Page 16 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
She glances at me then, and the look in her eyes is soft and open and entirely too dangerous.
I lift the table out of the truck, and she opens the back door to the bakery. We maneuver it inside, set it against the wall, and stand there, shoulder to shoulder for a second, just staring at it.
"You didn’t have to do this," she whispers.
"You asked."
"I wasn’t expecting something so beautiful."
Her words hang in the air like an invitation. I don’t move. I don’t trust myself to.
She edges closer, her fingers brushing mine.
"Thank you, Marcus."
I nod, my throat tight.
"I owe you at least twelve dozen muffins."
"I’ll take a muffin, now."
She grins and heads to the case, pulling out a lemon blueberry muffin and handing it to me like it’s a sacred artifact.
And it is because the look in her eyes tells me this isn’t about baked goods anymore. It’s about trust. It’s about something real.
I just hope I’m ready.
Chapter7
Julie
I’m alone in the bakery for the first time in days.
The lull between the morning rush and the lunch crowd is usually my favorite part of the day. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Just me, the soft hum of the fridge compressors, the smell of baking bread hanging in the air like a warm hug. I’ve got a fresh tray of lemon blueberry muffins cooling on the counter and my favorite country playlist on low volume, humming from the speaker near the espresso machine.
Everything feels calm. Normal.
Until it doesn’t.
The bell above the door chimes, sharp and sudden, and I glance up expecting a regular—Cara from the bookstore or Ethan from the hardware shop.
But it’s not anyone I recognize.
The man who walks in has the kind of energy that hits your instincts before your brain catches up. Wiry frame, hoodie pulled low, jittery hands that twitch near his pockets. He looks around fast, too fast… his eyes darting across the room looking for god knows what.
"Hey there," I say, forcing a smile as I wipe my hands on a towel. "Kitchen’s open if you’re hungry. Pastries are fresh. Coffee’s hot."
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t smile. Just steps closer to the counter, gaze flicking to the register.
Something in my chest tightens. The hairs on the back of my neck are telling me something’s not right here.
"Are you new in town?" I try again, keeping my voice steady. "Pelican Point’s got a way of pulling people in. Are you looking for something specific?"
His hand slips into his jacket.
My stomach drops.
"Don’t scream," he says, pulling out a knife. It’s not huge, but it doesn’t need to be. It glints under the overhead lights, and my heart jumps into my throat.
