It is the rich chocolate of his brown eyes that lingers with me the most. The way he can be across the street and the second he looks at me, I have to stop. Anytime our eyes lock, we stand there like we are caught in an invisible web. Or if I happen to have my back to the door when he walks into my bakery, I know, just know, it is him. No need to turn and check. It’s almost like the electricity shifts and all the hairs on my arms and neck lift.
What is up with that?
Fate is what my best friends like to call it, but me? I don’t know. Cherry Fall’s fire chief is a mystery to me every day of the week, and on a Sunday like today, I have way too much quiet time on my hands. A wandering muse can get a girl in trouble.
Even his name stirs the fires. Strong, dominant. Nothing wildly insane. Stable.
“Miles Malone,” I mutter to myself.
The soft click of heels hits my ears seconds before my back door swings open.
Sunbeams chase her feet as she closes the door behind her. “Wow. Simply, just…WOW!” She grabs my shoulders and peeks over at my work. “Damn girl, that’s gorgeous! Did you just wake up one day and say, this is it. I want to make cakes for the rest of my life?”
I tuck my straight shoulder-length hair behind an ear, flashing a smile. “Poppy O’ Henry, I was wondering when you would break away and come steal a cookie,” I say through a laugh. I don’t look up from my work when I hear the door to my sunroom slash laundry area creak open and my best friend walks in. Bubbly, energetic, and lover of all things with a pedal.
“Promise me you’ll do my cake when—if— the big day comes?”
“Of course! Like that’s even a question.”
She sets a fresh cup of black cherry mocha—to die for and addictive—from the Cherry Tree Coffee Co down the road. My mouth waters the second the decadent scent hits me while she picks a pink-iced cookie for us both.
My new place, Bela’s Bakery doesn’t open until noon on Sundays so Poppy knows to use her spare key on the back door. Plus, I keep all the freshly decorated cookies on a shelf to the right of the door, and she always loves being the first to scope one out.
“You would think being a pastry chef was always my dream but nah. I wanted to be a legit worm hunter for my dad, a snail rescuer thanks to my back-door neighbor who had more salt piles on her porch than—”
“Eww, gross,” Poppy cuts in. “But kinda cool too. Both probably landed you lots of boyfriends, huh?” she wiggles her brows and smirks.
“Err…sadly no.” Being a tomboy who could out-boy the cutest boy in school tended to scare the boys away.
“Sorry I cut in,” she gives a little shiver and leans a hip against my work counter, eyes drinking in one of the two projects I have spread out.
“What else? You had something else you were going to say. Let me guess, a candle maker?” She spies my collection tastefully placed amongst a variety of cakes and pies.
I shake my head, lips sealed shut.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you? There was something else you were going to say.” She points her cookie at me. “Come on, fess up.”
I shrug, batting away her assumption. When I first arrived in town a couple of months ago, Poppy was the first to welcome me to the small town of Cherry Falls. She loved my ideas for the new bakery I purchased from the fire chief’s adoptive parents, and I loved her ability to grow literally anything. Our styles are a little bit different—she’s super chic and mine is based on ‘if it pairs with jeans or a pretty skirt, we roll’. We became instant best friends.
Lucky for me the local flower girl liked cookies and had a sweet tooth the day I hung out my shingle because I needed a friend. Nothing is worse than coming to a new town and not knowing a soul. Added bonus we’re the same age. Twenty-four is an interesting age, my mom likes to say. The door to the world is open and you can pick any path. Mine led me to Cherry Falls. Leaving behind Syn City was painful at first, but a quaint town like this one grows on you fast.
A few months ago, I lost my dear gran, which pushed me into committing to an idea already baking in the back of my head. My gran was a woman who saw to it I knew how to make pancakes by five and any kind of cake by twelve. The talk of one day setting up her own bakery in Cherry Falls was a dream she never saw into reality.
I take in the filled dessert cases, the sweet pies and tarts, all treats she taught me how to make, and smile to myself.
With the inheritance Gran left, Bela’s Bakery is a dream come true for both of us. But it’s a lot of long hours and hard work.
I arch a brow, not taking my eye off the edible gold foil I am working up the ripped seam of a wedding cake. It’s going to be epic with the spilled amethyst-colored candied gems down the side and all the flowers. I still have another day’s worth of work ahead.
“What makes you think there’s a ‘something else’? Aren’t those two bad enough?”
Poppy takes another chunk out of her heart cookie, the sprinkled glitter on top raining over her white blouse.
I smile.
