6. Sweet Routines and First Kisses
6
SWEET ROUTINES AND FIRST KISSES
Nate
Over the past few weeks, I've developed a routine. Mondays and Thursdays, I swing by Sweet Somethings during that perfect lull between the morning rush and lunch crowd. I tell myself it's because Cooper likes the routine—dogs need structure—but even I'm not buying that excuse anymore. Hell, who am I kidding? Years of running into danger, and somehow this bakery makes my heart race more than any five-alarm fire ever did.
Today, I push through the door and catch her singing along to some pop song, piping bag in hand as she swirls frosting onto a tray of cupcakes. She doesn't notice me at first, completely lost in her own world. The concentration on her face is something to behold—eyebrows slightly furrowed, bottom lip caught between her teeth, those nimble fingers creating perfect spirals of buttercream with effortless precision. Cooper sits patiently at my side, his tail already thumping against the hardwood floor in anticipation of the treats he knows are coming his way.
"Don't stop on my account," I say, leaning against the counter with a grin I can't quite contain. "You were just getting to the good part. That high note was coming up, wasn't it?"
Ellie jumps, nearly squeezing frosting all over herself, the piping bag jerking in her hand. "Nate! How long have you been standing there?" Her eyes go wide, mortification written across her features.
"Long enough to know you've got a decent voice." I wink, and her cheeks flush that perfect shade of pink I've come to look forward to. It's becoming something of an addiction, seeing that color bloom across her face, knowing I'm the one who put it there.
"Liar," she laughs, setting down her piping bag with a shake of her head. "But you're a gentleman for saying so." Her fingers fidget with the edge of her apron, a nervous habit I've noticed whenever she's embarrassed but pleased.
Cooper whines at my feet, reminding us both of his presence. He's been so well-behaved until now, sitting quietly while I embarrassed myself, but apparently his patience has limits. Poor guy probably thought we'd forgotten he was there.
"Someone's impatient today," I say, scratching behind his ears. His tail thumps against the floor as he leans into my touch, those big eyes looking up at me with that mix of adoration and expectation only dogs can perfect. The rhythm of his wagging tail picks up speed as my fingers find his favorite spot. "Don't worry, buddy. I haven't forgotten about you." His ears perk up at my reassurance, and I swear he's smiling at me, that goofy canine grin that never fails to melt my heart a little.
"I have something special for him." Ellie disappears into the back, returning with what looks like a dog-friendly muffin topped with a bone-shaped cookie. The pastry is perfectly formed, golden-brown with flecks of what might be carrots or sweet potato visible in the crumb. "Been experimenting with new recipes. He's my official taste-tester. Aren't you, Cooper?"
"Careful, you'll spoil him," I warn, though I can't help smiling at how Cooper's entire body wiggles with anticipation. His tail is practically a blur behind him, and those eyes are locked on the treat like it's the only thing that matters in the universe right now. I've seen that look before—usually right before he completely forgets all his training and starts doing his happy dance. "He already thinks Sweet Somethings is some kind of magical kingdom where treats rain from the sky."
"That's the whole point." She bends down to offer Cooper the treat, her dark curls falling forward as she presents it with the same care she might give a human customer. The genuine joy on her face when he eagerly accepts—taking it with surprising gentleness from her palm—makes something tighten in my chest. There's something impossibly sweet about watching her connect with my dog, this little moment of pure happiness that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with who she is.
Ellie
I've started baking extra on Mondays and Thursdays. For practice, obviously. Not because I know Nate will show up with Cooper, his timing so consistent you could set a watch by it. And definitely not because I've been experimenting with new dog-friendly recipes that might make Cooper's tail wag even harder, or because I've noticed which pastries make Nate's eyes light up with appreciation when he smiles. It's purely professional development—at least that's what I keep telling myself as I check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, wondering if today will be the day they break their perfect attendance record.
"I made too many cinnamon rolls this morning," I lie, sliding a box across the counter, my heart doing that stupid little flutter thing it does whenever he's around. "Thought you might want to take some to the station."
"Retired, remember?" His eyes warm with amusement when he smiles, and I have to pretend I'm adjusting something under the counter so he doesn't see how that smile affects me. "But I'll gladly take them off your hands."
