“I’d like to be indulgent, too, please,” Lorraine says, peering up at him with stars in her eyes.
Niall gives a hearty, warm laugh and slides the case open. He uses a pair of silver tongs to pull out two cookies the size of dinner plates. He slides one into a wax paper sleeve for Lorraine, then holds the second one out to me.
“Uh, thanks,” I say, taking it. I keep my other hand firmly shoved in my pocket to hide the fact that I am suddenly, inexplicably, fidgeting. And I don’t want to risk another rogue wave. “What do I owe yo—”
“Don’t bother,” he says, waving me off with his hand. “We’re closing up shop in twenty minutes. Consider it a welcome-to-the-parish gift. Or a formal apology for my mate’s lack of trolley-driving skills... among other things.”
“Uh... alright. Thanks,” I nod, feeling a creeping heat crawl up my neck. Lorraine pipes up with a loud, “Thank you, Cookie Man!”
Is he flirting with me?
Probably not.
He just gave you a cookie that is literally leftover inventory.
He barely knows you.
Get a grip.
“Do you get to eat all the stuff here?” Lorraine asks, her mouth already rimmed with chocolate.
Niall smiles, running a hand through his hair. A few bottle blonde strands fall into his eyes, and he brushes them back with an absentminded grace that makes my stomach do a weird, fluttering somersault.
“I probably shouldn’t, if I want to keep my pace up for the Saints. But between you and me,” he winks at her, “I have my weaknesses. I’m only human, after all.”
“So you do eat them?”
“The éclairs are my favorite,” he confesses, his gaze drifting back to mine. “And I have my fair share of cakes and cookies, too.”
My eyes get lost trailing over his face again, drinking him in like a warm cup of cocoa on a rainy day. And he notices—I know he does, because our eyes lock. My eyes snap away instantly, and I take a massive, overly-aggressive bite of my cookie to cover the awkwardness.
“Uh, well—thank you,” I say, glancing at the door. The golden light in the bakery is making me feel a little too soft, and a little too seen.
“We should probably get going. Mom’s probably wondering where we are.”
Niall nods, waving a hand. “Safe home, then.”
“Bye, Cookie Man!” Lorraine calls out.
I push the door open, the bell jingling a goodbye. As the cool, damp air of the evening hits my face, I risk one last glance back. Niall is still standing there, leaning against the counter, watching us leave. He isn't smiling anymore; he just has this odd, pensive expression on his face, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he hasn't seen in years.
I duck my head and keep walking, the taste of chocolate and sea-water-blue eyes lingering on my tongue.
“He was nice!” Lorraine chirps, skipping again. “And he’s very tall. Do you think he’s a prince?”
“He’s a baker, Lo. And a soccer player.”
“A football player,” she corrects me, using her best attempt at an Irish lilt.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That too.”
In truth, I don't know how to feel about Niall Blue. He’d been the one to help me get the tryout. He seems kind. He’s a good player—I could tell just from the try-out.
And he makes my heart race and my tongue numb for no good reason.
As we turn the corner and the buttery yellow glow of the bakery fades into the gray, I find myself hoping—just a little bit—that Coach O’Shea has decided to put me on the roster.
Not because I’d get more time with Mr. Ocean Eyes, of course. That would just be an added bonus.
