8. Chapter 8
Jake
Fixing the cooler latch should take less than fifteen minutes.
It takes thirty because Ava remains close enough to distract me.
Her hair is mussed from my hands, her cheeks are flushed, and every time I look at her mouth, I remember exactly how it felt beneath mine.
All of this is probably why I drop the same screw twice.
Ava notices the second time. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I did before you kissed me.”
“I kissed you?” she says, smiling.
“That’s how I remember it.”
“I recall a mutual lapse in judgment caused by dangerously low temperatures.”
“The cooler is forty degrees.”
“Practically arctic, Jake.”
I retrieve the screw and focus on the latch. “You weren’t complaining about the temperature five minutes ago.”
“That was before Loralee opened the door holding a tarot card.”
From the front of the bakery, Loralee calls, “It was the Two of Cups.”
Ava closes her eyes. “How does she hear everything?”
“The universe,” Jake replies with a smirk.
“Don’t encourage her.”
I reinforce the mounting plate before tightening everything into place. When I finish, I step into the cooler and close the door.
Ava grabs the edge before it latches. “What are you doing?”
“Testing it.”
“From inside? You could get trapped again.”
“I’ve rigged an emergency button.”
Ava lets the door close. I press the release. The latch opens smoothly, and the door swings outward. Ava is waiting on the other side.
“Again,” she says.
I repeat the test twice before she is satisfied.
“Three successful trials,” I tell her. “Do I receive approval?”
“For the latch.”
“Nothing else?”
Her eyes meet mine, and the color returns to her cheeks.
“You’re becoming overly confident.”
“I was locked in a cooler with a beautiful woman who kissed me. Confidence seems appropriate.”
“Go drink some coffee before your ego becomes unmanageable.”
“What happens now?” I ask.
“With the event?”
“With us.”
Her expression turns cautious. I do not want to push her. I also do not want us to pretend the kiss meant nothing simply because pretending would be easier.
Ava’s brown eyes search mine. “I don’t know.”
“That’s honest.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“We could start with dinner.”
“I have two hundred and twenty pastries to produce.”
“After the event.”
“That sounds suspiciously like planning ahead.”
“I own a construction company. Planning is encouraged.”
She considers me for a moment. “Ask me again after the event.”
It is not a yes. It is not a no, either.
“I will.”
Ava paces her bakery kitchen nervously.
“Anything else you need help with?” I ask.
She glances at me as though the question still surprises her. “The apple crates need to move closer to the prep table.”
I handle those next. For the following half hour, I do what Ava asks and nothing she does not. I shift supplies, flatten bakery boxes, and carry two trays to the cooler. She works beside me, measuring ingredients for tomorrow’s batches while music plays softly from a speaker near the sink.
It is strangely comfortable. No arguments or sharp looks. Only Ava moving through her kitchen and occasionally brushing against me. When the work is done, she places two muffins on the counter.
“One lemon-blueberry and one strawberry cream cheese,” she says. “Both are possibilities for the event.”
“You need another professional evaluation?”
“I need someone with a massive sweet tooth and no hesitation about eating two muffins in one sitting.”
“I’m qualified.”
The lemon-blueberry muffin is bright and soft, with enough lemon to keep the sweetness from becoming heavy. The strawberry cream cheese has a rich center and a thin layer of crumble across the top. Ava watches me alternate bites.
“Well?”
“Both.”
“That isn’t helpful.”
“You should serve both.”
“I have limited production time.”
“Then the strawberry.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Why?”
“It’s different. People will remember it.”
Ava looks pleased, although she tries to conceal it by breaking off a piece of the lemon-blueberry muffin.
“You’re learning about presentation and marketability.”
“I built the display.”
“And now you’re becoming smug again.”
She eats the bite, leaving a crumb near her lower lip. I step closer. Ava does not move away. This time, I pause before touching her.
“May I?”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “You’re asking permission to remove a crumb?”
“No.”
Ava reaches up, grips the front of my shirt, and pulls me down. The kiss is shorter than the one in the cooler, but no less certain. She tastes like lemon and sugar, and when she releases me, her eyes remain closed for one extra second.
“That was not caused by low temperatures,” I say.
“It may have been residual exposure.”
“Should I be concerned about lasting effects?”
“Probably.”
I want to kiss her again, but the ovens begin to beep behind her. Ava steps away to check the first test batch of caramel apple muffins. I lean against the prep counter and watch her work. She moves with confidence here, pulling the pans from the oven and checking the tops with one careful touch.
The overhead lights flicker. Ava does not seem to notice. I straighten. The lights steady, then dim again when she starts the large mixer.
“Does that happen often?”
She looks up. “Does what happen?”
“The lights.”
“It’s an old building.”
“That doesn’t make flickering normal.”
“The electrician who worked on the renovation said the panel could handle the equipment.”
“The same renovation company that installed the molding?”
Her shoulders tighten. “Jake.”
I stop. This is the moment when I would normally begin inspecting. I would check the outlets, locate the panel, and determine whether the ovens and mixer are pulling too much power.
Instead, I ask, “Do you want me to look at it?”
Ava glances toward the ceiling. “Not tonight. I can’t add another problem to my list before the event.”
“It may only be a loose connection.”
“Or it may be expensive.”
“That, too.”
Her expression asks me not to press.
I nod. “After the event.”
“After the event,” she agrees.
I leave Sweet Treats twenty minutes later with two more muffins in a bag and the taste of Ava still on my mouth. As I walk toward my truck, the bakery lights flicker behind me once more.
I promised not to inspect anything without her permission. I intend to keep that promise. But promises become more complicated when the woman you are trying to respect may be working inside a building that is not safe.