Page 37 of Hold the Line

“That’s cute. So, I guess…you’re dating him?”

“It’s really new, but yes. I think so.”

“I bet he really likes you. You’re so pretty and sweet. Plus, you make great desserts.”

I snorted. If that was all it took to win over a man I liked, I guessed I was a shoo-in. “Thank you, sweetheart. I really like him, so I hope he really likes me too.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

She sipped the coffee I’d made, and her lips puckered, making me laugh.

“That’s a strong one.”

She pushed it back toward me. “I don’t think I’m a coffee drinker.”

“That’s okay.” I brought the straw to my lips and winked. “I drink enough for us both.”

A customer came in, ending our chat. Hailey rang him up, and I made his coffee. That was the beginning of our late afternoon rush. The two of us moved around behind the counter like we’d been choreographed, grabbing drinks and pastries in a smooth dance.

Hailey stayed until we flipped the “closed” sign, and her foster mom pulled up in a minivan to drive her home, like she did at the end of every shift.

Her foster family included six children—some biological, some not. When I’d first hired her, I’d worried she might have a troubled home life, but that didn’t seem to be the case. She was shy and lived in a crowded house, but as far as I could tell, she wasn’t being mistreated. I’d never asked why she preferred to be paid in cash, but I hoped if I was wrong—if something was happening at home—she’d eventually trust me enough to tell me.

My heart kicked up when I spotted the silver truck idling in a parking spot out front and the tattooed arm hanging out the window. I walked straight up to the door, fighting to keep a silly grin off my face.

“Waiting for someone?”

“I was.” Deacon opened his door and climbed out to stand on the sidewalk in front of me. Still in his work clothes, he looked good as ever. Maybe better. There was something about a man in a canvas jacket, dirty jeans, and scuffed-up steel-toed boots. He’d worked hard all day, yet here he was, giving me his time. “Can I give you a ride home?”

“I’d love one.”

He walked with me to the passenger side and opened the door. There, sitting on the seat, was a bouquet of wildflowers. I spun around to face him, eyes wide and a wild heart.

“To make up for yesterday,” he murmured.

“You had nothing to make up for.” I picked them up and held them to my nose. “They’re beautiful, Deacon. You really didn’t have to, but thank you.”

“Glad you like ’em.” He patted the seat. “Hop in, sugar.”

My heart pinged. “Sugar, huh?”

He pitched forward, bringing his nose close to my hair, and inhaled. “You always smell sweet, but when you leave work, you smell like pure sugar. Didn’t mean to call you that, though. Slipped out.”

“That’s okay.” I turned my head, my cheek brushing his. “It was sweet. I liked it.”

All he did was grunt and give a little push to guide me into the truck. That was a good thing since I needed a second to collect myself. I’d been called plenty of nicknames, but I liked being called “sugar” by Deacon Slater the very best.

The drive down Main Street was slow going. Between the two stop lights, people returning home from their jobs, and pedestrians crossing the road, we were moving at a snail’s pace. So slow, I had to laugh.

“I could have walked faster.”

Deacon’s mouth quirked. “Thought I was doing you a favor, giving you a ride. I slowed you down.”

“I’m sitting next to you, so I’m not complaining.”

He glanced at me. “You want, I could pick you up every day.”

“The thing is, I sample a lot of the sweets I bake.”

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