AVERY
When I enteredthe bakery it wasn’t Beck wiping down the counter but a tall slim guy about my age with dark skin, an array of gold piercings in his ears.
His curly hair was tucked under a silk bandana and he wore a plain apron over jeans and a bright pink slim-fit T-shirt.
He looked up when I entered and a luminous smile broke out across his face. “You’re Avery!”
I returned his smile. “I am.”
“I’m Malcolm. I work here part-time.” He left his rag on the counter and crossed the bakery to shake my hand. “Beck’s been talking about you nonstop.”
“He has?”
“Girl, yes he has! And no wonder.” He leaned back to take me in, but there was nothing creepy about it. “I mean, women aren’t exactly my thing, but even I can see that you’re cute as a button. And gorgeous besides!”
My face got hot for the thousandth time since arriving in Blackwell Hollow. “I don’t know about that.”
I was still reeling from the fact that Beck had been talking about me.
“Well, I do.” Malcolm dropped my hand and returned for his rag, still on the counter. “And that hunk of burning love back there obviously does too.”
Beck chose that moment to push through the swinging doors that separated the shop from the kitchen. And I had to be honest, I couldn’t argue with Malcolm’s description of him.
His apron had an oven and the wordsWhen in doubt, pull it outemblazoned across the front, and his biceps flexed as he carried two baking sheets loaded with croissants to the counter.
He lit up when he saw me. “Hey!”
“Hey, figured I owed you another shift.”
His expression softened. “You don’t owe me anything. But I’m glad you’re here.”
I glanced at Malcolm, who was smirking while he wiped the same spot for the third time.
“Can I talk to you?” I asked. “In the back?”
“Obviously.” He set down the baking sheets. “Put these into the case, will you, Malcolm?”
“You got it, boss.” Malcolm looked at me. “Actually, I guess you’re my boss now.”
“Oh no…” I shook my head. “You still report to Beck. I don’t know enough about what goes on here to be your boss, and I won’t be here long anyway.”
Malcolm frowned. “You’re leaving? Already?”
“Not right away, but eventually… yeah. I have a job in the city, an apartment…” I wondered why suddenly neither of those things sounded like compelling reasons to leave Aunt Evelyn’s house and bakery.
To leave Blackwell Hollow.
“That’s too bad,” Malcolm said.
“It really is.” Beck sounded dejected.
“So can we…?” I gestured toward the swinging doors.
“Oh yeah! Definitely.” Beck held open the door and I crossed the room to enter the kitchen.
It was hard to be anything but happy and content here, the air heavy with yeast and sugar and the hints of lavender that seemed to be everywhere in Blackwell Hollow.
The ovens were on, the marble worktable dusted with flour. Beck had clearly been at it for hours, but in worn jeans and a deep green T-shirt that showed off the aforementioned biceps, he looked as fresh as if he’d just stepped out of the shower.