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My mouth falls open, and I suck in a lungful of delicious. “You bake?”
Jordan smirks as he transfers cinnamon rolls into the glass case. “I do.”
“No wonder you smell so good all the time,” I mumble, but apparently not softly enough because his grin widens.
“Dude, can I get one of those?” Tyler points his chin at the glass case. “I’m starving.”
Jordan stops what he’s doing to narrow his eyes at Tyler. “Sure, why not.”
The dark-haired woman behind the register smiles at Jordan. “Honey, why don’t you go clean up and get out of here. I’ve got this.”
He nods, but his gaze locks on mine. “Thanks, Aunt Jenny.”
While I wrap my brain around the coffee lady being Jordan’s aunt, he slips into the back.
And after eyeing the swinging door for several agonizing minutes while Grant debates what to order and then the two of them argue over who’s paying for what, I realize Jordan isn’t coming back.
“Did he leave?” The words tumble past my lips before I can stop them.
Jordan’s aunt flashes a sympathetic smile as if she knows more about me than she’s letting on. “He kept himself busy today, baking like a man possessed all day long. I’m sure he’s exhausted.”
Too exhausted to say goodbye?
I give her a polite nod and then tap out a quick text and hit send.
You left.
Time stands still while I wait for his reply.
Beside me, Grant prattles on about zombie hordes and badass first graders while Tyler whines about the juicy burger he would’ve ordered if we’d gone to the diner instead. Idiots.
Finally my phone vibrates in my hand.
My shift was over.
But . . .
My fingers fly over the keys as I type.
You just left.
That’s what one usually does after they finish work. They leave.
But . . .
Three little dots dance across the screen while I wait for what seems like forever for him to finish typing and hit send. I’m beat. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
I’m two seconds away from calling an Uber to take me to wherever Jordan lives when Grant brushes my sleeve.
“Pretty weird, huh?” He hands me my frothing latte. “I never would’ve guessed Keller could bake.”
I breathe in the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls, and Jordan’s face invades my thoughts. “You can say that again.”
25
An icy breeze flutters my hair as I stand on the dock, facing the empty lake. A row of deserted boats, including Elijah’s rented sailboat, bounce over the choppy water like overeager children.
As for me, I’m anything but eager. I’ve been fighting off a series of anxiety attacks ever since Elijah called to say he’d won the coin toss and rented a boat for the day.
