“And how does that usually work out for a guy when he does the same thing?” Ripley adds, tilting her head in question.
I slump down in my chair. “I’m sure he felt the same way. I am. But…I need to get him a makeup gift, don’t I?”
“I mean, it’s not totally necessary. You’ve already said you’re sorry,” Bridget offers. “You guys aren’t dating. It’s totally reasonable. But if you’re trying to smooth things over, there’s one surefire way to do it, and you, missy, are a practitioner of treat culture.”
That’s it. That’s totally it.
I’ll turn up the sunshine to ten and serve it with a side of donuts. I thank them and say goodbye. With renewed determination to smooth over any remnants of awkward, I head to The Sweet Spot.
Donuts fix everything. Especially when you already have a breakfast competition going with someone.
Seriously, this is just brilliant. This shows I’m committed to professionalism. And yeah, Sawyer might be Mister Fuck Me to Pieces, but he is also Mister Serious Boss. Picking up donuts, especially after I teased him about it the other day, shows that I respect and honor our working relationship.
A man like Sawyer, who clearly has ahugeby-the-book side—even if he loves to flirt with me more than he probably should—isdefinitely a stickler. The way he dresses is evidence alone. He wants to maintain a certain image—the professional, respectful, slightly distant boss. I hustle over to the bakery, determined to do my part to help with that image.
There’s already a line outside. I’m not surprised. Katrina’s banana bread is the best, and so are her chocolate-chip cookies. But I wait my turn, and today I order a baker’s dozen of donuts, including a coconut-cream-filled one just for Sawyer.
How will he be able to resist?
News flash: he won’t.
And when I head into Dog Tails, I’m sure this is the beginning of the next phase of our relationship. Donuts and a kick-ass business partnership. He’s already at the front counter, checking in Dandelion the Great Dane mix.
“She’s loving it here,” Salma says, then adjusts her hijab, keeping it tighter around her face, which she often does when she interacts with men.
“I’m so glad to hear that. We strive to be the place to be for the discerning dog,” he says.
“And I just love how everything is run. It’s neat, tidy, and so organized. The text message updates on the dogs throughout the day, the confirmation of their reservation—it runs so much more smoothly than before.”
Warmth spreads in my chest. I’m glad people in town are liking how he runs his business. Not simply because I share a space with him, but because I want him to succeed.
Well, I like him.
As a person.
A co-worker. A colleague.
When Salma leaves and Dandelion lopes happily into the play area, I march up to the counter with my sunshine dialed up to eleven, and I plunk the box down. “Good morning,” I say, as cheery as a chipmunk in a cartoon flick.
Sawyer looks up from the tablet, his expression unreadable. “Good morning, Chloe.”
The words are nice, but the tone is ice. A chill runs down my spine.
But no worries. I’ve got the ultimate icebreaker. I gesture to the pretty box, giving a theatrical flourish that would make Mom proud. “I brought donuts. Chocolate frosted, cinnamon sugar, cherry bomb, maple iced, frosting filled,” I say, then stop to lower my voice. “Might need to save that one for me. And there’s also a coconut cream. But really, they’re delish.”
He glances down at them, then back at me. “The team will love that.”
Team. Has he always called them theteam? It’s so professional. So serious. “And I thought you would too,” I add with a smile.
“I don’t like donuts,” he says with regret, like he’s letting me down easily. He motions to the daycare behind him. “But like I said, I bet the team will. Speaking of the team, we should get everyone on board for the Webflix plans. Let them know what we’ll need, what everyone’s role will be, and so on. I find it’s best if we’re transparent and clear about our expectations. I can work on an agenda for the meeting, but your input would be valuable too.”
My input would be valuable? Did he transform into Super Robotic Businessman this morning?
“Sure,” I say tentatively, even though I’m having flashbacks to my days at Fitzburger Events where I made PowerPoints and worked on presentations and loathed every day of office work. I shudder at the thought of office work. Of offices too. “I’ll email you?”
“Email sounds great. I have a call with San Francisco in five.”
He turns and walks away without taking the coconut cream donut.
