“You can’t beat cinnamon rolls, that’s true. But they can be messy and that can be…awkwardat work. What about banana bread, or lemon bread, or…” Katrina moves down the glass case, gesturing to a mouthwatering tray full of thin slices of soft, cake-like bread with coconut flakes on them. “Coconut bread.”
“Shut the front door,” I say.
“I take it that’s a yes?”
“Ten million yeses,” I say, and the fact that the coconut reminds me of my fantastic one-night stand gives me a little zing. It feels like a good-luck charm. Another sign that today will go as swimmingly as that night did. “But add in a slice of lemon and banana bread too. Just in case someone doesn’t like coconut.”
“It’s been known to happen—dislike of coconut,” she says dryly, then gathers the goodies. “Do you need help carrying anything?”
I shake my head. “Former juggler in the house.”
With a smile, she says, “I remember when you learned how to juggle plates when that dickhead Stephen Miller said a girl couldn’t juggle. You proved him wrong.”
“And it was a pleasure.”
After I pay, I hoist my backpack higher on my shoulder, along with my woven bag, so I can carry the white box with pink polka dots back across the street.Like a pro.
When I reach Dog Tails, I shed my nerves, hold my head high, and walk inside. “Good morning,” I say cheerily.
I don’t see Zuri, but there’s a man behind the counter, with his back to me. He’s tall, with strong shoulders, thick dark hair, and a tailored shirt, by the cut of it. He wears fancy charcoal slacks, maybe even a tie. Something about the curve of his shoulders, the way he moves, is familiar.
The way he seems to tense, too, at the sound of my voice.
When he turns around, my heart stops.
It’s my one-night stand.
9
MALE LOGIC
SAWYER
On the one hand, I’ve definitely entertained some very excellent dreams over the last month about the mysterious, funny, cinnamon-scented Chloe.
She’s the bold and fiery redhead I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about since the morning I reached sleepily across a hotel bed, expecting to find a warm, lovely woman, and coming up empty. Just a wrinkled sheet, the fading smell of hotel shampoo on the soft pillow, and a note saying thanks.
Admittedly, that had been disappointing. I’d been hoping to at least take her out to breakfast. Tomaybegrab her number for…I dunno…next year?
To set a time and a date for an if-we’re-still-single-in-a-year kind of thing.
But I shrugged off those feelings, since we had a deal. It was a one-time occasion.
Now this—her showing up here? This is either one hell of a coincidence…or this is stalking. Like, world-class-level stalking.
Because standing inside my new business is the woman who took a photo of my driver’s license. Is she…pregnant?
No.
Just no.
We used a condom. It didn’t break. I’m not going to let myself think that.
“Chloe?” I ask, needing to be sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.
Her brow knits briefly, but then a small grin forms as she asks, “Sawyer?”
I take a beat, trying to figure out what the hell I’m feeling as a cheery Chloe holds out a box of delicious-smelling pastries—donuts? Rolls?—while wearing lip gloss and a hopeful smile.
