Page 34 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“Smells good.”

“It always smells good.”

“It smells especially good today.”

“That means you want something.”

“I want dinner.”

She narrowed her brown eyes, unconvinced, then reached up and rubbed her thumb across my jaw. “You missed grease.”

“I showered at the shop.”

“You missed grease.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t shower.”

“It means you didn’t do a very good job.”

Some things never changed.

Jax sat at the dining table with the hungry, vaguely irritated expression of a man being forced to wait within arm’s reach of food. He had changed into a clean T-shirt, though traces of grease remained around his fingernails.

“You took your time,” he said.

“I finished the deliveries.”

“You finished two deliveries.”

“You had the others.”

“I had to listen to Mrs. Baker explain her dog’s digestive issues for fifteen minutes.”

“Did you bring treats?”

“No.”

“That was your first mistake.”

He scowled. “Her dog hates me.”

“Animals sense character.”

“Keep talking.”

Clover entered behind me carrying a basket of cornbread and bumped her shoulder against mine. At twenty-five, she was the youngest of us, though she had never accepted the position gracefully. Her auburn hair fell in a loose braid over one shoulder, and flour dusted the front of the oversized cream sweater she wore over leggings.

“You’re welcome,” she announced.

“For what?”

“Delivering the bakery order for your mystery woman.”

“She isn’t my mystery woman.”

“You called me in the middle of my shift and asked me to help a beautiful stranger.”

“I said her name was Carson.”