Page 94 of A Taste of Vanilla

I nod.

“And maybe it was exactly what you needed.”

I look down. “Maybe.”

Before she can say what she’s about to, her phone buzzes. She glances at it. “Oh. My brother’s outside. I texted him the address and told him to come to the front door.”

I straighten so fast my back cracks. “Now?”

“I mean, yeah. I told you he was coming.”

“But that was before I confessed to being a nameless stranger slut.”

She stands with an eye roll. “You are not a slut.”

“It’s said with affection. Marley.”

“I know, but I’m still legally obligated to correct you.”

“Do I look weird?”

“You look like you had really good sex and are trying to hide it with mascara.”

“Marley.”

“What?” She shrugs. “You asked.”

I try to see my reflection in the glass case. “I can’t meet your brother for the first time while my face is doing this.”

“He won’t notice.”

I continue trying to wipe the smudged mascara from the corner of my eye when I hear the door jingle, and my heart beats directly into my throat.

I hear their footsteps a few feet away.

“Finally,” she says. “You text like an old man.”

I look down at my hands. At the note on the counter.

Shit.

I grab it, shoving it into my pocket.

The man steps into the doorway between the front counter and the prep kitchen.

And I stop breathing.

Dark green henley. Long sleeves.

Black hair pulled into a tight bun.

Broad shoulders. Severe mouth. Blue eyes.

The nameless stranger from last night stands in my bakery holding a small paper bag in one hand and looking directly at Marley.

For one impossible second, my brain rejects the evidence.

No.