you forget how to breathe and then get mad about it later.”
Ashton hums. “How rude of him.”
“Deeply.”
“Oh, no! I totally forgot to prep the catering orders for this morning.”
Ashton snaps her fingers. “Already done!”
“I knew I hired you for a reason.”
She scowls. “I’m family, and I’m a poor college student; you had no choice but to hire me.”
“I was getting tired of the begging.” I laugh. “Okay, enough about my tragic love life and near-death experience. Was it busy this morning?”
She points proudly at the nearly empty display case. "Sold out of cinnamon rolls by eight. Cupcakes and the new walnut chocolate chip cookies are flying too."
"It’s the maple syrup glaze," I say knowingly.
"It’s always the syrup," she agrees.
We’re still laughing when the bell over the door jingles again.
I turn, smile ready, only to spot a guy in a fisherman’s hat slipping into the back booth by the window. He hunches down in the seat and takes furtive glances around the shop as if to see if anyone has noticed him.
Odd.
He pulls the hat lower and turns to stare out into the rain.
Before I can think much about it, the bakery fills with noise, a family of six floods in, four kids plastering their fingerprints all over the glass display.
I love it.