"Just saving them from going to waste," I say with a casual shrug that feels anything but casual. My fingers tap nervously against the countertop as I watch him peek inside the box—cinnamon rolls I definitely made with him in mind, with that extra bit of orange zest I noticed he liked last time. Not that I'd ever admit it.
"You seem to have a lot of extras on Thursdays," he observes, taking a bite of one. The way his eyes close briefly in appreciation makes my stomach flip. A small noise of pleasure escapes him, and I suddenly find the bakery about ten degrees warmer than it was a minute ago.
"Just... testing new recipes." I busy myself wiping down an already clean counter. My hand moves in frantic little circles over the spotless surface. "Thursday is my experimental day. Sometimes things don't sell, and it would be a shame to throw them out." The lie sits awkwardly between us, considering I've been baking these exact cinnamon rolls—with that specific amount of orange zest—every Thursday for the past month, coincidentally right before his regular visits.
"Must be why Thursdays are becoming my favorite day of the week." His voice is low, almost intimate, and it does something ridiculous to my pulse rate.
I look up, catching his gaze, and for a moment, I forget to be nervous. The usual flutter of insecurity takes a backseat to whatever's happening between us right now. "Mine too," I admit softly, surprising myself with the honesty. The words slip out before I can filter them, hanging in the air like the cinnamon-scented steam from the fresh rolls. Part of me wants to snatch them back, but the way his eyes warm at my confession makes me glad I didn't.
"And we know Cooper loves any day he gets to see you," Nate says, his gaze still locked on mine. There's something in the way he looks at me—like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve, but enjoying every moment of the mystery. His expression softens slightly at the corners, and I wonder if he realizes how much that small gesture disarms me completely. The bakery suddenly feels ten degrees warmer, and I can't blame it on the ovens this time.
I try to deflect with a laugh. "Coop loves any day he gets treats." Sure enough, the tail starts wagging furiously as soon as the words are out of my mouth. That dog has a sixth sense for the t-word—his eyes darting between Nate and me like he's following the most riveting tennis match in history. It's almost embarrassing how quickly I reach for the jar of homemade dog biscuits I keep behind the counter specifically for him.
"I think there's more to it than that," he says. "I worked with this guy a few years ago. Young kid, cocky as hell, knew it all. The first time Cooper met him, he growled."
I widen my eyes at the thought of the big ball of love in front of me being aggressive with anyone. Cooper, who looks at me now with those soulful brown eyes while happily munching his treat, seems incapable of anything but tail wags and gentle nudges for more attention.
"A few months later, we had a string of fires," he continues, his voice dropping slightly. "Clearly arson. Come to find out this kid had been setting them so he could be the hero when he put the fires out. Somehow Coop knew." Nate reaches down to scratch behind Cooper's ears, and the dog leans into his touch with complete devotion. "Dogs have this sixth sense about people that we humans could use a little more of."
"So I should be honored that he can't keep his tail still around me?" I ask with a smile, feeling oddly flattered by Cooper's approval. There's something heartwarming about earning a dog's trust, especially one with such good judgment. I watch as Cooper looks between Nate and me, his tail thumping against the floor in a steady rhythm that seems to say he's perfectly content right where he is.
"He knows someone special when he meets them," Nate says. "And I've learned to trust his judgment." There's something warm and sincere in his voice that makes my heart flutter in my chest.
He takes a step closer to me and I can feel myself break into a cold sweat. The distance between us shrinks to almost nothing, and suddenly I'm hyperaware of everything—the slight woodsy scent of his cologne, the way his eyes soften as he looks at me, even the sound of my own uneven breathing. Cooper watches us with what I swear is canine approval, and I wonder if dogs can sense when their owners are interested in someone.
Nate tips my chin up with a gentle finger, and my breath catches in my throat. His touch is feather-light but confident, sending tingles across my skin.
"Tell me if you don't want this," he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that makes my knees weak. His mouth hovers tantalizingly close to mine, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes search mine, patient and questioning, waiting for permission even as the electricity between us crackles with undeniable intensity.
"I want this," I respond. My voice only cracks a little, betraying how much I actually want this—how long I've been waiting for it without even knowing.
