Page 56 of Desserts for Stressed People

Mrs. Powdy doesn’t wait for his agreement before dragging him away, and I can’t help but giggle at the way his brows furrow. I bet that’s the first time someone touched him that aggressively without signing a legal form first.

I walk to the counter, waving at the barista. “Hi, Jill. Two coffees, please.”

* * *

“Mrs. Powdy!Can I get Shane back?”

The short woman spins around, telling us to enjoy our coffee and not to eventhinkabout paying. But she always says that, so I’ve already paid.

“Does everybody love you?” Shane asks as he follows me through the café with a curious gaze.

We sit at a small white table—my favorite, because it is terrazzo-style, with little colorful mixed stones peeking through the white material. “Mrs. Powdy loves everyone.”

Stirring his coffee, he shakes his head. “It’s not just her. Your colleagues, the people who gave us the tours of the locations, everyone at the dinner, Mr. Thompson.”

“You meanEssentially-Billy?” I ask with a smirk.

His shoulders shake with laughter. “Yes. Appropriate nickname. You should hear howEssentially-Billytalks about you.”

I shrug. “He is a real suck-up. The master of ass-kissing.”

“No, Heaven. It’s you. You’re a nice, considerate person, and people like you.”

Okay, he’s right. I enjoy being liked, even if I don’t take shit from people. I make an effort when I can because it feels good. “You know who people like?” I ask, and he tilts his head. “Bakers. Why don’t you have your own bakery? You obviously love it.”

He grins—like he knows I’m changing the topic. “It’s a hobby. Often, when your hobby turns into your job, it stops being fun.”

I get that. If he were to open a bakery, baking would only be a small part of his job. But it’s not like he can’t handle stress or doesn’t like managing. I’d say he likes it a little too much. “Are you sure that’s the reason?” I tease.

“Yes?” His right brow perks up. “What do you think is the real reason?”

I give him a single-shoulder shrug. “Maybe you’re afraid of failing.”

“I’ve never failed at anything in my life, Heaven.”

“Which is why the possibility of failing at what you love the most terrifies you,” I insist, and when the corner of his lips lifts, I shrug. “Just a guess.”

“Okay, you’re right. Your appreciation for my desserts flatters me, but I’m not sure you’re qualified enough to deem them sale-worthy. Or to recommend I base my livelihood on cheesecake.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, and with a pointed look, I answer, “I’m not qualified enough to manage the Devòn event either, yet here we are.”

“You’re almost as cocky as me, you know that?” he whispers, leaning forward.

Mirroring his position, I click my tongue. “I’m much cockier than you.”

He offers me a wide grin, his eyes shooting to my lips for a second as he rests his back on the chair. My heart is fast in my chest, the cloud of sexual tension between us so thick that I’m surprised my bra hasn’t snapped open on its own volition.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be your manager,” I mumble, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation. “You bake, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Manager, huh? That’s your position in our business?”

“Yes. Head chief manager of the board of directors and kings.”

With an amused smile, he threads his fingers through his hair, styling them back. “Okay. What’s mine?”

“Well, you’re the baker, of course.”

I take a sip of my coffee as he leans with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “Of course. And are we going into this fifty-fifty?”

---