“Excellent feedback.”
“And maybe puppies.”
“Strong addition.”
“And less Darren.”
The kitchen goes completely silent. Jillie’s face falls immediately. “Oops.” My heart breaks a little. Because there it is. The thing underneath everything. She got attached too. More than I realized.
Colby handles it before I can. “No offense,” he says gravely, “but puppies definitely rank above Darren.” Jillie bursts into laughter. Relief hits me so suddenly I nearly sway. Colby stands again, brushing snowmelt from his coat sleeves.
He catches my expression briefly.
Something quiet passes between us. Not flirting. Not romance. Understanding. And somehow that feels volatile in ways that I don’t fully understand.”
The rest of the morning becomes chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Word that he is here at the bakery spreads through Briar Cove faster than wildfire in dry grass.
By lunchtime:
tourists line up outside Sweet Seasons
customers buy “whatever Colby likes”
someone leaves a hockey puck on the counter for him to sign
Meanwhile Colby acts like none of it bothers him.
Which honestly bothers me.
He carries supply boxes from storage without being asked. Refills napkins. Helps Mrs. Bellamy reach a top shelf despite her dramatic protests about “fragile womanhood.”
And somehow every tiny thing feels genuine.
Not performative.
Not celebrity polished.
Real.
That’s the problem, because “fake charming” I could survive.
Real kindness? That sneaks under your ribs before you realize the damage.