The kiss is electric, sending sparks cascading through my body like a circuit finally completed. My arms are winding around his neck before I consciously realize it, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. He pulls me close with strong, steady hands at my waist, and we seem to fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces that have been searching for each other. His mouth moves against mine with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter wildly in my chest, and I melt into him, forgetting everything but this moment.
"Been wanting to do that since the first moment I met you," he says, his voice a low rumble against my lips. "I've really been wanting to do that since our first conversation."
His confession sends a delicious shiver down my spine. The way his eyes hold mine, dark and intent, tells me he means every word. My heart is still racing, and I can feel the warmth of his hands through my clothes, steady and sure against my waist.
"That long, huh?" I manage to whisper, surprised my voice works at all when my entire body feels like it's humming with electricity.
"You think I meet smart, gorgeous women like you every day?" he says, his voice dropping to that intimate tone that makes my insides flutter. "Because I don't. I didn't think I'd meet one in this lifetime."
His words wash over me like warm honey, settling into all the places I've kept guarded. For a moment, I can't breathe—can't process that this man, this impossibly handsome man with kindness in his eyes, is looking at me like I'm something precious.
He kisses me again, more deliberately this time, his hand sliding up to cradle my face. His thumb traces my cheekbone with such tenderness that I feel myself melting against him, all my carefully constructed walls crumbling away like sugar in hot tea.
Our romantic moment is interrupted when a certain canine interloper makes a soft "wuff." I reluctantly pull back from Nate's embrace, my lips still tingling, to find Cooper sitting there with his head tilted, those soulful eyes watching us with what I swear is canine amusement. The timing is so perfectly inconvenient that I can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and forgotten inside me. Nate's arm stays wrapped around my waist, his warmth anchoring me as reality slowly filters back in.
"Look," he says, his voice a gentle rumble that sends pleasant shivers down my spine. "I want this. With you. I don't know how you're feeling right now, but if you're amenable, I'd like to take you out on a proper date." He looks at Cooper, who's still watching us with that doggy grin, and adds with mock sternness, "No dogs invited."
My heart does a little flip in my chest. A proper date. With Nate. The words hang between us, full of promise and possibility. I'm suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look—flushed cheeks, mussed hair—but the way he's looking at me makes me feel like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"I'd like that," I breathe, my voice catching slightly in my throat. "I mean, not because of the no dogs part. Sorry, Cooper. It's not that I don't like you, it's just—" I realize I'm rambling and stop myself, pressing my lips together. My cheeks flush even hotter, if that's possible. Why do I always start babbling when I'm nervous? But the warmth in Nate's eyes tells me he finds it charming rather than ridiculous, which only makes my heart beat faster. Cooper tilts his head at the sound of his name, his eyes darting between us as if he understands perfectly well what's happening here.
"There's a little restaurant in the next town over," Nate says, his voice warm and inviting. "Italian place with a homey vibe to it. Red-checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, the whole nine yards. We can go tomorrow, if you want?"
"Cicco's," I say, surprised he's mentioning my favorite spot. I've daydreamed about their homemade gnocchi more times than I care to admit—those little pillowy potato dumplings that practically melt in your mouth. I think of all the Cosmo articles I've read warning me not to be too available to a man, to play it cool and make him wait at least three days, and immediately dismiss them. Life's too short for those games, especially when someone like Nate is asking me out. "Tomorrow's great. Their tiramisu is absolutely epic." I smile, already looking forward to it more than I probably should, mentally rifling through my closet for something that will make me feel both pretty and comfortable.
He smiles, and I'm momentarily dazed at the thought that I'm the reason. That smile transforms his whole face, reaching all the way to his eyes in a way that makes my stomach do a little flip. "I'll pick you up at seven?" he asks, and there's something in his voice—a touch of eagerness that matches my own—that makes me feel like maybe I'm not the only one counting down the hours.
"Yeah," I respond. Like the clever, witty woman that I am. Words seem to have abandoned me completely, leaving me with nothing but monosyllables and a racing heart.
Nate brings my hand to his lips, the gentle pressure sending tingles up my arm. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I'll dream about that kiss tonight." His voice has dropped lower, a private rumble meant just for me, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my knuckles.
That makes two of us. I'm already mentally replaying the feel of his mouth on mine, knowing I'll be staring at my ceiling tonight, touching my lips and wondering if this is actually happening to me.