Page 29

Twenty minutes later she was walking along Main Street with her hands tucked into her pockets and the cool fall air pinking her cheeks. Somebody had swept the sidewalk outside the hardware store, but the leaves had already begun to gather along the curb again.

Yesterday she had followed Curtis’s directions into town and checked the street signs twice. This morning she hadn’t thought about either one. Mountain View Bakery was no longer simply somewhere Curtis had recommended for breakfast. It was the place where Gabe baked.

Mara slowed as she drew closer. Through the front window she could see Gabe behind the counter, a cloth over one shoulder and the sleeves of his dark shirt pushed up past his elbows.

He was already looking toward the door.

For one strange second she had the impression he had been expecting her. Then she noticed the two women just leaving the counter with a bag between them, and decided they were the reason he was looking at the door.

That was the only reasonable explanation. It didn’t stop her heart from hoping.

Then his gaze found hers through the glass and his face broke into a smile, warm and glad. The answering rush through Mara came so quickly it was almost embarrassing.

Chemistry, she told herself. Very good chemistry.

Except that didn’t quite explain it. There was something about Gabe that felt different, though she couldn’t have said what or why. They had only just met, yet she was left with the sense they had known each other forever.

She opened the door, and the bell sounded overhead, and the smell of the place enveloped her. Cinnamon and hot sugar and bread, and underneath it, coffee.

“You came back,” Gabe said, and she liked the way his eyes twinkled, as if he were truly pleased she had.

“I did.” Mara slipped her hands into her jacket pockets. “I nearly texted you. About Harvest Lights.”

“Nearly?” Gabe set the tray he was carrying down on the counter.

“I had your number open and everything. Then I decided I wanted to see you.” What was she saying? There appeared to be no filter at all between her thoughts and her mouth this morning. “I mean, I thought I’d come and talk to you in person. As an excuse for more baked goods.”

“I’m glad.” The teasing went out of his expression, and for a second he looked at her across the counter. “That you wanted my baked goods.”

Something in the way he said it made Mara’s pulse skip.

“I was hoping you might come in,” he added. “I’ve been telling myself you were probably off exploring Bear Creek, and then looking at the door every time the bell rang.”

Mara liked hearing it more than she was prepared to examine at half past ten in the morning.

“Coffee?” Gabe asked, already reaching for a mug. “Milk, no sugar.”

Mara looked at him. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.” He said it as though she had asked him something odd, and poured it, adding the milk without stopping to check how much.

Scott had never quite managed that. He knew she drank coffee with milk. After eight years he could still stand in their own kitchen with the fridge open and ask whether she wanted sugar, and she had always answered pleasantly and never once mentioned that the answer had been the same since the day they met.

Mara pushed the thought away and cupped the mug he set down. It was only coffee.

“I’ve got another batch of cinnamon bears to make,” Gabe said, nodding toward the doorway behind him. “You can come through if you don’t mind flour. I’ll hear the bell.”

“Flour doesn’t scare me,” Mara answered. Although the way her heart thudded with excitement at the idea of spending time with Gabe in his kitchen did. She really should keep the counter as a boundary between them. “As long as I won’t be in the way.”

“Never.” He inclined his head. “Come on.”

She followed him behind the counter and into the kitchen, where the heat met her at the doorway. Up close, the room made immediate sense: ovens along one wall, worktables down the middle, racks and ingredients where people could reach them without crossing one another every few seconds. Mara found herself looking at the space the way she looked at any working venue, noticing flow before decoration.

“This is laid out well,” she said.

Gabe glanced over as he pulled a bowl toward him. “You’ve been in here less than a minute.”

“Occupational hazard. If people have to keep walking around one another, something is in the wrong place. I once worked a venue where somebody had put a huge floral arrangement directly in front of the door the waitstaff needed to use.”