“My sweet, Bela. Because you have a tell. You purse your lips like you have the juiciest piece of candy in your mouth and don’t want to share where you found the stash.”
I do? I mentally check my lips and she’s right. I’m puckered like I have a secret to spill.
Fine. Sometimes people have maps of their lives at the ready for them practically before they learn how to walk. Either by bossy parents or they just know. Not me. I wanted to try everything. The usual made my list—firefighter, air force pilot, and cop, like most kids with a love for adventure. But in between those options, I had a few more unique ideas. Like on my eleventh birthday.
“A kisser.” I keep my focus on the cake and a tight rein in my tenancy to beam red. “Like that is even a job.” I can’t help but laugh at myself.
Poppy chokes on her second cookie. “A do what?”
“A kisser. I thought it would be so romantic to teach the boys in my school class how to kiss. As if I knew anything. If successful I could branch out to other classrooms and eventually the world by the time I was eighteen. I would be the queen of romance.” I laugh at my childhood ideas. “I wanted to be the kind of kisser who would help boys learn how to kiss and make every girl’s dream come true. I was eleven and found a book on French kissing in the library.”
Poppy clears her throat which I suspect is to hide a giggle. “So naturally you were in a position of authority on the topic.”
I pause, turn and look her dead in the eye. “I had a whole plan of action in place. From start to finish.”
“I bet you did, you little planner you. Tell me all about it.”
“My slogan would’ve been, ‘Kiss your way to love.’”
I give her credit. Poppy stares at me for ten whole seconds before she doubles over laughing. Tears stream down her face and it takes a good five minutes for her to calm enough to talk again. “No wonder you didn’t want to share.”
“Don’t you tell another soul.”
We bump our cookies. “Sister code.”
“So what stopped your kissing career?”
“Chickenpox that summer.”
“Ahh.”
“My turn. Get this, some guy came in the Flower Patch today and ordered everything we had. Emptied the entire store. I barely made it out with these.” She passes over a few bundles of lavender I plan on using in the decorations for the cake.
I put down my piping bag. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. He wanted to make the biggest proposal for his girl. After that kind of price tag, I hope she said yes.”
I grab my black cherry mocha off the counter and we both head to a table. I’ve been on my feet since sunrise and due a little break before the next round of cake baking starts. It’s great being the owner of my own place and in control of my hours.
“That’s the kind of romance I want. Someone who goes balls to the wall for me.”
I weigh my friend’s words. I’m totally onboard for romance, but I just made a substantial purchase—this bakery and the upstairs apartment. I can’t afford to split my focus away from building up my business and making this town my new home. Mr. Chocolate Eyes comes to mind. A serious relationship might not be in the cards, but I wouldn’t mind some flirty evenings with a certain someone. “Maybe,” I agree with a shrug.
Poppy is unable to sit still so she examines the new Valentine’s cookie rack. These have little messages on them ranging in heat level from ‘kiss me’ to ‘wanna foreplay’?
“Oh, you’re devious.” Poppy pushes aside the apron draped over the counter for a better look. “I’ll take four of these, please. That one, that one, and those two.” The closer she reads the dirtier messages on the back cookies the more my friend blushes.
I push away my empty coffee and package up her order. “Hot date?”
“You better believe it.”
She goes to pay but I push her hand away. “I’ll take payment in the form of all the hot details of said date. Who is it anyway?” That’s another thing. I don’t date much. Try like ever. Not in Syn City with its millions of possible candidates and definitely not here. A town where literally everyone knows your name. One fact I happen to love about the place—its community. They care about each other whereas in Syn City the size makes me feel like an ant.
“A customer from the flower shop.”
“Aren’t men who buy flowers usually momma boys or taken?”
Poppy drops a shocked face. “Judgy much. Are men who buy cupcakes and cookies?”
“Fair point.”
“In my experience guys like sweets and flowers too.”
“Touché. What makes this guy stand out?”
“The fact he didn’t have a wedding band, fake tan and could spell hydrangea when I asked for him to write down his order.”
I smother a giggle. “You what?”
“Evil I know, I know, but what can I say? I like brains. They’re sexy. What about you? Why haven’t you asked that hot fire chief over for some of your cupcakes? He’s got it all. Brains and the bod.”
Poppy waggles her perfectly tweezed brows at me and winks. “Think I haven’t noticed him eyeing your cute little ass every time he comes in here or sees you walking down the street? I have an ear, too. People are talking.”
