Page 20 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

When I hold wood in my hands, it tells me what it can support. Metal bends at predictable points. If something does not sit level, there is a reason, and the reason can usually be found. People are more complicated.

A woman can be delighted that I am building something for her and irritated that I noticed she needed it. She can smile at me while warning me not to mention her door hinge. She can make me want to stay in a bakery long after I have finished mycoffee, then look at me as though I am one inch away from being banned for life.

The next evening

Now, it’s all about the finishing touches on this display. The dark metal supports give it the industrial character I wanted without making it look heavy. The three oak tiers are broad enough for Ava’s trays, and the sections lock together without visible hardware.

Across the curved piece at the top, I burn two words into the wood.

SWEET TREATS

I stare at the lettering after I finish. That was not part of the original plan. Neither was the small apple carved beside it. I could sand both away, but I apply the food-safe finish instead.

The next afternoon, I load the completed pieces into my truck and recruit Cole to help me carry them. He asks no questions, which is proof he intends to save all of them for later.

Sweet Treats closes at five. At five-oh-three, we arrive. Ava unlocks the front door and waves us inside.

Her dark hair hangs loose around her shoulders instead of being twisted into its usual bun, and she has traded her apron for a soft green sweater that follows the curves of her body more closely than anything I have seen her wear.

I nearly miss the mat. Her gaze drops to my boots. I wipe them … twice.

“Thank you,” she says.

“I’m trainable.”

“We’ll see.”

Cole coughs into his fist behind me, but not before doing the same with his own boots. We carry the display sections inside and begin assembling them near the front window. Ava circles us while we work, trying to see without getting in the way. She lasts less than a minute before kneeling beside me.

“Can I help?”

“Hold this steady.”

Ava grips the side support while I secure the upper tier. Her fingers are close to mine. Her hands are soft-looking but stronger than I expected. She braces the wood exactly where I ask.

“You’re good at taking directions,” I say.

“Do not become accustomed to it.”

Cole turns away, but his shoulders move. I make a mental note to assign him every unpleasant job available next week. Once the final bracket is locked into place, I step back.

The display fills the front corner without overwhelming it. The aged oak warms the bakery’s cream walls and connects naturally with the exposed brick. When Ava sees the burned lettering, she goes very still.

“You added my name.”

“The bakery’s name.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her fingers trace the small carved apple.

I suddenly feel less certain than I did when I designed the entire thing.

“If you don’t like it, I can remove that section.”

Her head lifts. “Why would I want you to remove it?”

“I didn’t ask first.”