"Morgs having nightmares again, huh?" Quinn says, and I realize she's been staring at me this whole time. "What was it this time?"
"Oh, you know… Something about her math teacher turning into a giant spider, which honestly, having met Mrs. Briggs, feels less like a nightmare and more like a real-life documentary."
"Quinn—"
"I'm just saying." She leans against the counter, arms crossed. "You're running yourself into the ground, Zoey. When's the last time you did something that wasn't related to this bakery or your kid?"
I don't have an answer. Because the truth is, I haven't thought aboutmyselfin so long that I've forgotten what that even looks like.
After Daniel, my high school sweetheart and now ex-husband, left with no note, no call, no forwarding address while Morgan was still in diapers… I learned to shrink my world down to what I could control.
My daughter. My bakery. My scheduled.
It's simple, really.
Stay focused. Stay happy.
"I'm fine," I tell Quinn, even though we both know that's the biggest lie I've told since I assured Morgan that her father was 'just busy' when he missed her fifth birthday. And her sixth. And every birthday after that.
Quinn opens her mouth to argue, but the bell above the door chimes again, and every rational thought I've ever had flies straight out of my head.
Because Colt Lane just walked into my bakery.
My body does something completely involuntary, like a full-body shiver that starts at the base of my spine and spreads outward like wildfire. The tingle races up through my ribcage,across my chest, and—oh God—settles directly into my nipples, which tighten against my bra.
Well. That's about the most excitement these girls have had all week.
The Snow Leopards' golden boy, who by the way, is possibly the sexiest man alive, is standing in my bakery, all broad shoulders and easy confidence, that purple Snow Leopards jacket stretched across his chest like a personal invitation to think about what's hidden beneath.
Quinn makes awhoosound behind me, so I toss the cleaning cloth at her before she opens her big mouth.
His sandy blonde hair is perfectly styled, and those blue eyes that crinkle at the edges are scanning the bakery, slow and warm, until they finally land on me.
And then hesmiles. Just like he did this morning at The Den. When I tried so damn hardnotto be excited to see him.
It's that devastating, dimple-popping,panty-droppingsmile that I'm absolutely certain has convinced countless women to make terrible decisions.
When was the last time someone smiled at me like that?
The thought catches me off guard. Because the answer isnever. Daniel never looked at me like I was the only person in a room. He looked at me like I was furniture. Convenient. Forgettable.
Colt Lane is looking at me like I'm the sunrise after a long, dark night.
"And good morning to you." Colt says when the silence in the bakery drags a little too long. "Fancy seeing you here, Zoey."
"Iworkhere, Lane."
"Do you?" He feigns surprise, pressing a hand to the Snow Leopards logo on his chest. "I had no idea. I just followed the sweet smell of vanilla, and voilà. There you are."
My stomach does a little flip before I shove it down where it belongs.
I’m a grown woman, not a giggling teenager.
I force a smile, wiping my hands on my sage-green Butter Batch apron to keep them busy. “A sweet smell? Or was it the deeply concerning amount of sugar that lured you in?”
Colt leans casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
I swear heknows. He knows exactly how good he looks, how much attention he’s pulling, and how absolutely not immune I am to it.
