Page 10 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
“Hello?” I call, trying to sound upbeat and not like I was ugly crying on the kitchen floor a minute ago.
The man who steps in is tall, broad, and immediately radiatesalpha.The kind that carries authority in the set of his shoulders, the steady weight of his steps, and the way his eyes sweep the space like he owns it.
Which—considering he does—makes sense.
“You must be Camellia,” he says, his voice low and gravel-warm.
I nod, pulling my shoulders back. “Cam. And you’re...?”
“Dane.”
He steps forward and offers a hand. It’s large, rough-skinned, and warm.
“Co-owner,” he adds, like it’s both a warning and a resume.
I take his hand because I’m not about to be intimidated in my own candy shop. “Nice to meet you.”
His eyes linger on mine a second longer than necessary. And then—he blinks.
Oh.
He smells me.
I feel it, like a pulse in the air. The way his posture shifts subtly, nostrils flaring for a heartbeat before he masks it under a sharp glance at the unfinished counter.
He recovers quickly. But not quickly enough that I miss the spark.
“So,” he says, looking around with faint skepticism. “This is the candy empire.”
I cross my arms. “It will be. Once the counters are in. And the signage. And the kitchen is certified.”
His brow lifts. “You have a kitchen plan?”
“Yes.” I pull out the folder—thankfully not tear-stained—and open to the sketch I created. “Window into the kitchen here. Demo that back divider. I want customers to see the process. Transparency builds trust.”
He studies the meticulous, accurate drawing. Then me. “You did this?”
“Yes.”
He grunts, noncommittal, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes—approval, maybe?
“You’ve got vision,” he says.
“Thanks,” I reply, trying not to get flustered.
“Execution?” he asks.
“Working on it.”
He moves around the shop like he’s assessing it for a home inspection. Pauses at a slightly uneven shelf and runs his fingers along the bracket.
“This needs to be reinforced,” he mutters. “Too much weight and it’ll bow.”
“I was going to do that tomorrow,” I lie.
“Mm-hm.” He moves on.
Bossy. Definitely bossy. And kind of infuriating.
