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“Good.”

The answer came quickly enough to make Mara look back at him.

“I mean, the pastry’s better warm,” he added.

“Of course.” She kept her face straight, although his embarrassment was unexpectedly endearing.

A smile tugged at his mouth, and it changed his whole face. Yesterday she had driven into the mountains alone because the man she had expected to build a life with had decided he wanted an entirely different future. Today she was noticing a baker’s smile and the way his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up.

Apparently heartbreak had not switched off her eyesight. Which was deeply inconvenient when the man in question was standing right there making her coffee.

She nodded at the cinnamon bears. “Curtis told me these were your specialty. How did they become a thing?”

“My niece asked for one when she was about four. She wanted to know why a bakery in Bear Creek didn’t sell anything shaped like a bear.” He looked over at the little girl at the table. “I made one for her, then her brother wanted one too. After that, customers started asking.”

“So this is all your niece’s fault.” Mara smiled at the little girl who was kicking her feet together at the table.

“Entirely.” The look on his face was wistful, and she found herself looking at him longer than was polite. He didn’t seem to mind. “Although I am not complaining. It’s become my signature bake.”

“Uncle Gabe!” The little girl got up out of her seat and rushed to the side of the counter, holding up one sneakered foot. “My lace came undone again.”

Gabe came around immediately and crouched in front of her. “I thought we dealt with that when you first came in.”

“It’s the other one,” she said.

“I could fix it,” the boy announced from the table. “I know how to tie shoes, but Nell won’t let me.”

“Because you make knots,” the girl said. “The kind I can’t undo.”

Gabe tied the lace, then looked up. “There. Try that.”

“Too tight.” She flexed her toes inside the sneaker.

“You’re a demanding customer.” Gabe loosened it and tied it again. “Better?”

“Yes.” She wiggled her toes.

“Good. Now wash your hands. You’ve got frosting on three fingers and some on your elbow.” He inclined his head toward the restroom.

She twisted her arm around to inspect the smear. “How did that get there?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” he said. “You can investigate after you wash it off.”

She hurried toward the restroom, the boy’s protests that he knew perfectly well how to tie a shoe following her.

Gabe stood and brushed his hands over his apron. “Sorry.”

“What for?” Mara was smiling. “Emergency shoelace tying should always be a priority.”

The woman at the table laughed. “Those shoelaces are a constant emergency. We’ll have tied them twice more before she gets to school. I’m Dana, by the way. Gabe’s sister. And those two are my adorable children, Toby and Nell.”

“I concur, very adorable,” Gabe said. “And responsible for most of her gray hair.”

He seemed to have relaxed a little now. Mara liked this version of him.

She liked it a lot.

Dana shook her head. “He thinks being their uncle means he gets to enjoy the fun parts, feed them too much sugar, and send them home when they get difficult.”