Page 61 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

“I love it.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice warms every part of me. I place one of the rolls on a plate and slide it across the counter. Jake takes a bite. I pretend not to hold my breath. His eyes close briefly while he chews. Then he takes another bite, larger than the first.

“Well?” I ask.

He considers his answer with unnecessary seriousness.

“It’s good.”

“Good?”

“Very good.”

I point toward the front door. “You may leave.”

Jake laughs, catches my hand across the counter, and pulls me close enough to kiss my fingers.

“It’s the best thing you’ve made.”

“That is the correct answer.”

The bell rings again as the first group of morning customers enters. Two of Jake’s employees immediately notice the sign.

“You named one after him?” Cole asks.

“It was a temporary lapse in judgment.”

Jake picks up his plate before anyone can get near it. “Order your own.”

Within fifteen minutes, every table is occupied.

The Renewal Celebration changed something for Sweet Treats. People who discovered the bakery that night have continued coming back, bringing friends and placing orders. I now have three catering jobs scheduled for the next month and enough holiday requests to justify another legal pad.

The electrical panel has also been inspected. I contacted the electrician myself, reviewed the estimate, and hired him to complete the necessary upgrades. Jake did not make the call, negotiate the price, or stand over the electrician while he worked. He only asked whether I wanted him present. I said yes.

The front-door hinge has been fully repaired, too. Jake submitted a written request. I approved it. We are both learning.

Between customers, a woman asks whether I have recipes for any of the rotating muffins. She tells me she would love to make the lemon-blueberry ones for her daughter.

“Not yet,” I say, then glance at the stack of cards Loralee brought.

The idea has been growing since the celebration.

Caramel apple. Lemon-blueberry. Strawberry cream cheese. Apple crisp cheesecake. There will be more as the seasons change.

“I’m putting together a Muffin of the Week recipe collection,” I tell her. “You can leave your email at the counter, and I’ll send a notice when it’s ready.”

She writes her address on the signup card. Loralee gives me a pleased look.

“Abundance,” she whispers.

I choose not to argue. By seven, only three Dalton rolls remain.

Jake has finished his breakfast but has not left for work. He stands beside the display in his black company shirt, explaining to a customer that the oak shelves came from the old Mercantile building.

When he notices me watching, he walks back to the counter.

“You’re smiling,” he says.