Page 189 of Double Daddies
His laugh is warm and rich, like the first sip of coffee on a cold morning, and I hate how much I want to hear it again. He steps back slightly, giving me just enough space to breathe, but his gaze remains locked on mine, sharp and unyielding.
“Interesting is one word for it,” he says, his tone playful but laced with something deeper. “Though I’d recommend a little less danger next time. Muffins aren’t worth a concussion.”
I glance down at the scattered muffins, their once-pristine tops now slightly squashed and forlorn. “You’re right,” I murmur, bending down to pick one up. As I straighten, he’s still watching me, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense.
I offer him a sheepish smile, my cheeks heating under his gaze. “Thanks for catching me…twice. I promise I’m not usually this clumsy.”
His lips curve into a slow, teasing grin, and I feel a flutter in my chest that I have no idea what to do with. “Twice, huh? I might start thinking you’re doing this on purpose.”
I let out a nervous laugh, brushing imaginary dust from my shirt. “Yeah, because falling into the arms of strangers is exactly how I planned to spend my afternoon.”
“Stranger?” he echoes, cocking an eyebrow. “We’ve shared a near-death muffin experience. I think that makes us more like… acquaintances, at the very least.”
I roll my eyes, biting back a smile as I crouch down to start gathering the muffins. “Well, Mr. Acquaintance, thank you again for saving me. I’m sure you have more important things to do than rescue someone from baked goods.”
“Not at the moment,” he says lightly, kneeling down beside me. His movements are smooth and deliberate, even in that sharp suit, and I find myself glancing at the way it stretches across his broad shoulders and muscular arms before quickly looking away. I never thought I’d look at a man again after what happened and yet here I am, entranced by the fine specimen before me.
“You really don’t have to help,” I say, my voice quieter now.
He pauses, a small smile playing on his lips as he hands me one of the damaged muffins. “I wouldn’t feel right walking away. Besides,” he adds, his tone softening, “you’ve made my day a lot more interesting.”
When the last muffin is thrown away, he straightens, brushing his hands together as if to rid himself of the chaos we’ve just cleaned up. I expect him to say something—anything—but instead, he simply looks at me, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than it should.
“Well,” he says finally, his voice low and steady, “try not to let the muffins win next time.”
I laugh softly, the sound awkward and unsure. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nods, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then he turns to leave. I watch him go, the sharp lines of his suit disappearing down the hall, and I feel a strange emptiness settle in my chest.
What the hell just happened? And why do I wish it would happen again?
The scent of cedarwood and bergamot still lingers in the air, and I find myself standing there, surrounded by the remnants of our brief encounter, wondering if I’ll ever see him again.
“Wren,” I hear Wyatt call from the front. I look at the muffin massacre and wring my hands together. I haven’t messed up this much since I first got here and I don’t want to do anything toscrew up the arrangement I have with him. Fear threatens to clog my throat as Wyatt walks in. He looks in the trash bin, then at me and I can feel myself shrinking under his scrutiny.
“Are you alright, dear?” he asks, his expression full of concern not anger.
“Y-yes sir. I slipped and they went everywhere. I’m so sorry. You can take them out of my check–”
“I will have none of that. It was an accident. Now, are you hurt? You must have fallen hard on this floor.” He scans me up and down for any injuries.
“Actually, someone happened to catch me,” I murmur softly.
“Is that so? I’m thankful for that. Here let me grab a new tray so we can get back out there.”Is that it? He’s not angry at me?
I glance nervously at Wyatt as he pulls a fresh tray from the storage shelf with practiced ease. His movements are calm, deliberate, and reassuring in a way that eases some of the tension coiling in my chest.
“Here you go, dear,” he says, offering me the tray with a smile that’s full of quiet understanding. I blink, momentarily caught off guard. I expected frustration, maybe a disappointed sigh, but instead, there’s only patience.
Why isn’t he upset? I practically destroyed half the muffins. He has every right to be angry, but he’s… not.
“Are you sure?” I ask, gripping the tray tightly. “You can take this out of my check. I—I mean, I understand if you want to?—”
“Wren.” Wyatt cuts me off gently, his voice steady and calm. “Accidents happen. You’re doing a great job here. Don’t let a few muffins shake your confidence, alright?”
My throat tightens, and I nod quickly, not trusting myself to speak. He’s always been so kind to me. The relief washes over me like a wave, and for the first time since the muffin debacle began, I feel like I can breathe.
“Now,” he adds, his tone lightening as he heads back toward the front, “we’ve got customers out there, and I know they’ll want to see your bright smile.”
