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When her cheeks turned as rosy as a sunset over Elliott Bay, Cole said, “I do have one requirement for taking a stranger to a wedding, though.”
“Is this about to get weird?” she asked, pulling up short. “I was joking about the wholePretty Womanthing.”
He held up his hands. “Like you said, I drive a Volvo. How weird could I be?”
She laughed. “Okay, fine. What’s your requirement?”
“That they appreciate Richard Linklater films. It’s a fantastic name for a bakery, by the way—Glazed and Confused. Did you come up with it?”
While her eyes narrowed, she backed away slowly from the counter, crossing her arms over her chest.
“What?” he asked, wilting a little under her suspicious glare.
“I forgot you were a drummer.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with being a drummer?”
“Nothing, aside from being the worst flirts on the planet.”
He winked. “I think you pronouncedbestwrong.”
“Who’s a drummer?” someone shouted from the back room. “Drummers are bad news, Mira.”
“Who’s that?” Cole asked, peeking around the corner.
“My mom.”
“Gah.” He winced, placing a hand over his heart like she’d just shot him with an arrow. “Why do all moms hate us?”
“It’s just a friend of Madigan’s,” Mira called back. “Not to worry, Mom.” For the very first time, she gave him a true, genuine smile. He’d never seen anything like it. “Weallknow to stay far away from drummers.”
Well, this was more fun than he’d had in about a million years. “Good luck with that. We’re irresistible.”
She rolled her eyes.
Straightening, doing his best to ignore the twinge in his lower back from driving all day, he said, “All right, Mira. If I’m going to be your little drummer boyfriend tomorrow, I should probably know more about you.”
“You have a point,” Mira conceded as a group of young women burst through the door, waving at her before beelining it for the scones.
“But you’re obviously busy,” he said. “And I need to get the tarts to Madigan before he sends out a search party.”
“Oh, hang on.” She disappeared into the back room, returning with three pink boxes decorated with the Glazed and Confused logo—the bakery name nestled in the center of an even pinker donut with blue sprinkles. Setting the boxes on the counter, she said, “You seriously don’t have to do this. In fact, we can pretend none of this ever happened. Like it was just”—she gestured vaguely at nothing—“a shared hallucination.”
Psh. Was she kidding? He was all in now. “Iwantto do this. Actually, I can’t wait to do this.”
Shaking her head, her blush blooming brighter than the boxes on the counter, she plucked one of her cards from the plastic holder next to the cash register. “My cell is on the bottom.”
When he took the card, he let his fingers brush over hers. It was a move he’d perfected once upon a time to make seem accidental, and he was thrilled his rusty ass could still pull it off. “When’s a good time to call?”
“We close in an hour,” she said, curling the fingers he’d touched toward her palm. “Then I have to drop my mom off at therapy, then take my kid to piano. So maybe around six?”
“The rehearsal dinner is at seven, so that’s perfect. I’ll call you then.” He held out his hand, because a finger-brush wasn’t enough, not by half. “Nice to meet you, Mira Harlow.”
When her hand slipped into his, her grip was somehow soft and strong at the same time. “You too, Cole Sanderson.”
Giving her hand a shake, he slid his sunglasses back into place, picked her tarts up off the counter and, with a crooked smile, said, “Here’s to an interesting weekend.”
CHAPTERTHREE
