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His voice relaxed a little here, and it gave me the chance to relax as well. Pulling out my keys to the shop, I let us in and hoped the owners wouldn’t check the security footage. It wasn’t like they’d ever said Icouldn’thave guests over when working…but I’d never tried before.
“How long have you worked here?”
His eyes were all over me, taking in my lips, my hands, my eyes. The attention was as thrilling as it was scary. I wanted him to want me, but I wasn’t sure why.
He was gorgeous.
That had to be why.
“Six years. The owner, Nancy, taught me everything I know.” I smiled, taking off my coat. “There’s a quick custard I can make for you,” I offered. “I made extra crusts for them yesterday, so we’re in luck.”
“You don’t have to do all of this,” he said as he watched me pull out bowls and pans.
I knew he was right.
I usually wouldn’t be this open to it.
Something about him made me want to make him smile.
Twenty minutes later, and a little fuss with the whipped cream dispenser, and he was putting one of my treats into his mouth.
“Wow.” His voice was deep as he complimented me between bites.
I laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”
“That’s amazing, you shouldn’t be working in some small bakery like this.” He licked his thumb to get some custard that had dripped, and it was almost lewd.
“It’s not like it’s my dream job to cook,” I admitted with a shrug. Pulling out my actual work for the day, I set to activating some yeast as we spoke.
“What do you want to do?”
“I went to school for medicinal magic.” This wasn’t something I told a lot of people, but with him I felt impelled to be open about everything. It felt like he was almost interrogating me with his eyes.
Like he was pulling the words out of me like taffy.
“Why don’t you pursue that?”
This wasn’t just making small talk, he seemed like he genuinely wanted to know.
“I don’t usually spill my tragic backstory to a man whose name I don’t know,” I teased.
He laughed and nodded. It was good to see him laugh, his lips curling into an actual smile. “My name is Lerin Everglast.” He leaned forward on the cashier counter between us. His jacket had been cast aside when I started up the ovens for the day, and his button-front shirt was twisting around the muscles of his arms like he was trying to show off.
He was built like he’d never had custard in his life.
I’d ruin that gorgeous body of his if he kept popping by in the middle of the night.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Olive.” I smiled as I measured out some strawberries to make into a jam.
“Olive.” My name in his voice was sinful. “Do you usually let strangers into your shop?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Lucky me,” he chuckled.
My face heated up, and I turned away to act like I was busy getting clamshell containers ready for the goods. It felt like my first crush, my shyness shattering me to pieces.
“So why didn’t you go into medicine?” he asked calmly, leaning back against the counter. It soothed me down from my anxieties, and I made myself relax.
