Chapter 2

Bailey

Pre-date Nerves

Weirder things have happened on a DoorDash delivery—like the time a three-hundred-pound man met me at the door wearing a Batman outfit (not a pretty sight)—but I’ve never been asked out before. Until now. Chuckling over my introduction to Levi Nyberg, I play back our “meet cute” in my head.

My crummy DoorDash hat falls off my head...

Levi scrambles to retrieve it for me, almost knocking me over in the process...

Levi asks me to a hockey game, and I assume he means intramural hockey...

From start to finish, our interaction was bungled and awkward. Hopefully I’ll unearth the real Levi after I’ve seen him play and he’s less nervous. Although, we both are equally to blame in making our introduction as clumsy as possible.

“Are you back from your deliveries already?” Emma asks the minute I walk through the back door at Emma’s Cupcakes and Sweets. My boss always greets me with this same phrase as if I just completed a delivery to Antarctica. The tantalizing aromas of cinnamon, vanilla, and molasses fill my nostrils. Today must be gingersnaps day.

“Anything exciting happen?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows.

Emma is not only my boss, but also my housemate and best friend. She’s only a couple years older than me, yet she owns and operates this cute, little bakery located just off campus. I feel somewhat like an underachiever, in comparison. After my early morning baking is done here, I morph into my DoorDash delivery persona. Throughout the day I balance helping Emma in the bakery and dashing around delivering food to people. These gigs pay the bills, but that’s about all I can say about my current career path.

“If you consider a hockey player asking me out as exciting, then I just had the most excitement I’ve had in a long time,” I say, keeping a neutral expression even though my heartrate accelerates at the mere thought of the hunky guy.

“What?!” Emma squeals, piercing my left eardrum. “Sit and tell me all the details,” she says excitedly as she pours us each a mug of coffee and grabs two cookies from the pan that just came out of the oven. She motions for me to sit at the tiny table crammed into the corner of the break area. Our other housemate, Mia, is manning the front of the shop, so Emma and I can hang out here without interruption.

After taking a delicious bite of warm cookie, the blend of molasses, ginger, and sugar delights my taste buds. No wonder these sell out every time Emma bakes them. I take a slow sip of my hazel-nut coffee, savoring it along with the sweet cookie. Once the caffeine hits my system, I resume the thread of our conversation. “After my dumb DoorDash cap fell off, the hockey player and I had this amusing, awkward interaction where we both tried to pick it up. You know, where you kind-of dance around each other, try to avoid bumping heads, and say excuse me several times?”

Emma laughs. “That only happens to you, Bailey.”

True. I’m the queen of awkward.

I shrug and continue. “He finally picked up my cap, gave it to me, then asked me to one of his hockey games.”

Wrinkling her nose, Emma says, “As in sit outside and freeze your butt off while a bunch of guys try to play hockey?”

Laughing, I say, “No. As in he plays Golden Stars hockey at Spotify Arena.”

The Golden Stars are revered around here, having won several NCAA Frozen Four championships. You’d have to be living under a rock to not have heard of them.

Spewing out her last mouthful of coffee, Emma throws me a shocked look. “He plays big-time hockey, not just pick-up games?”

“Apparently. And I agreed to attend his game tomorrow night.” The phrase “what was I thinking” rolls through my brain. I’m not interested in dating a jock, so why did I agree?

“He must be cute if you agreed to a hockey date. You don’t even watch it on TV,” Emma says. “In fact, you’re the most sports averse person I know.”

Her words evoke traumatic memories from grade school PE class, where we learned life skills such as:

How to dodge a softball when it’s thrown directly at you. You’re supposed to catch it?

How to hit a shuttlecock directly into the net. It’s supposed to go over the net?

How to lay on your back on a trampoline. You’re supposed to jump? There’s no way my feet were leaving that springy surface.

Fortunately, PE was a pass or fail course and you could pass simply by showing up, otherwise I would have flunked.

“Earth to Bailey,” Emma says waving a hand in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”

“Back to grade school PE class,” I say with a cringe.

She nods in understanding, her athletic ability just a notch above mine.

“So, is he cute?” she asks as she nibbles on a gingersnap.

A blush heats my cheeks. “He is,” I admit. Brunette, messy surfer-dude hair...muscles galore...knee-weakening smile. It’s surprising someone hasn’t snapped up Levi Nyberg yet.

Grinning, Emma says, “A cute hockey player finally breaks your dry spell! When was the last time you went on a date?”

I frown. When was the last time I went on a date?

~*~

The rest of the afternoon, I work at the bakery, stewing about my date with the hockey player. Multiple times, I contemplate picking up my phone and texting an excuse for not being able to make the game tomorrow night. But something about Levi Nyberg intrigues me and I haven’t been intrigued about a guy ever since Zachary and I broke-up. He was my high school boyfriend, so it’s been a long, dry spell.

“These cupcakes look spectacular, Bailey,” Emma says, pulling me from my musings. “The Albertsons are going to love them!”

We’re making ten dozen of these tiny cakes for the happy pair who are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. For the last thirty minutes, I’ve been piping buttercream icing in a swirl pattern on top of each cupcake using my favorite pastry bag and star-shaped tip. After I mastered how to squeeze the bag properly while keeping my hand steady, I’m now able to replicate the same swirl every time.

“My frosting always looks lopsided, and I certainly can’t get each one to look identical,” Emma says in a wistful tone while peering over my shoulder.

“It’s all in the wrist,” I tease as I squeeze the pastry bag, adeptly frosting another cake. My prowess with icing has helped me become a valuable member of the baking team, even though I’ve burned more batches of cupcakes than I care to admit.

While Emma mixes more gingersnaps and I keep decorating, she adds to my pre-date nerves when she asks, “What are you going to wear on this date with the hockey player?”

Cold feet set in as I mentally review my spartan closet. My go to outfit is a flannel shirt and blue jeans. Dressing up might include a nice Tee or button-down shirt. Throwing down the pastry bag, I whip my phone out of my back pocket.

“What are you doing?” Emma asks.

“Cancelling!” I shout while frantically typing in a text.

“Nope!” Emma says as she confiscates my phone, slips it in her back pocket, and turns her back away from me.

“But—” I squeak, holding out my hand and wiggling my fingers, asking for the phone back.

“Take a breath, Bailey. When we get home, we’ll survey my closet, and we’ll find a comfortable and attractive outfit for your date.”

Why did I agree to this self-imposed torture?

Wouldn’t it be so much easier to sit at home and watch TV? I can wear my comfy sweatpants and snack on mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Never again will I impulsively agree to a date with a hunky guy. I find myself filled with equal parts of dread and excitement over the thought of seeing Levi again. It’s like emotional whiplash. Maybe I’ll come down with a bad case of stomach flu right before face-off.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.