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“Nothing I can prove.” I force a smile, which isn’t very hard because he’s back. “Bake with me. Please.”

Gideon puts the apron back on and we whip another batch of custard together. I sneak a little taste of the filling with a spoon, and his eyes don’t move from my lips, as though a simple flavor check is the most indecent thing he’s ever watched.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You know exactly what.”

He steals the spoon from my fingers, tastes, and lets out a low, drawn-out moan that has no business in a family bakery. “Jesus. That’s the one.”

“You think?” I take another taste of the custard, a real one this time, and savor the incredible, almost magical merge of flavors, and its sublime silky mouthfeel and beam. “You know something, Mr. Mountain Man? I agree. You’re absolutely right.”

His eyes glimmer as he gives me a smug, charming as hell grin. “See what happens when you stick with me, curvy? That’s the winner.”

Zephyr appears in the doorway, takes one look at Gideon in an apron with flour on his jaw, and beams like Christmas came early. “Never thought I’d live to see it.”

“Get out,” Gideon huffs.

“I will, I will,” Clara’s voice comes from behind her son. She pokes her head into the room, slipping an arm around Zephyr. “I’m trying to get out of here and closing up. Nell left a while ago. You can have the place as long as you need, just don’t burn it down.”

Gideon nods. “I think we can handle that.”

“Thanks for everything, Clara.”

“My pleasure sweetie. Good luck tomorrow, and I’ll see you at my house for dinner.”

The moment they leave, the space shrinks to the size of a closet. It feels so much smaller as Gideon and I brush against each other, sharing the same pastry board while whisking, straining, rolling, and teasing.

After a few more hours, we have four perfect pies sitting on the cooling rack. I jot down a few more reminders for tomorrow and close my notebook. The stress I’ve carried all week finally starts to melt away. “Pie number three,” I say, bumping him with my hip. “That’s the winning pie.”

“I agree,” he says, in a low voice, closing the space between us. “But it’s not the only thing I want a taste of.”

“Corny,” I whisper, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. The question of what happened with Nell is still a shadow in my mind, but right now, I’m not sure I want to break this spell.

He reaches out and caresses my arm, sending warmth surging through my body. “You still thinking about what Nell said?”

I answer my mind reader honestly, “Yes.”

“There was nothing real between us.” He meets my eyes and holds them. “We went out a few times. She wanted things I couldn’t give her. A family, a kid. It got serious in her head, but it was never going to work for me. She isn’t my type.” He glides his hands around my waist, as if to prove his point.

I swallow, hesitating a beat before cautiously asking, “What is your type?”

His eyes search mine. The corner of his mouth curves, but he isn’t smiling. “If I told you, you’d run.”

My heart is racing.

This moment feels perfect.

“I’m not running.”

Chapter nine

I take in the sight of her peering up at me with those sweet lips, and innocent blue-violet eyes. “You,” I confess, with my heart hammering. “It’s you, Lila. You’re my type. You’re fucking perfect.” I grip the back of her neck, bring her mouth to mine and claim her lips. There’s nothing gentle or sweet about the way I’m devouring her, backing her toward the counter until there’s nowhere left to go.

She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch as I glide my hands down her spine, to the small of her back and lower, clasping her perfect plump ass, parting her lips with my tongue, deepening the kiss.

She rocks her hips and grinds against my erection.