Mornings at Honey& Hearth were my favorite kind of sweet chaos. The smell of cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven, getting their sugary icing poured in the kitchen, wafted through the air, drawing people in the front door. The old-time bell over the door chimed every few minutes, and I couldn’t hide the smile I got every time I heard it.
It signaled a new arrival, a new customer coming in to say good morning and get a goodie on their way about their day. And there was something so fulfilling about that to me. As if I had somehow helped make their morning a little more…sweet.
Behind me at the main counter, the chalkboard menu listed the day’s specials in swirly letters that took way too long to perfect, but they were worth the effort.
I truly believed that the extra touches of warmth in the handwritten menu boards, fresh flowers on every table, a fire in the hearth, and easy music playing softly through the speakers helped everyone who walked through the front door leave their worries outside and just immerse themselves in the peace inside my bakery. Perhaps I was just a hippie nutcase who had fallen off her rocker, though. But I couldn’t change my ways, even if I tried, it was just who I was.
No matter how many times I stepped back and admired every little detail of my bakery, I was still always amazed that I had made it with my two bare hands.
And a lot of tears.
But it was worth it to see every table in the place occupied at ten am on a Tuesday morning.
“Morning, Goldie!” Mrs. Peters, Cedar Bluff’s retired librarian, beamed as I set her usual tea and scone on the counter before she even asked.
“You’re too good to us,” she said, smiling at me with that motherly warmth most people from Cedar Bluff naturally gave to everyone.
“No such thing,” I teased, and she laughed, handing over a tip bigger than the actual cost of her breakfast.
“Sweetheart,” a voice floated to me from the cash register, and I looked over my shoulder to Jasper, my best friend, employee, and full-time sass master. “If you don’t slow down, you’re going to give yourself premature wrinkles.” He wore ahoney-gold apron like I did, but he bedazzled his to match the gems on his glittery sneakers. His caramel-highlighted dark hair was perfectly styled, and his eyeliner was sharper than my paring knives.
I was pretty sure we were both the wildest things Cedar Bluff had seen since the Woodstock era.
And that was fine with me, I never wanted to blend in. In a town this small, that was too easy to do.
“Wrinkles are earned,” I said, sliding a box of blueberry scones across the counter to another customer. “And if you keep stealing muffins for your dates, you’ll earn dish duty for the day.”
He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Accusing me of carb theft before I’ve even had my morning latte? Rude. Tragic, even.”
The line of customers laughed as they always did when he and I got going on with our jokes. That was the thing about Jasper Wilde—he not only worked his ass off at my side day in and day out at the bakery, but he gave the bakery warmth and comedic relief. And there were times that the world outside my front door was too scary to face without a little of both during your morning coffee run to refuel the soul.
The bell above the door chimed, and I swore the entire room tilted for just a second when I saw who was walking in.
Tanner Brooks.
OfficerTanner Brooks.
As if he needed anything to make him hotter in my eyes.
Cedar Bluff’s golden boy.
The man’s broad shoulders were wide enough to carry a tree sideways, and he was as tall as he was muscular. Which would have been enough to convince me to take him for a spin around my bedroom for a night all on its own. But there was more.
His dark hair always looked perfect, even after wearing a uniform-issued ball cap every day, and his smile—the damn panty-melting pretty boy smirk three thousand—God.
That damn thing even made Mrs. Peters in the corner booth swoon when he tipped his hat at her on his way to the counter. But again, that wasn’t all. He was also, hands down, the nicest person I’d ever met before. There was something so incredibly calming about being in Tanner’s presence. He was kind and easygoing, and I found myself leaning into that sense of peace when he was near.
He always looked like he’d stepped out of a recruitment poster in his black uniform with his golden boy smirk and kind eyes, though he swore he was justdoing his job.
Well, I wouldn’t mind being his job for one night.
“Morning, Goldie,” he said in his perfect, smooth, whiskey-like voice.
“Good morning, Officer,” I replied as I grabbed his usual order and slid it into a bag. “Coffee, black, and a bacon croissant. Right?”
“You know me too well.” He said with a grin.
Jasper leaned on the display case between us and stage whispered loud enough for us both to hear, “I think what our dear Officer Brooks really wants is you, Goldie-girl. But sure, let’s pretend it’s about the bacon.”