Page 19 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

His mouth curves.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I think about a lot of things.”

His eyes hold mine long enough for warmth to creep into my cheeks.

I look down and writePORTABLE DISPLAYon my list, followed by three firm lines beneath it.

“What time should I bring it?” he asks.

“After closing would be easiest. Around five?”

“I’ll be here.”

Jake slips the multi-tool back onto his belt and heads for the door. This time, he remembers to take it with him.

He stops before stepping outside.

“For the record, I didn’t leave it here on purpose.”

“Of course not.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then you’re unusually careless with your equipment.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Maybe I wanted another muffin.”

“That explanation is more believable.”

Jake gives me that slow, almost-smile and walks out. The hinge squeaks behind him. I choose not to care.

In two days, Jake Dalton is bringing me exactly what I need, built specifically for Sweet Treats. There is nothing dangerousabout feeling this happy over a pastry display. At least, that is what I tell myself.

Chapter 4

Jake

Itold Ava I could have the display finished in two days. I didn’t tell her I’m beginning on it this afternoon.

By five, the Jefferson Street crew has packed up, the power tools are locked inside the trailer, and everyone with better plans has gone home. I should do the same. Instead, I drive to the Dalton Restoration shop on the edge of town and stand in front of the reclaimed lumber racks, considering wood grain as seriously as if I am choosing material for a courthouse restoration.

A simple display would be enough. Three shelves, sturdy supports, a finish that can be wiped clean. Ava needs something functional, portable, and ready before the Forge Creek celebration. I pull out several different boards before finding the right ones.

The oak came from the old Mercantile building after a burst pipe destroyed part of the second floor. The boards are more than a hundred years old, marked by small nail holes and darker streaks where shelving once rested against them. We salvaged everything we could before the damaged section was rebuilt.

Most people would see scarred wood. Ava will see character. At least, I hope she will.

I run my hand across the grain and picture it filled with her creations. Items arranged with the same care she gives the bakery case. When she described what she wanted, her entire face changed. The guarded woman who monitors muddy boots disappeared for a few seconds, replaced by someone excited enough to forget she is supposed to be cautious around me.

I want to see that expression again. That is one of the reasons I sketch a curved header for the top shelf instead of keeping the design basic. It is also the only reason I measure the width twice, adjust the spacing to accommodate bakery trays, and add removable metal brackets so the entire unit can break down for transport.

None of this has anything to do with the fact that Ava smiled at me or my intense attraction to her.

The work distracts me from thinking so much of her and more on the task ahead. I carefully measure, cut, and ensemble checking the fit.