Joy swallowed hard, then lunged forward to knock the muffin out of his hand. It fell to the floor with a thud. Like a rock might.
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my heavens, that was the rudest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’m so sorry, Grace.”
“It’s okay,” I said weakly. She rushed over to pour a glass of water. Maybe I should have been offended at how fast she drained half the glass. Or how the kid pushed at the muffin on the floor with the toe of his shoe, grimacing at the fact that not so much as a single crumb came off it when it fell.
Joy set the water down and shooed the kid back to the register.
Then she carefully picked up the muffin and set it into the trash, along with the uneaten remainder of the one she’d tried.
“So … maybe I don’t have a knack for baking?” I guessed.
She swallowed again. “Did you, umm, go a little heavy on the flour maybe?”
I scrunched my nose up, remembering when the batter seemed too thin, after I’d mixed and mixed and mixed to make sure everything was really in there, I’d added another scoop of flour. It was so small though, it didn’t seem like it could do that much damage.
“Maybe?”
Joy studied my face with a small smile. “I’m sorry I knocked your muffin to the floor.”
I laughed. “I’m sorry I had to make you eat it.”
She patted my back consolingly. “I’ll tell Jenn you stopped by. Maybe she’ll need some help at the registers this Christmas. We get really busy around the holidays.”
A brush-off if I’d ever heard one, even though it was kindly said, it was a brush-off that I wholeheartedly deserved after almost killing her with my hockey puck cinnamon muffin.
“Thanks for your time, Joy.” I gestured to the tables. “I’m going to wait for my brother and then drown my baking woes in something that tastes a little bit better.”
She grinned. “I think that sounds perfect. It sure was lovely to meet you. Call me if you ever want baking lessons.”
I dumped the plate holding every single muffin and brushed off my hands. “I think my baking days are done, Joy. But it was lovely to meet you too.”
I barely had time to wait, before the thoughts I’d kept at bay all morning started creeping in. My eyes pinched shut when I felt someone come to stand next to me.
"I'm going to gain fifteen pounds moving here," my brother said, staring up at the black chalkboard menu with awe when I opened my eyes. "I can't wait."
I rolled my eyes, but resisted the urge to hug him. Apparently being alone was not a good thing for me today. "It's not like they didn't have bakeries in LA."
Grady shrugged. "Not like this, they didn't."
He wasn't wrong. There were trendy spots for just about every craving, but all under separate roofs. I had a place I used to go for fresh baked bread. And a place I loved for cupcakes. My favorite doughnut shop was a few blocks down from that. But this had everything for the person desperately trying to smother their insane feelings with copious amounts of sugar. In the top row alone, I could pick out about six things I wanted to shove into my mouth.
"I'm starting with that Nutella croissant, and I'm not stopping until I hit the carrot cake," I told him.
He held out his fist, and I bumped it with my own.
"Not that I'm complaining, but why are we binging on sugar before we've even had lunch?"
It was Tucker's face I saw when I closed my eyes again.
Because all I saw when I did think about it was the look in his eyes when I almost started crying. Crying! If it wasn't so ridiculously tragic—me falling prey to the same curse I'd mocked my entire life—I'd almost be able to laugh at myself for how I was acting.
Mooning over the way his thickly lashed eyes looked like the exact shade of deep brown of my favorite coffee.
Picking apart the things he'd told me, turning them over and over in my head like a kaleidoscope.
Worrying over what it meant for him that not a single person in his life could see that he hated his job.
This wasn't me, or not any version of me that I was aware of. The men I'd dated in LA were shallow, dates almost comically boring, and nothing that might entice me to try a serious relationship. Underneath all that apathy was a dormant minefield, waiting silently for someone to step in the exact right spot.
Enter Tucker Haywood and boom! Everything around me detonated into plumes of dust and destruction.
Explosion after explosion, from one conversation that I'd probably replay a hundred times before I saw him again, until I couldn't tell what was left in the aftermath.
"Grace," my brother said, and I blinked. From the way he said it, it wasn't the first time he'd called my name.
"Sorry."
The scrawny beanpole of a kid waited patiently behind the counter. "What can I get for you today?" He gave me a tiny grin. “No muffins, I’m guessing?”
I gave him a look. “Probably not.”
Grady glanced between us. “Why not?”
I blew out a hard breath and stared past the glass again. "The Nutella croissant, a slice of lemon pound cake, a wildberry tart …" My eyes darted down the rows with greedy anticipation. "And a piece of carrot cake."
From the look in his eyes, I couldn't decipher if he was terrified or impressed. "Okay."
"The big piece in the corner," I told him, tapping the glass in front of the one I wanted. "That one right there."
He glanced warily at my brother. "Anything else?"
Grady cleared his throat. "Uh, just a pecan roll for me, thanks."
The kid went about boxing up my order, and I felt Grady's gaze on the side
