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The morning rush had passed, leaving the tables by the windows empty. Gabe made two fresh coffees and nodded toward the one by the window. “Sit for a minute?”

“Sure.” Mara took the seat opposite him.

“So, Harvest Lights,” he said.

“That’s what I nearly texted you about. Are you still going?”

“I was planning to.”

Mara wrapped her hands around the fresh mug. That was the question she had come to ask. Somewhere during the baking, another one had started to seem more important. “What are you doing before the trail?”

“Working.” His eyes darkened as he watched her face. “Then going home to shower and change.”

“No dinner plans?” she ventured.

“No.”

Mara set her mug down. “Would you like some?”

Gabe’s brows drew together.

“Dinner plans,” she clarified. “My treat.”

Understanding replaced the confusion, and with it something more careful. “You don’t have to buy me dinner because of yesterday. The picnic was my idea, and I enjoyed every minute of it. You don’t owe me anything for it.”

“I know.” Mara met his gaze. “I had a lovely afternoon yesterday, but I’m not asking because I want to pay you back.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Because she liked him. Because she had chosen his bakery over sending a message. Because she wanted more time with him when there was no trail or picnic or accident of timing giving them a reason to be together.

“Because I’d like to have dinner with you.” For a moment he just looked at her, and Mara’s courage faltered enough to make her add, “Unless you’re going to make me eat alone.”

His smile spread slowly. “No. I’m definitely not going to make you eat alone. I’d really like to have dinner with you.”

The really made her smile. “Six?”

“Six works. Harvest Lights afterward?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you want me to pick you up?” he asked.

Mara considered it. Yesterday Gabe had done the inviting and the driving. Today she wanted this to be hers. “No. I’ll pick you up.”

Something pleased and almost boyish flashed across his face. “Sure.”

“Where will you be?”

“Here.” He glanced around the bakery. “I’ll be finished and cleaned up and standing outside looking like a man who has not been anywhere near an oven.”

A timer sounded somewhere behind the counter.

“That’ll be your bears,” Gabe said, and got up.

He came back with a plate and set it down between them. Her bear had not improved for being baked. One arm had spread into the shoulder and the head sat noticeably to the left. It smelled better than anything Mara had made in years.

“Oh dear,” she said.