“Didn’t know that was up for debate.” He closed the distance to the counter, but to Bri’s surprise he didn’t stop on the other side. He came around the back straight toward her.
“Hey, now. This is highly against regulation.” Bri turned to face him, a nervous laugh bubbling in her chest at his proximity. She tossed the damp rag aside. “I mean, if you wanted a macaron that badly, I could have just handed you one.”
“That’s not what I want.”
She licked her lips as he drew closer. “I thought they were your favorite.”
“Second place, currently.” The heat in his eyes burned hotter than the oven in the next room, and Bri’s stomach began a salsa dance.
He planted his hands on the counter on either side of her, trapping her between his corded forearms. She stared at the muscular lines extending from his biceps instead of looking into his eyes, where she knew she’d promptly melt into a pat of butter.
She fought to keep her voice evenly toned despite her racing heart. “So, you prefer the petit fours, then?”
He hovered over her, a teasing grin breaking up the thick stubble on his face. “Third place, currently.”
Bri’s mouth dried. “Is that why you came over?” Man, she wanted the comfort of nestling into his arms. Wanted the luxury of asking him for ridiculous things, like not driving away in the next twenty-four hours. Wanted the right to kiss him anytime she wanted.
Turned out she didn’t need it.
Immediately, his hands were tangled in her hair, his warm body pressing against hers as he backed her fully against the counter. Her hands gripped the sides of his T-shirt, her head spinning in a blissfully dizzy cloud as their lips and breath mingled.
“I didn’t come for petit fours.” He whispered the words against her cheek, his jaw endearingly scratchy on her face. “Or macarons.” His lips grazed near her ear and she shivered.
“Well, I know you didn’t come for the coffee.”
He chuckled low, and the sound vibrated through every fiber of her being. She pulled him in closer, tucking herself against his chest like she’d wanted to do since the moment he strode inside the bakery.
He rested his forehead against hers, bracing their joined weight against the counter with his other arm. “I actually came because I wanted to tell—”
A clattering of glass broke them apart.
Bri straightened with a gasp and turned. The jar of coffee she’d been playing with earlier lay turned on its side. Dark coffee grounds dusted the dry ingredients inside her mixing bowl and spilled along the counter.
Gerard winced, pulling back from her. “Was that another attempt at your mom’s recipe?”
“Yeah. It’s okay, though.” Thankfully, the glass hadn’t broken. Bri righted the jar. “I’m sure it was another wasted effort, anyway. It’s been years of attempts.” She struggled to control her runaway heartbeat, struggled to convince the rest of her body to relax as she began to clean up the mess. It was just a kiss. Just a kiss with an incredibly attractive, soon-to-be-leaving man who—
“Wait.” Gerard’s hand gripped her wrist. “Hold on. You said you’ve tried everything?”
“Ten times each.” Bri blew out her breath. The list over the years was never-ending. “Milk chocolate, cocoa powder, dark chocolate, white chocolate, almond extract, extra vanilla, less vanilla, extra cinnamon, so yes, everything.”
“But maybe not everything.” He released her wrist as he nodded toward the spilled coffee grounds.
Bri’s eyes widened.
“I can’t believe it.” Crumbs flaked to the table between them as Bri took another bite of the last batch of macarons. The first batch he’d ruined had way too many grounds in it, but she could sense they were on the right track. They’d made another mix with about a fourth of the coffee, and she’d nearly wept with relief when they’d come out of the oven. “Who would have ever thought?”
“I guess that’s why it’s a secret ingredient.” Gerard couldn’t stop staring at Bri. At the way her eyes lit with joy over the discovery, at the way she kept wiggling her shoulders back and forth in a little happy dance as she ate. The way her lips curled in victory.
He’d kissed those lips about six more times while she’d mixed and poured and baked. Longer while they’d had to wait on the oven. Then Mabel and Agnes had come back to put away their recently purchased eggs, flour, and sugar, successfully cutting off any further attempts at making out. Though knowing those love angels, they probably wouldn’t have minded.
Now, all Gerard could do was shred a napkin between his fingers and stare at Bri and wonder how on earth he was going to drive away tomorrow. He’d come to tell her that his article was complete. He had no reason to stay.
But watching her, glowing behind the counter as she tended to one of her favorite people in town, well—he had started wondering if maybe there was a reason he should stay. She’d lit up the entire bakery and those dark, inaccessible corners of his heart with her innocence and genuineness and bitter coffee.
Turns out the bitterness was just what the macarons needed.
Just what he needed.
“Mom would be proud.” Bri studied the macaron in her hands, her thin brows furrowed as if convincing herself. “I hope.”
“Of course she would.” Gerard leaned away in his chair, rocking back on two legs. He needed to tell her about Remy. He’d been so shocked last night when he saw the picture, he couldn’t get the words out. He’d had to process the impossible first.
But he wouldn’t dare burst her bubble now and bring up the tainted past during a moment of victory. How could he tell her that the man who very nearly destroyed her parents’ marriage was the same man who once steered him away from love? It was too small a world. It would rock hers again.
His chair legs hit the ground with a thud. “Bri, I finished the feature.”
Her eyes darted to his,