“People are what?” Great! I make a show of clutching my chest. “Please don’t let me become the topic of the town’s gossip. I thought there had to be a year of residency before one was up for nomination,” I joke.
We touch this topic of the fire chief at least once a week so I knew it would come up sooner or later given Valentine’s is right around the corner and Poppy is trying to play Cupid. Again. “He’s cute, but—”
“Wicked. Sexy.”
“Okay, he’s a ‘drop-dead gorgeous, I would burn down my house just to be in his arms’ kinda hot.”
Poppy bobs her head. “There you go. But?”
“But every time I try to talk to him he grunts, takes his order, and walks out. End of story. And he never crosses the street to talk to me when we see each other out and about.” I pause. “But there was that one time, in his office. I stopped by to donate some leftover goodies from a bake sale.” I look dreamily to the ceiling, pretending to be lost in a fantasy.
“The time he almost kissed you. I’ve heard.”
“It’s seared into my brain, Poppy.” I turn the lock on the front door and flip the closed sign to open before getting back to my two projects waiting on the back work table. “I swear I have the worst timing possible. The fire alarm went off and he went into fire chief mode. Sexy as hell in those suspenders and gear, but yeah, mood killer too.”
“Change of subject before you turn any redder. I meant to tell you, there’s a pup by your back door. Little cutie pie tried hard to get in.”
“Oh, man, did you close the door?”
“Yep, don’t worry. I gotta run now, but catch you later?” Poppy grabs her box of naughty heart cookies and heads for the front door. She stops short and turns on her heel. “Wait. What the heck are you working on now?”
“Just noticing, huh? A headless penis if I can’t get this mold just right.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen it all now.”
“It will have cream in the center when I’m done.” I pour in the cake batter and slide the cake into the oven. “There. Twenty minutes and I’ll have a penis to decorate.”
“It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. Can I have pictures when you’re done?”
“Sure,” I say with a low laugh. “I think the friends of the bachelorette want to surprise the bride-to-be after the main cake or the other way around. No idea. All five of the ladies were laughing too hard to ask when they came in to make the order.”
The bell over the front door jingles. I turn, expecting to see the blonde-haired, green-eyed Casey Cook. She’s worked for me since day one and is never late.
Instead, it’s a different set of eyes that reach for mine.
“Miles!” I glance at the clock. “You’re late. Everything ok down at the station?” Every time he comes in, it’s sharply at noon for his weekly dose of sugar for him and the crew.
I try for small talk but he only nods.
From behind him, Poppy flashes me a smile and gives me the thumbs up before dashing out the door.
Unaware of my silent conversation, he weaves through the tables dotting the front area of the bakery in his usual confidant gate. Strong legs encased in black and a navy blue short-sleeved Henley with Cherry Falls Fire Station of the left pec clings to perfectly taut muscles. I can practically see the ridges through the cotton of his shirt. And the way the hem of the sleeve grips his biceps…swoon.
The memory of his lips almost touching mine that one time sends a shudder through me.
“You want the usual today?”
Another nod.
This man.
“Fifteen sugar-glazed doughnuts coming right up.”
I prep his order, the whole time feeling his eyes tracking my every move. I step to the counter, ready for this to end in the same fashion as it always does each week. Why I haven’t worked up the courage to ask him out, I don’t know. But I think step one, a conversation, would be nice first. Go from there. But I don’t expect his hand to come out and rest overtop mine.
Instant. Heat.
Miles moves closer until he’s standing right in front of me, only a counter of doughnuts and cookies between us.
My eyes flash to his and for a long second, we stand there. Not breathing. Or at least I’m not breathing.
“Can you make it twenty-five today?”
Husky as fuck. Like he has breathed smoky air his whole life and it’s left him with a raspy voice made to make women’s girly parts quiver. Which, he probably has, given his job title. Duh. But damn. Wicked sexy is right.
“Sure. Have a sweet tooth today?” I wish I could pat myself on the back right now for not sounding like a fluttering, breathy teen.
“Anything else with these doughnuts, Chief?”
“Nah, just the doughnuts will do for today. Hard habit to break. And please, it’s just Miles.”
I think that makes this officially the longest conversation we’ve held.
“Miles. What do you mean?”
He takes his order and heads for the door. “Cop. Ten years. Syn City. Before Cherry Falls and this gig.”
“And the plot thickens,” I mutter to myself as I watch his retreating back. And what a back.
For a second my mind doesn’t register the blur of black and red running down the road, but when my brain finally clicks on, I gasp, toss off my apron, and run for the door.
