I back out of the driveway, the tires crunching on the snow-packed gravel. I point the car toward town, toward the warm yellow lights of the main strip. Blade & Butter is only a few miles away.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I drive. The town is quiet, the snow falling in soft, swirling flakes under the street lamps. I grip the wheel, my palms sweating against the leather.
I’m terrified. I’m terrified of wanting something nice. I’m terrified that if I let myself feel good for an hour, the crash will be worse tomorrow.
But I can’t stop. I keep driving, pulled forward by the memory of brown eyes and the scent of vanilla beans.
I just want to see him. I just want to know if that spark I felt was real, or if I just imagined it because I was having such a terrible day.
I turn the corner onto the main street. The sign for Blade & Butter glows in the dark window, a silver knife cutting through a pat of butter. Most of the other shops are dark, but there’s a light on in the back.
I pull up to the curb and kill the engine. I sit there for a long minute, watching the door.
Okay, Amber. Breathe. Just walk inside. Say hello. Eat a bun. Go home.
Simple.
I reach for the door handle, my hand shaking slightly. I’m doing this. I’m actually doing this.
The bell above the door chimes, a soft, solitary sound in the quiet restaurant. The main dining room is dark, the chairs stacked upside down on the tables, the air still smelling faintly of roasted garlic and polished wood. I stand just inside the threshold, rubbing my gloved hands together, the cold from the car ride still clinging to my coat.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing slightly off the exposed brick walls.
A door opens at the back of the room, near the large opening to the kitchen. Eli steps through, and my breath catches in my throat.
He’s got a cigarette tucked between his fingers, the tip glowing orange in the dim light. A thin trail of smoke swirls around him, catching the glow of the streetlamp outside the window.
He’s taken off his glasses, and his hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He looks dangerous. He looks like the kind of bad boy you see in movies, leaning against a motorcycle in an alleyway.
But then he sees me, and his entire face transforms. The danger softens into something warm and unguarded.
“Hey,” he says.
I blink, surprised. “You smoke?”
He looks down at the cigarette as if surprised to find it there. He takes one last drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Only when I’m nervous.”
“You? Nervous?” I walk further into the room, shedding my coat. “You seem like you have everything under control.”
Eli crushes the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, moving toward me. “Not tonight.”
He stops right in front of me. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
Before I can step back, he reaches out and pulls me into a hug. It’s quick, firm, and over before I can even register how to react, but the impact lingers.
He smells incredible. Not like smoke—that smell is already fading. He smells like a long day of hard work.
There’s a hint of sweat, the rich yeast of dough, and the sweet, comforting aroma of brown sugar and vanilla. It’s an addictive scent that makes my head spin.
Fuck. This is a problem.
He pulls back, his hands resting on my shoulders for a split second before he drops them. “I’m really glad you came, Amber.”
“Me too,” I admit, my voice sounding a little breathless. I need to regain my composure. I need to stop thinking about how good he feels. “So. Where are these buns you keep talking about? Because if they aren’t real, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
Eli laughs, a low, warm sound that vibrates in his chest. “They’re real. They’re cooling in the kitchen. Come on back.”
He leads me through the archway into the kitchen. It’s massive, a cavern of stainless steel and industrial equipment.The countertops are gleaming, the pots hanging from the rack are organized by size, and the floor is spotless.
