A warm shiver runs through me, and I decide that I absolutely cannot dothisdressed the way I am.
"You know what? I need to make sure Morgan is nearly ready to go. Give me two minutes," I manage, and bolt upstairs to change before I completely disintegrate. "I'll be quick!"
By the time I come back down, dressed in jeans, a semi-clean tee and an apron, Colt has the ovens warming and a batch of my premade croissant dough pulled from the walk-in fridge.
He's reading the label on my vanilla extract when I breeze past to resume the impromptu meeting with Delaney.
"This is fromMadagascar," he murmurs, turning the bottle in his hand. "Fancy."
Our eyes meet across the kitchen, and the air between us thickens instantly. The kiss hangs there, unspoken, louder than anything either of us could say.
His gaze drops to my mouth. Just for a second.
My stomach flips.Hard.
"Zoey!" Delaney's voice cuts through the kitchen, and we both flinch. She's appeared in the serving window, tablet raised like her patience is wearing. "Cmoe on. Let's talk business."
I move out to the front counter, putting the display case between me and whatever is happening to my nervous system.
For whatever reason, Colt follows. He leans against the opposite side with his arms crossed, close enough that I can smell him. That clean, citrus cologne mixed with something warmer underneath.
Focus, Zoey. This is business.
"Big Mike and I have been talking," Delaney begins, scrolling through her tablet. "The partnership content from the photo shoot is performing beautifully online. The photos of you two have the highest engagement of any Snow Leopards social post this season. They look amazing, by the way."
Colt winks across at me, and my thighs press together under the apron.
Delaney continues talking between us.
"So we want to take it further. Here's what we're proposing: Butter Batch creates a signature treat. Something exclusive to The Leopard Den. Sold only at the arena, only on game nights."
I blink. "A signature treat?"
"Think about it." Delaney sets the tablet down and meets my eyes. "Twelve thousand fans a game. Your brand stamped on every box, every napkin, every social media post. This would put Butter Batch in front of an audience you couldneverreach from Main Street alone. If that isn't Community Engagement, I don't know what is, baby."
My chest goes tight.
Because she's describing something I've dreamed about. Something Iwroteabout, years ago.
A signature product. Brand expansion beyond the storefront.
It's eerily close to a bullet point plan I had in my notebook.
"We're also hosting a party at the arena next week," Delaney continues. "VIP event for sponsors, local partners, community leaders. It would be the perfect opportunity to debut the recipe."
I grip the edge of the counter, steadying myself.
"That's… a lot, Delaney."
She tilts her head, and those icy-blue eyes soften just enough to feel genuine. "You've built something special here, Zoey. The idea of this program is to help you share it with more people."
Behind me, I can hear Colt shifting his weight. He hasn't said a word, which is so unlike him that I almost turn around to check if he's still breathing.
"I need to think about it," I say carefully. "The logistics alone… scaling a recipe for arena quantities, sourcing ingredients in bulk, packaging, timing around game schedules... It's not something I can just whip up overnight."
"But you've thought about it before, right?" Colt's voice cuts through, steady and certain.
My head whips toward him. "What?"