Page 27 of Half Baked

I don’t admit that though. Instead, I watch him make himself at home in my kitchen and I think about how I should be in the bakehouse’s kitchen right now.

“What’s happening in that head of yours?” he asks, setting a plate on my lap and taking a seat on the sofa beside me. His weight causes me to slide down the cushion until I’m pressed against him. I try to slide away again, but it’s akin to what shimming upward on a waterslide would do. Nothing.

“I’m supposed to be at the bakery right now. If I’m not there, it doesn’t open.”

Hayden nudges me to take a bite, and when I do, a moan slips from me. He grins crookedly at the sound.

“Good?”

“Not bad.”

“Mhmm. Listen, just a suggestion, but what if I took over all those little pies you made yesterday? And I saw those cookie bars in the freezer. That would give you some business today, right?”

“Don’t you have your own job to get to?” I ask, trying to ignore the warmth that tugs at my heart from his offer to do yet another favor for me.

“Yes, and it would be a waste of time to have to respond to an unconscious baker at the wharf when I can just help now.”

“So, you’re just being efficient.”

“Obviously.”

I take another bite and nod. “If it’s for purely selfish reasons, I guess I can’t stop you.”

A deep laugh rumbles in his chest. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”

I look over to see his plate cleared. How did he eat all of that already? I blink at him, not sure why I’m disappointed. “No, I don’t need anything. The bakery key is hanging by the door.”

“Anything that you like when you don’t feel good?”

“Oh, um. My grandma used to make me this lemon lavender tea. But?—”

“I’ll make some before I go, I saw it on your counter.” He rises and moves back into the kitchen. If there’s a record forthe number of times a single person has surprised another in one morning, I’m certain we’ve surpassed it. I watch him in lieu of responding. Because what can I say when he’s checked the disdain at the door?

“Is this what you make those scones with?” he asks, preparing the kettle.

I stiffen. “It is.”

He moves about my kitchen, locating a mug and preparing the tea. When the kettle whistles, Hayden plucks it from the stove and pours the hot water. “They’re amazing, you know.”

“What are?”

Coming back to perch on the edge of the coffee table, he waits for me to sit forward and adjust the blanket over my lap before I accept the piping hot mug. I close my eyes and bring it up to my nose, inhaling deeply.

Pure comfort in a cup. The memory of my grandmother’s love washes over me. For a split second, I allow myself to bask in the feeling. And when I open my eyes again, Hayden flashes me a soft smile that is achingly tender.

I’m not used to this one, I don’t see him use it around town.

“Those flower tea scones you make. I get one from the café every morning.”

My brain must still be foggy from the fever. I certainly didn’t hear him correctly. “But… I was there. You were disgusted just looking at them the other morning.”

“I’m sorry, Poppy. I didn’t think you considered my opinion. But either way. I shouldn’t have led you to believe they were anything short of perfection. Sometimes I get caught up in what is happening between us.”

Another wave of dizziness passes through me, but for a wholly different reason. “Happening between us?”

His smile becomes as blinding as the sun. “The disagreements, of course.”

Lifting the mug, I take a generous gulp of my tea. Right, disagreement. That’s the only thing between us.

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