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“Trouble with the law.” He said it so certainly. “Or maybe the NFL wants him back. A real comeback number where he finally gets that Super Bowl ring.” Bootsy nodded as we continued to watch Wyatt pace and gesture wildly. “Think I saw a movie like that once.”
I hummed in agreement. I think I saw that one too.
Just then Wyatt turned and caught us staring. I quickly shifted, giving him my back and pretending to be in deep conversation with Bootsy.
The door whooshed open, causing the bell to clank against the glass. I froze.
“Don’t send anyone. I’ll handle it.” Wyatt’s rumbly, grumpy voice sent tingles racing down my spine as I moved deeper into the bakery to avoid him. “Lark.”
His voice thundered over my name in one deliciously crabby syllable.
I slowly turned and smiled, praying it didn’t falter, as every eye in the bakery was on us.
“I’m hiring you.”
“You’re what?”
“Hiring you. Let’s go.” He gestured toward the exit, expecting me to follow.
“Wait—I can’t just—where are we going?”
He let loose an annoyed sigh. “Look. Everyone knows you’re a terrible server. Huck can’t afford to lose any more dishes, and I need your help. Trust me, if I could ask anyone else, I would.”
Ouch. Okay, well, that stung.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Who said I would even want to work for you?” I spread my arms wide. “I have a perfectly good job here.”
“Huck!” Wyatt shouted across the crowded bakery at my boss, who was stacking fresh pastries into the display case. “Will you please fire her?”
A sly grin spread across Huck’s stupid face. “Lark, you’re fired.”
I rolled my eyes.
“See?” Wyatt said smugly. “You need a job. I have a job for you. You’re hired.”
Huck sauntered over, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re kind of terrible at this.”
I scrunched my nose at him. “Not cool.”
Wyatt grabbed my shoulders and gently steered me toward the exit.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Huck called out, “I’ll throw in one complimentary latte a day for all the work you did organizing the pantry. That spreadsheet is a lifesaver. Consider it a severance package.”
I scowled at him. “One latte”—I raised a finger to point in his direction—“plus a lemon blueberry scone when you make them.”
Huck nodded, satisfied that his karma was still intact as Wyatt wound me through the crowd and out into the midday sunshine.
As soon as we got outside, I turned on him. “What the hell, Wyatt?”
“Hey, Lark!” Penny called out as she walked on the top of the cement planter.
“Pickle, get down.” Wyatt held out a hand, and Penny hopped off the planter and sat cross-legged on the sidewalk.
I glared up at him. “You kiss me and then ignore me and then I’m—”
“Keep your voice down.” Wyatt encroached on my space, and the fight died from my lungs as he guided me away from the sidewalk to press up against the brick of the Sugar Bowl.
“Look. Kissing you was... it was...”
