I haven’t seen Riley this happy since her wedding day three years ago. With her spinal cord injury, pregnancy is probably going to be a challenge. But I know she and Dean will be incredible parents.
“It really is. Okay, I gotta go! See ya later.”
I watch as she wheels herself out the door. Riley does have a point, my standards are high. Too many casual relationships and failed dates with guys who just couldn’t live up. But I’ve got a great life by myself; I’ve got goals, and dreams, and I want a partner who can handle that. Not someone who’s going to whine every morning when I get up before dawn, or hold me back from doing what I want.
Because I’m watching Riley leave, I can’t help but notice who walks in right after. Hello hottie. This guy has that perfectly styled brown hair that looks messy but you know actually took some effort. He’s staring down at his phone, so I let myself shamelessly stare, feeling my heart speed up. That surprises me; it’s been a while since a man intrigued me like this one does. I take in his strong jaw, covered in a dusting of scruff, and eyes that are far too serious for this early in the morning. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and wearing a crisp mint green dress shirt, tucked into dark grey pants, both of which are fitted to his body perfectly and show off what I’m certain are some incredibly drool-worthy muscles. But the over-the-top professional look seems completely out of place for both my bakery and the town. We’re more of a jeans and T-shirt kind of place. Even my brother, who happens to be our mayor, gets away with his plaid shirts and denim. His girlfriend, who’s also my best friend, calls him ‘lumberjack’ for that very reason.
But this guy’s city boy appearance doesn’t stop the fact that I feel like the air in the bakery just got sucked out around me. He is that hot. My eyes blink rapidly and I force my thoughts away from the very dirty path they were traveling down, just in time to give him what I hope is a welcoming — and not too lascivious — smile. But before he can say anything, my damn mouth runs away from my brain. See, I tend to have an instinct about what kind of muffin or treat someone needs when they walk in the door. Sometimes I say nothing, and let them choose what they want, but sometimes I blurt things out without thinking.
“You need a maple bacon scone.”
His eyebrows rise up in surprise at my outburst.
“Thanks, but I’ll just take a black coffee and…” — his eyes quickly scan the display case — “a bran muffin.”
A geriatric muffin? No way. He’s way too sexy for that, but my brain kicks in and I remember he’s a stranger, not a local. I manage to keep my mouth shut and my eyes focused on what I’m doing instead of on his muscular forearms that are revealed by his rolled up shirtsleeves.
I now know what those romance books my friends and I are hooked on mean by forearm porn.
“Umm, okay. Sure. Sebastian can ring you up. Have a great day,” I hand him the bag with his muffin and gesture over to the cash register before bolting back into the kitchen.
That was weird. I’m not the kind of girl who gets flustered over a guy. As much as I might complain about the lack of handsome men in town, I’m not actually interested in dating right now. My sights are set higher than love. Although, watching my best friend Summer fall for my brother, Ethan, has been pretty incredible.
But while they’ve been making heart eyes at each other, I’ve been looking into expanding the bakery into the space that’s available next door. Until recently, it held a small art studio. Ethan and I own the building, thanks to our inheritance from our parents and Ethan’s smart thinking about property investment, but that space has always been rented out. Now it’s empty, and the dream my mom and I shared of expanding beyond just baked goods into a lunch spot might be realistic. Which means no time for hot guys with sexy forearms.
I didn’t think about the hot guy and his boring bran muffin for the rest of the day and even more surprisingly, I didn’t mention him when I met up with Summer and our other friends, Paige and Serena, for book club. Which, let’s be honest, is more of a chance to just sit and drink wine and eat snacks than actually talk about the book we read. But Paige, who owns the bookstore on the other side of my bakery, insists on calling it book club, and also insists on giving us discussion questions each month. We rarely get past the first one or two questions.
My head is pounding when I open the bakery the next morning, courtesy of too much wine and not enough sleep. But I still settle into my routine and before long, muffins are baking, bread is proofing, and I’m rolling out cinnamon buns.
When the bakery opens, I wash my hands and head out front. After chatting with a few of the regulars, I turn to head into the kitchen and grab another tray of muffins from the cooling rack. When I go back to the front, Summer is there, chatting with Sebastian, who is back manning the cash register again this morning.
“Tell the truth, you smelled the muffins from upstairs, didn’t you?” I tease as I load the tray into the display case, taking one out for her. She’s living in the apartment above the bakery, and comes here for breakfast most mornings.
“Maybe, but I’ll never admit my addiction to your baking.” Summer’s blue-green eyes dance with happiness. I love having her back in town. After eighteen years, she came home this spring to deal with her late father’s estate, which included a run-down beachfront resort just outside of town. We’ve all been trying to help her get it cleaned up, but without a serious influx of cash, I worry whether she’ll be able to get everything done.
“Well, let me send you off with something extra.” I add in one of Kelly’s cookies, and hand the bag over to Summer. “I might be able to swing by the resort later this afternoon if you want some help.”
Summer takes the bag from me and dismisses my offer with a wave of her hand. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m not going to do too much today, and your brother already promised to come by and help later. Why don’t you enjoy an afternoon off? You work too much.”
She’s not wrong, I do work a lot, but it’s because I love it. And because I made a promise to my mother after she died that I would make our plans a reality. The Nutty Muffin would be more than just a bakery, it would be a café serving breakfast and lunch, all with my homemade breads and rolls. That’s why, for the last five years, I’ve done nothing but work every day, investing in rental properties with my brother and busting my ass at the bakery for ten hours or more each day. Because every penny I can earn and save is a step toward my dream.
Still, a couple of hours to myself sounds glorious. And I can’t remember the last time I went kayaking.
“Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” I wink as she goes to pay.
“Bye, Mila. Have some fun today.”
I turn back to the kitchen, and check that everything is okay. A tray of bread loaves is ready to go into the oven, so I pull on some heat resistant mitts and load it into my industrial-sized oven. When I go out front again, he’s back.
And just like last time my stupid heart speeds up, my mouth goes dry, and my hand, which is likely covered in flour, goes up to twist a piece of hair around my finger like some silly schoolgirl with a crush.
“One bran muffin and one black coffee. That’ll be three seventy-five, please.”
Sebastian hands over the man’s order and takes his money. And I stay partially hidden and ogle as those delicious forearms reach out and take the change offered to him. It’s a real shame that someone so handsome eats such boring food. Before my curiosity can get the better of me, and make me ask him who he is and why he’s punishing himself with bran muffins and black coffee, when there are cinnamon buns and lattes in the world, he’s gone. Leaving me even more intrigued by the sexy visitor to Dogwood Cove.
Several hours later, I’m back in my car after going for a paddle around a lake located an hour inland. Kayaking is one of my favourite activities, and being out on the water today made me realize just how long it’s been since I went out by myself. I’m feeling refreshed and energized, despite only getting five hours of sleep, and I have to admit, Summer was right to push me to do this.
I’m driving down the highway, windows rolled open and music blaring, when I see a dog limping along the side of the road. I slow down and pull over. There are no properties around here, just forest, so I have no idea where the dog came from, but it’s definitely hurt. I walk closer to it cautiously, holding my hand out.
