“Maybe next week. I think I want to play with it a little more—maybe add peanut butter chips to the mix and see how it tastes.”
“Oh, I want to try that,” she says and then hands me back my phone.
I slide through some of the photos, stopping on one I took of Leah before she walked down the aisle. Even in the photo, I can feel her happiness and excitement.
“Oh my God,” Rachelle hisses suddenly, jabbing her elbow into my rib cage and catching me off guard.
“What the heck?” I wheeze, grabbing hold of my side, sure I’m going to have a bruise there.
“Oh my God, oh my God, he’s coming in!” she cries, and I look to see which one of the dozens of high school boys she likes is about to enter the shop.
My eyes widen and my stomach drops when it’s not some high school kid, but Gaston . . . sweaty, gorgeous Gaston in running shoes, sweats cut off at the knee, and a hoodie.
“Please tell me he’s not too old for me,” she breathes.
“Why don’t you check to see if Aubrey needs any help in the back? And I’m sure the muffins are ready to come out of the oven by now.”
“My parents say I’m mature for seventeen. Maybe that means they’d be cool with me dating an older guy,” she whispers just loud enough for me to hear.
I fight back laughter and order, “Rachelle, go check the muffins before I call your dad.”
“Oh, all right.” She gives in but not before she checks him out one more time. I roll my eyes at her, and she shrugs as I feel Gaston’s presence getting closer to the counter.
When she’s out of sight, I turn my head and all rational thoughts leave my mind. Anything I might have said gets stuck on the tip of my tongue as an electric current crackles between us, causing the hair on my arms and the back of my neck to stand on end. Once again faced with the full force of his beauty up close—only now in the bright light of day—I’m at a loss. I didn’t forget how attractive he is; I just assumed that my drunken mind had made him out to be hotter than he really is.
“Hey,” I finally get out as his gaze bores into mine.
“You got a minute to talk?”
I look around to make sure that the shop is empty, then tip my head to the side. “Is it okay if we talk here?”
“Yeah, this is fine.” He lifts his hand and runs his fingers through his damp hair. “You haven’t called.”
I fight back the urge to flinch from his tone and then clear my throat. “Sorry, I should have called to tell you thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful. Actually, they still are beautiful.”
“I’m not talking about you calling to thank me for the flowers. I’m talking about you not calling me at all. Are you seeing someone?”
My head jerks back from the underlying tone of frustration in his question, and I shake my head while answering. “No.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
“What?” Who asks someone something like that?
“I’m trying to figure out why I haven’t heard from you.” His eyes are filled with annoyance and bore into mine. “I thought we hit it off. No one has made me laugh the way you did. I know that even if you say you’re not attracted to me, you are. I also know I’m definitely fucking attracted to you.”
Is it hot in here? It suddenly feels really hot in here. I want to touch my cheeks to feel if they’re red, and I just barely contain the urge.
“So why haven’t you called me?”
“Honestly?”
“Well, I can’t say I’m real big on the idea of you lying to me,” he says dryly, but I still catch a hint of amusement in his eyes.
A smile I can’t hold in tips up the corner of my lips. “I’ve been trying to figure out if it’d be smart to call you.”
“Smart?” His forehead wrinkles with confusion.
“Yeah, smart. I know men and the games they like to play. They all want to catch a woman when she’s running, but once they get her in their grasp, the fun is over and they move along, leaving the woman wondering what happened and where things went wrong.”
He leans across the counter toward me, and my breath catches as he wraps his finger around a piece of hair that fell out of my ponytail, slowly tucking it behind my ear. “Don’t confuse men and boys, sweetheart,” he says, then lowers his voice. “And don’t assume you know the kind of man I am when you haven’t given me a chance to show you what I’m made of.”
Goose bumps rise along my skin as a deep, rumbly growl escapes his chest, and his suddenly dark eyes slide to my lips. My pulse skyrockets with desire, and I blurt, “Do you want a cookie?”