I spun to see a huge police officer standing in the hallway. “C-closet,” I stuttered, pointing without thinking. He flung the door open, grabbed the mop and bucket, and dashed back to the front of the shop.
Although I had no idea what was going on, I quickly arranged the hot pans while trying to take a few calming breaths. The prickle of tension that ran through me whenever the police were around had nothing to do with me. That was in the past, far in the distance.
Coming back out to the front, I saw that the water pitcher at the front entrance must have been knocked nearly over, but it wasn’t broken. Although the floor was wet, it was already mostly mopped up. Everyone was standing politely in a line as if nothing had happened.
The officer turned to me, and I couldn’t hide my sharp inhale. It was the tall, square jawed, broad shouldered man with the warm light brown eyes who I ran into in the rain on the day I signed the lease for this place. He noticed my expression of surprise, then I saw him blink as if he recognized me too.
“It was a hit and run from a stroller,” he grinned. “I let her off with a warning, but I didn’t want all of that water soaking into your floor. I’
ll put these away,” he said, squeezing past me with the bucket and mop.
“Thanks,” I called after him.
Zipping customers though the lineup as quickly as possible, the officer came around to stand near the end of the counter, as if waiting for me to be free.
Sneaking sideways glances at him while I boxed up cupcakes and served muffins, I had the distinct impression that he was checking me out as well. I couldn’t imagine what he might be looking at, unless he enjoyed the raspberry filling stain on the sleeve of my shirt, or the flour that was likely stuck in my ponytail.
The scruff of his beard was perfectly trimmed. His slight tan made him look outdoorsy. Masculine. The way he jumped in to help without thinking that mopping a floor was beneath him was certainly a point in his favor. Not that I was keeping score or anything.
My mouth became dry as I realized I was going to have to speak with him soon. My natural shyness was amplified with authority figures. Even more with handsome men. I didn’t have nearly enough experience to figure things out.
“I’m so sorry,” he said to me as soon as the last customer left. “I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds, but figured you could use a hand.” He extended his hand with a blinding smile. “I’m Daniel.”
I shook his hand, noting his comfortable firm grip. “I’m Bailey. And I didn’t know that the police in this town also did janitor duty at the bakery if they got bored.”
His full lips turned up in the most beautiful smile. “I know how hard it is to keep people happy these days, and it only takes one person to slip and leave a lousy online review to ruin someone’s week. I figured since we’re neighbors, I should jump in and help out.”
“Thank you, I really do appreciate it,” I grinned back at him.
I guess he did the right thing, but I wasn’t going to explain that having a police officer charging into my kitchen, my sacred space, was honestly rather trippy to me.
“I like your shop,” he said, glancing around. His features were rugged, but his eyes were almost pretty. “I’ve been on the night shift for a few months, so this is the first time I’ve been able to drop in while you’re open.”
“So, did you pop in for donuts?” I joked.
He looked down at me with a glare, his eyes flashing sternly. Then he grinned, lighting up his entire face, making me realize once again that he was utterly gorgeous.
He quickly got down to business. “Yes, the police station needs donuts. You are our only hope, Bailey. Without your sustenance, we will be unable to save the city from itself.”
I laughed, surprised at how sweetly dorky he was. Grabbing a big white cardboard box, I went to the donut rack. “Mixed dozen?”
“Sure, if you could make sure there’s at least four dark chocolate in there.”
“No problem.”
“Oh – and what would you suggest for someone who is diabetic?”
My eyes grew wide and I handed him the box. “Hold on.”
I ran back to the kitchen while putting on my mitts. Pulling the mini garlic bread from the oven, they looked absolutely perfect. I placed two little loaves on a small metal tray.
Digging out a cardboard box sized for small cakes, I placed extra waxed paper inside so they wouldn’t stick to the bottom. I walked back to the front carrying the tray and the box. “Fresh herb and garlic bread. No sugar.”
“Brilliant,” he grinned. Then he took a whiff and his eyes grew wide. “Wow.”
I placed them on the counter “The only thing is, I hope you have a minute. They just came out of the oven, and I can’t box them yet.”
He made a face. “Yeah, picking melted paper bits from food is the worst.”