Page 21 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
It lingers right up until the bell over the door chimes again, and in walks Marcus. Dressed in jeans and a dark gray T-shirt that fits a little too well. Not in uniform today.
My heart does a little dance that I pretend not to notice.
"Are you off today or undercover?" I ask, trying to sound casual as I wipe my hands on my apron.
He nods, stepping up to the counter. "Off but I still wanted my usual."
Still wanted to see me. That’s what he doesn’t say, hopefully, but it’s written in the way his gaze lingers on me, a flicker softer than usual.
"Raspberry danish and black coffee, right?" I ask, reaching for the pastry before he can answer.
"Do you remember everyone’s order or just mine?"
"It’s not exactly an unpredictable order," I tease.
He huffs a sound that might be a laugh, and I feel absurdly victorious.
I pour his coffee and slide it across the counter with the pastry. "Hey, random question... What are you doing tonight?" I ask before I can second guess myself.
Marcus raises an eyebrow, suspicion flickering in those serious blue eyes. "Why?"
"There’s a game night at the winery barn. Monopoly. It’s pretty laid-back… except for Ryan. Lots of yelling, a few temper tantrums, and some wine. And, uh, Sophie told me to bring a date. Not that you have tobea date," I add quickly. "You could just sit there looking intimidating. That sort of thing."
He stares at me for a beat, and I immediately regret saying anything.
Then he says, "What time do I pick you up?"
I blink, my heart stuttering. "Seriously?"
"If you’re asking, I assume you want me there."
"I do," I say before I lose my courage.
His jaw ticks once. "Then I’ll be there."
I smile, warm and wide. "Seven. There’ll be muffins."
He picks up his coffee and danish. "Guess I’ll see you then."
As he walks out, the bell jingling softly in his wake, I press a hand to my chest and try to calm the ridiculous fluttering beneath my ribs.
Marcus King is coming to game night… With me.
* * *
It’s nearly closing time, and the scent of warm cinnamon and brown sugar still lingers in the air. I’ve wiped down the counter twice, restocked the napkins, and finished labeling tomorrow’s pastry selections, but there’s still a buzz in my chest that has nothing to do with the sugar. It’s game night at the winery tonight—Monopoly, according to Sophie—and I may have invited Marcus.
May have. Definitely did.
I still can’t believe he said yes.
The bell above the door chimes and I glance up, expecting a last-minute coffee drinker or someone desperate for a cookie fix before dinner. Instead, it’s Desirae Russell, owner of Coastal Couture, the local bridal boutique and dressmaker extraordinaire.
She’s as poised as ever, dressed in a flowing plum wrap dress that makes her look like she stepped out of a high-fashion spread, not Main Street Pelican Point. Her long black hair is immaculate, and she smiles warmly as she steps inside.
"You’re cutting it close," I tease, reaching for the nearly empty pastry tray.
"I like to live on the edge," she replies with a wink. "And I heard a rumor that your blueberry scones are back. I need one if I’m going to survive this afternoon’s fitting marathon."
