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He doesn’t even hesitate. He tips his head, dark hazel eyes glinting like he wants to devour me whole. “Maybe I am.” His eyes flick down to my lips, and I swear, my knees actually buckle. Oh. My. God.

His lips curl in a wicked, knowing grin, and then he winks at me. Not just a casual wink, either—a full-force, panty-destroying, alpha-male-who-knows-exactly-what-he’s-doing wink. My brain fries on the spot.

I’m still clinging to the countertop, sweating through my blouse, when Oliver turns and walks out the door. The suit, the swagger, the air of total control—the whole package should come with a warning label. My ovaries short-circuit, and my girly bits throw a parade in his honor, confetti and everything.

Holy shit. Get a grip, Cydney.

I fan myself, seriously debating whether to dump ice cubes down my bra. My cheeks are on fire. My pulse is doing Olympic-level gymnastics.

The glass door barely clicks shut before I’m sagging behind the register, grinning like an idiot. God help me, I think I might actually be obsessed.

I try to act chill, but I spend all Thursday morning staring at the door like a lovesick doofus. Seven-thirty comes and goes. Eight. Nine. Nine-thirty. Nothing. I pretend not to care, but my traitorous heart keeps skipping every time someone in a suit walks by.

At ten-thirty, right when I’m about to declare myself officially ghosted, the bell dings, and there he is. Looking unfairly hot in a navy suit, like he just conquered Wall Street and is now here to conquer me. My knees instantly go weak.

“Hey, stranger.” I try to sound breezy, but I’m practically vibrating. “I thought you were gonna leave me hanging today.”

He leans in, all slow confidence. “Had an early meeting. But I would never miss this.” His eyes lock on mine, and holy hell, my insides turn to mush.

Shop’s dead, so I grab two fresh pumpkin muffins and a pair of lattes, because this is a Big Mood situation and a girl needs backup. I toss them onto a plate, add a drizzle of cinnamon glaze, and walk around the counter like I’m on a goddamn mission.

Oliver’s standing there, hands in his pockets, just watching me with that look that should be illegal in most states. I swear I’m about to spontaneously combust right here on the bakery floor.

“Hope you’re hungry,” I blurt, which, okay, is not my most seductive line, but my ovaries are basically jumping on a trampoline. “I made these fresh. You get first dibs.”

He gives me a slow, up-and-down stare that makes my skin go hot. He leans in, and his voice drops, low and dirty. “I like a woman who knows how to take control.”

Good lord. The way Oliver looks at me right now? If the FDA knew about it, they’d slap a warning label on his sexy, hungry gaze and outlaw it for public safety reasons. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of my body, and my brain is just static and the word YES.

I do this thing where I try to act cool, so I cross my arms and lean against the counter, pretending I’m not seconds from climbing him like a tree. “Well. Somebody’s gotta keep you on your toes, Mr. Burkhardt. Wouldn’t want you getting bored.”

He leans in, voice so low it’s practically a sin. “Trust me, Cydney. You are the farthest thing from boring I’ve ever met.”

Holy hell. The way he says my name. It’s a whole damn problem.

I try to keep my hand steady as I push a hot latte his way. “Do you have time to sit with me for a little bit?” I need to slow things down before I end up getting in trouble. Who am I kidding? I’m already in so much trouble.

“I always have time for you.” There’s that look in his eyes again.

We end up in the corner booth, tucked away from the street-facing glass and the prying eyes of Worthington Hills’ nosiest pastry addicts. My heart is pounding so hard I’m worried Oliver will hear it, but he just folds himself into the tiny seat like he owns the whole damn place. The man radiates alpha energy in a way that makes my brain short-circuit. I try to act chill, but it’s a lost cause.

“So,” I blurt, because, apparently, my filter is on lunch break, “what do you actually do all day in your fancy suits?”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Investment banking. Mostly private equity these days. I help companies grow, then sell them for a profit. Boring boardroom stuff, really.”

Boring? On him, it sounds illegal. “So, you’re basically a shark in a suit?”

He grins, slow and devastating. “Only when I have to be.” The look comes out again, and I know I’m toast. I’m basically a human marshmallow at this point. Melting all over the damn table.

Oliver leans in, close enough that our knees brush under the table. “What about you, Cydney? Tell me something real.” His voice is so low and rough, it’s basically illegal.

I swallow, heat rushing up my neck as I blurt out the abbreviated version of my life. “Not much to tell. I’m an only child with much older parents. Like, retirement-age-when-I-was-in-high-school older. They travel a lot now.” Jesus, why am I rambling? “Most of the year, they’re off in an RV somewhere. I get a postcard every time they see something weird. Last month? The world’s largest ball of twine.”

He grins, reading me like a book. “You miss them?”

I shrug, a little too honest. “Sometimes. But I kind of like being on my own. I get to make it up as I go.” Like, say, falling for someone I should probably be terrified of. Like maybe the world’s hottest alpha male with a jawline that could cut glass and a voice that should come with a fire hazard warning. My cheeks heat so fast it’s a miracle I don’t just burst into flames right there in the booth.

Oliver’s smile is slow, predatory. It’s not even fair. “I like the sound of that. You’re making up the rules… you’re going after what you want.”

His knee nudges between mine under the table, deliberate and just this side of indecent. My breath stutters in my chest. “I guess I’m impulsive sometimes,” I mutter, which is hilarious because my hands are shaking, and my brain is currently buffering like a dollar-store Wi-Fi router. “But it’s worked out so far.”

He stares at me, eyes dark and hungry. “Impulse is underrated,” Oliver rumbles, voice rough as gravel. “Sometimes you just know when something’s right.”

I take a deep breath, needing to cool things down a little. “Tell me about your family.”

That really chills the conversation. He sits back and shrugs. “My mom died when I was in high school, and I’m not really close with my dad.” He looks away, jaw flexing under that perfectly scruffy stubble, and for a second, I swear he’s somewhere else entirely. Like he’s replaying every bad memory all at once. My heart does this weird lurch, and suddenly, I want to reach across the tiny table and just… hold his hand.

“Sorry,” I manage, trying not to totally annihilate the mood. “Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

He gives a half shrug, but this time it’s a little raw around the edges. “It’s fine. Part of the territory.” He lifts his latte, gaze locked on mine. “I decided a long time ago that I’d rather build my own family than worry about the one I was born into.”

Holy hell. If my ovaries weren’t already planning a ticker-tape parade, they definitely are now.