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"Excuse me," I call out to him. "I'm sorry, but the bakery's closed today."
The man turns to look at me, and as soon as my eyes meet his, my gut sinks lower than it's ever sunk before.
Brett Cooper is standing in the middle of my bakery, looking even hotter than he did last night.
He's wearing a crisp, tailored suit that accentuates his broad shoulders, and a gold watch glints on his left wrist. The flirtatious attitude from last night has been replaced with an air of confidence as he looks around appraisingly.
Shit.
"Hey, Sylvia," Brett says with a surprised smile. "I didn't know you worked here. Although I guess this explains the apron earrings."
"Brett." My voice is strained and high-pitched. "What are you…?"
He steps closer, seemingly unaware of my nerves. I glance toward the back room, wondering if Brittany can hear us.
Wondering if she'll be able to hear him calling me by my mother's name.
"Is Denise Lawson around?" Brett asks. "I've got a few things I want to talk to her about.” He glances back towards the kitchen and then gives me a flirty wink. "You look great, by the way."
I clear my throat. "I'm sorry, Brett," I say slowly. "But today is really not a good day for this."
He chuckles as he quirks a brow at the ice cream covering my shoes. "I can kind of see that."
Suddenly, Brittany's voice calls out from the kitchen.
"Hey, Denise? Do you have the key to the storage room? I need the heavy-duty mop."
All of the color drains from Brett's face as a look of pure panic flares in his eyes.
He takes a step back from the counter.
"Denise?" He repeats softly. "You'reDenise Lawson?"
This cannot be happening.
I walk towards the kitchen without replying.
"Coming," I say back, my voice a nervous squeak.
Pulling my keys from my pocket, I hand the correct one to Brittany. She looks over my shoulder at Brett before looking back at me with a smirk.
"Who's the hottie over there?" she whispers teasingly.
"No one," I snap. "I'm about to get rid of him."
"Why?" She grins again, wiggling her eyebrows. "He's pretty handsome."
Feigning playfulness, I put a hand on her arm and push her into the other room. Her giggles ring through the little gap until I shut the door on her again.
When I return to the dining room, Brett is pacing back and forth in front of the cash register in a daze, rubbing the back of his neck.
That's right, Brett. I'm not Sylvia Lawson.
I'm her useless disaster of a daughter, Denise.
But instead of looking angry, Brett looks almost… nervous? Flustered?
"I'm sorry, Brett," I say quickly. "Things are already crazy here, and I just can't deal with this right now."
