“Please tell me he’s not too old for me,” she breathes.
“Why don’t you check to see if Aubrey needs any help in the back? And I’m sure the muffins are ready to come out of the oven by now.”
“My parents say I’m mature for seventeen. Maybe that means they’d be cool with me dating an older guy,” she whispers just loud enough for me to hear.
I fight back laughter and order, “Rachelle, go check the muffins before I call your dad.”
“Oh, all right.” She gives in but not before she checks him out one more time. I roll my eyes at her, and she shrugs as I feel Gaston’s presence getting closer to the counter.
When she’s out of sight, I turn my head and all rational thoughts leave my mind. Anything I might have said gets stuck on the tip of my tongue as an electric current crackles between us, causing the hair on my arms and the back of my neck to stand on end. Once again faced with the full force of his beauty up close—only now in the bright light of day—I’m at a loss. I didn’t forget how attractive he is; I just assumed that my drunken mind had made him out to be hotter than he really is.
“Hey,” I finally get out as his gaze bores into mine.
“You got a minute to talk?”
I look around to make sure that the shop is empty, then tip my head to the side. “Is it okay if we talk here?”
“Yeah, this is fine.” He lifts his hand and runs his fingers through his damp hair. “You haven’t called.”
I fight back the urge to flinch from his tone and then clear my throat. “Sorry, I should have called to tell you thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful. Actually, they still are beautiful.”
“I’m not talking about you calling to thank me for the flowers. I’m talking about you not calling me at all. Are you seeing someone?”
My head jerks back from the underlying tone of frustration in his question, and I shake my head while answering. “No.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
“What?” Who asks someone something like that?
“I’m trying to figure out why I haven’t heard from you.” His eyes are filled with annoyance and bore into mine. “I thought we hit it off. No one has made me laugh the way you did. I know that even if you say you’re not attracted to me, you are. I also know I’m definitely fucking attracted to you.”
Is it hot in here? It suddenly feels really hot in here. I want to touch my cheeks to feel if they’re red, and I just barely contain the urge.
“So why haven’t you called me?”
“Honestly?”
“Well, I can’t say I’m real big on the idea of you lying to me,” he says dryly, but I still catch a hint of amusement in his eyes.
A smile I can’t hold in tips up the corner of my lips. “I’ve been trying to figure out if it’d be smart to call you.”
“Smart?” His forehead wrinkles with confusion.
“Yeah, smart. I know men and the games they like to play. They all want to catch a woman when she’s running, but once they get her in their grasp, the fun is over and they move along, leaving the woman wondering what happened and where things went wrong.”
He leans across the counter toward me, and my breath catches as he wraps his finger around a piece of hair that fell out of my ponytail, slowly tucking it behind my ear. “Don’t confuse men and boys, sweetheart,” he says, then lowers his voice. “And don’t assume you know the kind of man I am when you haven’t given me a chance to show you what I’m made of.”
Goose bumps rise along my skin as a deep, rumbly growl escapes his chest, and his suddenly dark eyes slide to my lips. My pulse skyrockets with desire, and I blurt, “Do you want a cookie?”
He blinks, leaning back out of my space and allowing me to finally breathe normally. “Did you just ask if I want a cookie?”
“Um . . . yes. You seem a little angry. Maybe your blood sugar is low.”
His lips twitch into a full smile, and I get a little lightheaded from the sight. “Do you have plans this evening?” he asks.
“Why?”
“Because I want to take you out to dinner or get a coffee with you. Honestly, at this point, I don’t care what we do, as long as I get to spend some time with you, one on one, when neither of us is working.”
With a sudden giddiness racing through my system, I study him. I don’t fully understand why this insanely gorgeous man is pursuing me, but a part of me wants to find out. “I don’t have plans, but my shop doesn’t close until six. I’d need time to go home and change, so it would be late by the time I could meet you for dinner,” I ramble.
I swear I see relief cross his features before he tells me, “You should remember that I own a club. I don’t exactly keep normal hours myself. I’m good with a late dinner if you are.”
“I’m good with that.”
“Where’s your cell phone?” I pull it out of the back pocket of my jeans, and he takes it from me, then holds it up to my face to unlock the screen. The next thing I know, he’s swiping through it quickly and his cell phone is ringing. “Now I’ve got your number, and you have mine programmed into your phone. Just send me a message to let me know when you think you’ll be ready, and I’ll pick you up at your place.”
“I can meet you somewhere.”
“You’ve been working all day. I’d rather know you got to and from dinner safe without falling asleep.”
“Okay,” I agree, not allowing myself to feel the full force of that kind of consideration in case it’s just part of a game he might be the champion at playing.
“Now, about that cookie you mentioned earlier. Do you have any oatmeal cinnamon raisin?”
“I do.” I grab two from the showcase, put them in a brown paper bag with my logo stamped on the front, and hand it to him.
“How much?” He starts to reach into the pocket of his hoodie.
“Please don’t,” I say, and he stops. “Those are apology cookies, so they’re on the house.”
He takes one cookie out of the bag and holds it up to his mouth. “I’d rather have a different form of apology.”
“Yeah, and what would that be?”
“A kiss.” He bites into the cookie, winking, and my stomach summersaults. “Holy shit.”
“What?” I start to reach for the cookie to rip it from his grasp as my mind fills with thoughts of him biting into the shell of an egg or something worse.
He looks at my hand, raises a brow, and states “This is delicious” before taking another bite.
“Did you expect it to suck?” I laugh.
He shrugs one shoulder, takes another bite, and then, once he’s chewed and swallowed, he tells me, “My mom made the best cookies I ever tasted . . . up until now.” His expression grows playful. “But if you ever tell her I said that, I’ll call you a liar.”
I laugh again, remembering how easy he is to talk to from the last time we were together and how much he makes me laugh. “So are you a mama’s boy?”
“Oh yeah.” He doesn’t even pretend to deny it.
I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. “At least tell me I’m not going to find out you live in her basement and depend on her to cook for you and do your laundry.”