Page 11 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

I look at Loralee. “Ava is a Virgo?”

“Obviously.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I say honestly to Loralee.

“It means she can’t help it.”

“Help what?” Ava demands.

Loralee gestures vaguely toward the bakery. “The lists. The labels. The need to make everything precisely right … and never give up control or have deficiencies pointed out.”

Ava points toward the back room. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“Yes, but this is more interesting.”

A customer behind me clears his throat.

Ava pastes on a pleasant smile. “Jake has his order. Jake is leaving.”

I pick up the coffee and bag. The door groans again when a customer exits. The screw probably moves another fraction. I could leave. I should leave. Instead, I set the bag back on the counter.

Ava’s pleasant smile disappears. “What are you doing?”

“Do you have a screwdriver?”

“No.”

“You own a business in a historic building and don’t have a screwdriver?”

“I own several screwdrivers. You may not use any of them.”

“Fine.”

I pull a compact multi-tool from the holder on my belt.

Her eyes widen. “Absolutely not.”

“It will take thirty seconds.”

“It could take three seconds, and the answer would still be no.”

“It’s a loose screw, Ava.”

“It is my loose screw.”

Loralee makes a small choking sound and turns away. I look at her. She looks determinedly at the lemon bars. Ava comes around the counter as I walk toward the door.

“Jake.”

I open the multi-tool and select the screwdriver.

“Jake Dalton.”

“That sounds more serious,” I tell her.

“I am serious.”

A customer enters before I reach the hinge. The door catches slightly, then jerks open. Another splinter drops from the frame. I hold it up between two fingers. Ava stares at the piece of wood. I wait. Her shoulders lift and fall with one controlled breath.