He tilts his head to Morgan, those bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners.Oh God.He should not be allowed to look this good at six in the morning.
"The tattoo guy? You were there, right? We shared a pizza at the hospital when your beautiful mommy came to visit me."
Beautiful mommy?! I need some water.
He extends his hand toward Morgan like he's greeting foreign royalty. "Colt Lane. Nice to meet you officially, kid."
Morgan doesn't shake his hand.
She fuckingvibrates.
"Can you sign something?" The words tumble out of her in a breathless rush. "Can you sign my—" She looks around wildly, then swings her backpack off her shoulder and starts unpacking everything I spent all morning shoving in there. "SIGN MY LUNCHBOX!"
She yanks it free and thrusts it at him, eyes wider than the time I accidentally let slip that her birthday present was a pair of VIP Snow Leopards tickets.
Colt, to his credit, doesn't miss a beat. He produces a Sharpie from his jacket pocket like he was born for this exact moment, uncaps it with his teeth, and signs the plastic lid with a easy swish of his wrist.
"One autographed lunchbox, coming up."
I watch this exchange with a mixture of horror and reluctant amusement. My daughter is going to be absolutely insufferable now. I can already hear the playground bragging.
Thankfully, the school bus honks outside and I hustle Morgan away from her new hero.
"That's your ride." I grab Morgan by the shoulders and steer her toward the door. "Go. Now. And don't run in the parking lot when you gostraightto class!"
"BYE COLT!" Morgan clutches her lunchbox to her chest like it contains the Holy Grail. "SEE YOU AFTER SCHOOL!"
She's halfway out the door before she spins around, eyes huge.
"OH MY GOD, MOM! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!"
She sprints toward the bus, waving her signed lunchbox so every set of eyes on the loaded bus can see it.
"Yeah, bye darling," I call after her. "I'll miss you too. Love you more than life itself. Don't worry about your mother, standing here, abandoned—"
The bus doors close on my performance, and I'm left standing in the sudden silence of my bakery with Colt Lane leaning against the window frame, still beaming.
"Cute kid."
I exhale slowly through my nose. "You can have her if you want. I'm telling you, she's hard work."
He laughs a deep chuckle that does absolutely nothing to my stomach. Nothing at all.
"So." He pushes off the wall, rolling his shoulders like he's about to step onto the ice. "Where do you want me, boss?"
I give him a pointed look, but my traitorous eyes have other ideas.
They drift down the length of him to the broad shoulders filling out that ridiculous Snow Leopards tracksuit. My brain helpfully supplies the fact that we are now completely alone in this bakery, Morgan is safely on a bus headed to school, and there is a perfectly good bed upstairs that hasn't seen any action besides my sad, silent solo sessions in approximately twenty-seven months.
I wrench my gaze away, cheeks flushing hot enough to rival my ovens.
"Don't call me that." I gesture vaguely toward the back. "There are trays ready for the display case. Start bringing them out and I'll show you how to present everything.Carefully."
"Got it." He nods, all confidence and easy charm. "Careful is my middle name."
"I somehow doubt that."
He winks, and disappears into the back kitchen. I watch him go, which is a mistake.