“Good evening, young lady,” came a man’s voice. “What can I get you to drink?”
She looked up into the smiling brown face of an older man whose nametag read “Dutch.”
“Hi,” she said, returning the smile. The man had a welcoming quality about him that put her at ease. No mean feat given the way her stomach had been doing loop-the-loops in anticipation of asking a stranger about a guy she’d met. “Chocolate milkshake and a water, please.”
“Coming right up.”
She watched him as he moved from scooping the ice cream to pouring the milk and chocolate sauce in to sliding the metal cup onto an old-time-looking blender. He poured the shake into a glass cup and topped it with a swirl of whipped cream, and then brought both containers over to her.
Emma grinned. “I love when you get the extra in the mixing container.”
“Me, too,” he said with a wink. “When I opened this place thirty-seven years ago, that was one touch I absolutely knew I’d be doing. Know what you’ll be having?”
She ordered a turkey club and then ignored the butterflies in her belly to ask, “Is Haven working tonight?”
The smile he gave her spoke of an affection for the woman. “She’s in the back putting the finishing touches on a few cakes. I’ll let her know you were asking for her.”
“Thank you,” she said as he made his way down the counter. She took a long pull on the straw, and the chocolate was cold and rich on her tongue. Oddly, she preferred ice cream in the winter time, even though it meant her hands were probably going to be cold for the rest of the night.
The bell over the front door jingled, and Emma did a double take. Two men wearing Raven Riders jackets came through the door, one with longish dark brown hair and a harsh-looking face, even when he smiled. The other had shorter, wavy brown hair. They slid onto two stools a few down from her and grabbed menus as they talked animatedly about something having to do with cars.
Despite the ice cream in her mouth and the chilled air that had poured in with the bikers, heat filled Emma’s face. Because how in the world was she supposed to ask Haven about Caine…with two other members of his club sitting right there?
It took everything she had to not flee. But then a pretty woman with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail came out through the swinging door carrying a cake platter in each hand, and her gaze landed on Emma. This had to be Haven. Which pretty much meant, crap, there was no escape for her now.
No regrets, Em.
Right.
The conversation from the Ravens at the counter fell away as both men focused on the woman. She put down the heavy-looking platters and smiled at them in return.
“Aw, Haven, you shouldn’t have,” the man with the wavy hair said.
“I’d make you a cake any old day, Jagger Locke. Just name it.” She gave his hand an affectionate pat. And then she moved down to the other man. “Hi.”
Just that one word communicated so much pleasure that Emma couldn’t look away even though she was fully aware that she was staring. And then the way he looked at her should’ve come with a warning label. Caution: Hot.
“Hi, pretty girl.” He pushed up from his seat and leaned his upper body across the counter. His hand cupped the back of her neck as he kissed her. Just one thorough kiss.
Wow. That…that was the sweetest, hottest thing Emma had seen in a long time. She forced her gaze back to her milkshake and took another long drink.
The woman took their order and entered it into a touch screen, and then she made her way to Emma just as Dutch brought out her oversized sandwich and fries. “Hi, I’m Haven. Dutch said you asked for me.”
Emma was one hundred percent aware that both bikers had just looked her way, and she thought it was entirely possible that she might swallow her tongue. So she started with something that was both true and easy. “Hi, I’m Emma. I was raving about the peanut butter cookies to a friend of mine, and he mentioned you’re the new baker here. So I wanted you to know how amazing I think they are. I’m, like, never going to try to make peanut butter cookies of my own again.”
Haven laughed and gave a little nod. “Why, thank you.”
Dutch bumped his shoulder against Haven’s. “Hiring this woman was the smartest thing I’ve done in a long time. See? Even old dogs can learn new tricks.”
“You’re not old, Dutch. You’re distinguished,” Haven said, grinning up at the older man whose black hair was shot through with gray. A family came through the door and made for one of the booths.