Page 4 of Sweetly Yours

He stirs, his tail wagging lazily before he settles back down, and I lean back, letting my gaze drift to the sunflowers on the counter.

The sunflowers catch the afternoon light, their golden petals glowing like little beacons of hope. Brock’s face flashes in my mind—his dark eyes, the way he smiled when he said my name, the softness in his voice when he handed me those flowers.

Maybe… just maybe…

I pick up his card, running my thumb over the embossed lettering.Call me anytime,he’d said.

The card feels heavier in my hand than it should, as though it knows I’ve been staring at it for the last ten minutes, trying to psych myself up to make the call. It’s just a business call. That’s all. Nothing to get worked up about.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I glance at Frankie, who’s lounging in his bed and looking completely unbothered. “You think I should call him, don’t you?”

He snorts, then rolls onto his back, his tiny paws stretching in the air.

“Yeah, thought so,” I mutter, grabbing my phone and punching in the number.

It rings twice before his deep, smooth voice comes through the line. “Brock Steele.”

My heart skips. Of course his voice would be as attractive as the rest of him. “Hi, Brock. It’s Willow—uh, Willow Hart, from Sweetly Yours.”

“Oh, hey,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I was hoping I’d hear from you.”

The butterflies in my stomach take flight, and I force myself to stay focused. “I just wanted to get some details about the pastries for your event. Do you know how many you’ll need? Or what flavors you’re interested in?”

“Right, the important stuff,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “I’d say enough for about forty people. And as for flavors... I trust your judgment. Everything you make is amazing. Especially your cinnamon rolls.”

The compliment catches me off guard, and I find myself smiling despite the heat creeping up my neck. “Well, thank you. I could do a mix—maybe some chocolate ganache cupcakes, lemon bars, and my strawberry shortcake cookies?”

“That sounds perfect,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes my chest tighten. “But let me know if it’s too much. I don’t want to overload you.”

“It’s no trouble,” I assure him. “I’ve got it under control.”

There’s a brief pause, and then his voice softens. “How are you, Willow?”

The question surprises me, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. “Oh, I’m good. Busy, as always.”

“I figured. You run the best bakery in town.”

The butterflies are back, fluttering wildly. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice dips lower, almost like he’s leaning closer, even though we’re on the phone. “So, what do you do when you’re not baking? Any hobbies?”

The casual question catches me off guard, but I find myself relaxing into the conversation. “I don’t have a ton of free time, but I love music. I usually have something playing while I’m working. Lately, it’s been a lot of acoustic guitar.”

“Acoustic guitar, huh?” His voice brightens with interest. “That’s a good choice.”

I tilt my head, curious. “Do you play?”

“I do,” he says, and I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve been playing since I was a kid. Mostly for fun, but I do a set at The Rusty Note on Friday nights when I can.”

“The Rusty Note?”

“It’s the bar over on Main Street,” he explains. “Small place, good vibe. You should come check it out. Bring your friend June, if you want. I’d love to see you there.”

The invitation sends a fresh wave of nerves—and excitement—through me. “Oh, I don’t know...”

“No pressure,” he says quickly. “But if you like acoustic guitar, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

I chew on my bottom lip, the thought of seeing him again making my stomach do flips. “Okay,” I say before I can second-guess myself. “I’ll see if June’s free, and... we’ll stop by.”

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