Page 32 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

His jaw tightens, but his voice remains gentle. “Then I’ll make sure you never have to guess with me.”

The cooler suddenly feels like a very private space. I look at him standing a few feet away, broad shoulders filling the black T-shirt, hazel eyes steady on mine.

“You’ve been listening for more than six minutes,” I say.

“I’m distracted.”

“By what?”

“You.”

The single word travels through me like heat, impossible in a room this cold. Jake steps closer, slowly enough that I could move away, but I don’t. His hand rises to my face, thumb brushing the edge of my cheek. “You have flour here.”

“Are you surprised?”

“I’m starting to think it’s permanent.”

“Maybe I like it.”

“I might, too.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. My pulse stumbles. This is not the overlook. There is no ringing phone, no passing customer, and no bakery counter between us. Only cold air, the hum of the refrigeration unit, and Jake waiting for me to decide what happens next.

I close the distance. His mouth meets mine, warm and careful at first. The kiss lasts only a breath before everything restrained between us disappears.

Jake cups the back of my neck and pulls me closer. I grip the front of his shirt, feeling the heat and hard muscle beneath my hands. He kisses me deeper, and suddenly I do not care about the broken latch, the event order, or anything beyond the way his body presses mine against the shelving.

A container rattles beside my shoulder.

Jake breaks the kiss just enough to look behind me. “Did we damage something?”

“If you inspect the shelf right now, I will hurt you.”

His laugh warms my lips. Then he kisses me again. The door swings open. Cold white light spills into the cooler. Loralee stands on the other side holding the emergency key and a tarot card.

Jake and I separate, although not quickly enough to pretend she has interrupted an innocent conversation. Loralee looks at the card, then at us.

“Interesting.”

I pull Jake’s shirt tighter around me. “What?”

“I thought this meant a warm encounter.”

I look around the refrigerated room. “You need better cards.”

Jake steps into the hallway, clearly trying not to smile.

Loralee holds the door open while I follow. “The cards were accurate. They’re metaphorical.”

“Please return to the register.”

She walks away, entirely too pleased with herself. Jake turns toward me. His hair is slightly mussed, and his mouth is still damp from mine. I hand him his shirt.

“Thank you for helping with the flour.”

“Anytime.”

“And the cooler situation changes nothing.”