“Then stay out of my kitchen.”
“I can do that.”
“You know what?” she declared, tapping her chin.
“What’s that?”
“How good are you with taking pictures and social media?”
“I’m a beast at that shit. The shop’s got a large following. That’s where most of my business came from that first year, after all I’d been through.”
“If you could take pictures today of everything going on, including everyone pitching in, that would be great. I know that they’re still putting the front of the shop back together, but grab those pics too.”
Nodding, I was catching on to the idea and loving it. “How about you guys in the kitchen? Can I get in on that action?”
“Sure. Just be careful what you post. I don’t want to give away any secret recipes.”
“I gotcha, girl. Do you trust me to upload them for you, or do you want to handle that yourself?”
She stared into my eyes and paused for a minute. “Is it crazy that I trust you with stuff like that already? I mean, we haven’t known each other long, but?—”
“There’s a connection, a bond that we’ve shared.” I finished her sentence for her.
“Exactly.”
“Maybe it’s the macchiato.”
“Or maybe it was last night,” she whispered.
I cupped the back of her head and slowly brought my lips down to hers. I took my time kissing her, wanting her to feel my intentions, my reassurance, and my desire for her. “Whatever it is, I feel it too.”
Biting her bottom lip and looking at me with soft eyes, she replied, “Yeah, I trust you. I’ll text you that information.”
We had previously exchanged phone numbers, so she pulled her phone out and texted me her social media handles and passwords.
“I’ll post some things on mine, too, and I’ll tag your shop in them. That way, my followers will see it, and I’ll encourage them to follow you too,” I professed.
“How many followers do you have?”
“One oh four.”
“One hundred four followers? I already have more than that, and I haven’t even opened yet. How good are you on social media, Harlem?” She scrunched her face up in the cutest frown.
I had slowly peeled my gaze from my phone to look at her, but my fingers still hovered over my phone. “One hundred four thousand, Baby.”
“Oh. Wow.”
I chuckled. “Get in there and get to baking and let me get to doing what I do best.”
“Okay.”
I watched her walk away and back into the bakery as Elijah Timmons, my best friend, walked out of the bakery. He had been one of the first people who showed up to help with the cleanup efforts. He walked up to me with a smile on his face.
“What the hell are you smirking for, Eli?” I asked.
“You got it bad, my nigga.”
“Nah, not really. She’s just a good girl.”
