2. Chapter 2
Gigi
My phone buzzes on the counter just as I'm scraping the last of the buttercream explosion off my mixing bowls. I see Ella's name on the screen and answer without bothering with pleasantries.
"Why didn't you tell me Phoenix Wood was in town?" I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear, attacking a particularly stubborn patch of blue frosting.
"He is?" Ella's voice sounds genuinely surprised.
"You didn't know?" I pause mid-scrub, gripping the bowl tighter. "He said he was in town visiting you and Joe."
"I mean, he mentioned to Joe that he was thinking about coming," she says. "Said it depended on his schedule. I didn't know he'd actually made a final decision until just now."
I narrow my eyes at the phone like she can feel it through the line, then resume my aggressive cleaning. "So, he's not staying with you?"
"Nope. He must be renting a place in town."
"How long is he staying?" The words come out sharper than I intended as I slam the clean bowl onto the drying rack.
"Not sure. A few days? Maybe a week? The off-season ends in a couple of weeks and Joe will be back in training camp. So, Phoenix won't have much reason to stick around after that. Unless…"
I freeze, dish towel halfway to the next bowl. "Unless what?"
"Unless he falls head over heels in love with a gorgeous baker."
I nearly drop the bowl. "Don't you dare try to play matchmaker."
"The two of you would make the most beautiful babies."
I bang the bowl down on the counter harder than necessary. "Phoenix Wood is the last man on earth I'd be interested in."
"Really?" I can hear the smirk in Ella's voice. "Didn't you used to have a little crush on him?"
I cringe, abandoning the dishes to pace behind my counter. "That was before he became the face of Hart Health. He's the enemy."
Ella laughs. "That's a little dramatic. Professional athletes have endorsement deals. That doesn't make him the enemy."
"You sure about that?" I stop pacing to lean against the counter. "Because he was more than happy to deliver a message for my parents."
"Really? What was it?"
"He just repeated what Mom's text said yesterday.
They want to talk about my future. Which, in Hart family speak, usually means they want to lecture me about wasted potential and the evils of refined sugar.
" I pick up my dish towel and start folding it into precise squares, needing something to do with my hands.
Ella goes quiet, and I can practically hear her carefully choosing her next words. "What if this time is different?"
"It's not." The towel gets an unnecessarily violent shake before I fold it again.
"But what if—"
"Ella, I love you for being optimistic, but some things never change." I set the towel down and brace both hands on the counter. "My parents built an empire on discipline and deprivation. I built a business on joy and indulgence. We're oil and water."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're both just stubborn enough to find a way to mix."
Before I can respond to that particular piece of wisdom, the bell over my door jingles again. I look up from my pristine counter, expecting to see one of my regular early-morning customers.
Instead, I see Phoenix Wood standing in my doorway again, morning sunlight streaming in behind him like he's some kind of romantic hero in a movie I definitely don't want to be starring in. He's looking sheepish and holding my empty cupcake wrapper.
Of all the timing in the world.
"I'll call you back," I tell Ella, hanging up without waiting for a response.
"Miss me already?" I ask, crossing my arms.
"Actually," he says, flashing his dimple, "I was wondering if I could get another one of those cupcakes. For Joe. I sent him a picture, and he threatened to tackle me if I didn't bring him one."
I raise an eyebrow. "Joe wants one of my sugar bombs two weeks before he reports to training camp? Doesn't he have a Super Bowl title to defend?"
Phoenix steps closer to the counter, and I catch a whiff of his cologne—something clean and woodsy that definitely didn’t come from a drugstore.
The morning light filtering through my front windows catches the gold flecks in his brown eyes, and I can hear the distant hum of Main Street waking up outside.
Focus, Gigi. He's here for cupcakes, not to make you forget how to form coherent thoughts.
"Joe said, and I quote, 'If Gigi made it, it's worth breaking my diet for.'"
Despite myself, I feel a little flutter of pride.
Joe's been one of my most loyal customers, sneaking in here for scones and cupcakes even when he's on a nutrition plan stricter than a Navy SEAL's.
For him to risk his carefully monitored diet and actually recommend my baking to Phoenix?
That's not just loyalty; that's the highest compliment a baker can get.
"Fine," I say, selecting a particularly gorgeous red velvet cupcake from the display. "But this comes with a warning."
"Which is?"
I package the cupcake in a box and slide it across the counter, and our fingers brush as he takes it. The contact is brief, barely there, but I feel it all the way to my toes.
Get it together, Gigi.
"My cupcakes are dangerously addictive," I say with my most professional smile.
Phoenix grins. "You know, I don't have training camp in two weeks. So, why don't you go ahead and give me another one?"
I pretend to gasp in horror. "Hart Health would never approve."
"They don't need to know."
He pulls out a twenty and places it on the counter. I ring him up and count his change with perhaps more concentration than the task requires, hyper-aware of his presence just inches away.
"Don't blame me when you find yourself back here tomorrow morning," I say, handing over his change and carefully avoiding any skin-to-skin contact this time.
Phoenix's eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, the air between us feels charged. Like we're not just talking about cupcakes anymore.
"I'll take my chances," he says quietly.
And then he's gone again, leaving me standing here in my frosting-splattered bakery, heart beating faster than a mixer on high speed.
This is not good.
This is the opposite of good.
This is a recipe for disaster, and I should know—I'm an expert at those.