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“Honestly? Yes.”
“I’m not a total asshole. I know you have a lot going on,” he snaps.
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“Stop being so…understanding. It’s weirding me out.” An irritated Declan I can work with. A nice Declan who doesn’t mind me falling asleep on the job and missing deadlines? That kind of unpredictability gives me crippling anxiety.
His jaw ticks. “Let’s go. I don’t have time for your shit.”
Now that reply makes me smile. “Ahh. There’s the big, grumpy man I know and like.”
“One day that mouth is going to get you in trouble.” His voice lowers.
I’m not sure what’s more dangerous—his unspoken promise or the way something flutters to life in my stomach from the one sentence.
* * *
“I’m in heaven.” I sigh before taking in another deep inhale. The different aromas surrounding us have my mouth watering in anticipation.
A bell chimes as Declan enters the dimly lit bakery behind me.
A back door swings open, basking us in bright light as a blonde woman about my age comes out. “Welcome! I’m so happy you actually made it!”
“I’m sorry we’re late.” I wince.
“Oh, please! It’s no problem at all. Why don’t you have a seat over there and I’ll get you some samples?” She gestures toward a small candlelit table for two before disappearing back into the kitchen.
“Isn’t this cozy?” I try to break the awkward silence, only to be cut off by romantic music playing softly through hidden speakers.
Declan pulls out one of the chairs for me. The exchange between us is fluid, practiced hundreds of times. Something I realize I have grossly overlooked over the years.
“Thank you.”
The wooden chair groans under the pressure of his grip. “For?”
“Always doing that. You know—with my chair.” I stumble over the words.
He doesn’t say anything as he takes the seat across from me.
…And now I remember why I stopped sayingthank youin the first place when he does something nice.
“Here we go!” The baker brings out a platter covered in mini cakes. “I’ll leave you both to try everything out in private. If you need anything, feel free to give me a shout.” She scurries away again.
My mouth waters as I scan the tray. “Do you have a preference for what kind of cake you want to try first?”
“Whatever you like is fine.” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through emails.
“Seriously? Do you ever take the night off?”
“No.”
“Then why bother coming in the first place?”
More silence. I’m starting to hate how he closes up whenever I ask anything that requires more than a basic one-sentence answer.
Instead of pulling back, I push harder. “You know what I think?”
