Forever Wilde in Aster Valley (Forever Wilde 9)

A young woman smiled from behind the counter. “You’re up early, Tessa. Is Hoss teething again?”

The lady who’d brought me into the shop groaned. “The baby’s name is Conley, dammit, Hannah,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t listen to his Uncle Declan. And yes, he’s teething, so he’s been up for hours. It was a good excuse to come grab what I wanted before the crowds turn up and take all the good stuff.”

I had no problem believing that they’d sell out quickly, considering how tempting the pastries looked and smelled. But I was still focused on something far more tempting than sweets.

While the young lady behind the counter began filling a bakery box, I moved to the side to try and catch a peek through the arched doorway into the back of the bakery.

I could hear the clank of metal sheet pans, and I spotted a glimpse of the baker’s denim sleeve rolled up over his thick forearm. His thick, tattooed forearm.

Oh, man. Tattoos, too? Hngh. My palms went sweaty, and I had to swallow past a lump in my throat. I was a sucker for a man with ink.

I tried to tell myself firmly that this baker was none of my business. That I didn’t know a thing about this man. That I was a tourist, for heaven’s sake, and I was already dealing with a ridiculous number of new people in my life on top of all my work stress at home. But none of it seemed to matter. Something about this total stranger called to me, and I was dying to get a closer glimpse of him.

2

Darius

I normally tuned out everything going on around me when I was baking, but for some reason, I noticed the man outside the window this morning. He stopped and stared as if mesmerized by something as simple as kneading bread.

He was pretty cute, if a little more clean-cut than the men I usually dated. Blond hair and a button nose, navy blue peacoat rather than a true parka. I wondered if he was a tourist rather than a local. Had he been local, I probably would have noticed him before. There was something about him… something memorable.

Maybe it was the sad eyes. There was pain there, and I couldn’t stand seeing someone else in pain. But I also couldn’t very well take on the burdens of strangers on the street, no matter how lovely and compelling I found them to be.

I fell into the rhythm of the upbeat music in my ears and tried to tune everything out.

But I couldn’t tune him out no matter how hard I tried.

It had been a long time since a man had caught my attention. After my relationship of four years had crumbled under the weight of a growing business back east, I’d sworn off dating for the foreseeable future. I hadn’t had the time or energy to right what I’d done wrong with Clay, namely not have time and energy for my partner.

But now it had been six years since Clay had left. Six years of casual encounters and keeping my distance.

I debated long and hard before deciding that maybe I could take a chance just this once. Smile at the man in the window and see what happened.

But of course, by the time I looked up, he was gone.

“Darius!”

I jumped and yanked off my headphones at the penetrating sound of Hannah calling back from the front counter. “Yeah?”

“Customer has a question for you.”

I quickly stopped by the sink to wash my hands before making my way up front. The blondie from outside stood next to one of our regular customers. Was this her husband? I’d never seen her with anyone, but it made sense there was a father for the baby she usually had with her.

A flare of disappointment hit my gut. Oh well.

The woman smiled her usual friendly smile at me. “I was trying to tell this man… I’m sorry, what was your name?” she asked, turning to him.

So, not her husband. Better. In fact, excellent.

“Miller,” he said softly. “Miller Hobbs.”

“Right. So I was telling Miller to come back later for the hortopita special. He asked if it was different from spanakopita.”

Hannah shot me a smirk. She knew how much it bothered me when people mistakenly called my hortopita spanakopita only because that was the more common type of Greek savory pastry. She could have easily answered the question herself, but she knew I liked to educate customers on the difference. I couldn’t say I minded a chance to talk to the man.

Miller.

“Yes,” I began. “They’re similar but different. They are both made with phyllo dough, but spanakopita is made with spinach. Hortopita uses mixed greens with a focus on the herbs. I source my herbs from a local spice merchant who grows them here in Aster Valley. Since I can get the freshest herbs and greens for it, it’s like being able to offer a taste of Aster Valley in a savory pie.”