it, Sasha,” Dwight said softly, cutting her off. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re not the first and won’t be the last person to experience preopening jitters. I’m willing to bet you’ll have a line out the door like the ones in Brooklyn when folks order cakes from Junior’s for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Her expression brightened noticeably. “You know about Junior’s?”
Grinning from ear to ear, Dwight chuckled softly. “One of my army buddies was a native New Yorker and he knew every popular eating spot on Long Island and the five boroughs. The first time he took me to Junior’s for dinner and suggested I try the cheesecake, I was hooked. I try to visit Junior’s at least once every time I go to New York.”
“Do you go often?”
“I used to go back three or four times a year when Kiera lived with my ex-wife.”
The mention of an ex-wife had Sasha wondering if Dwight had remarried, despite his not wearing a wedding band. However, his marital status was of no import to her at the moment. Her sole focus was making a go of her patisserie.
“After I graduated from culinary school, I took a two-month break and treated myself to trips to DC, New York and Boston to visit a number of restaurants who’d earned a reputation for their signature desserts. Junior’s was on my list for cheesecakes once I got to New York City. Everything I’d heard or read about their cheesecakes could not accurately describe what I’d eaten. I’d become so obsessed in attempting to duplicate their recipe that I gave up and now use a basic recipe and slightly tweak it to make it my own.”
“Your cheesecake is spectacular.”
A rush of heat suffused her face. “Thank you.”
Dwight stretched out long legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can count me as a regular customer if you send me an email whenever you bake bagels, ciabatta, focaccia, cinnamon raisin or Irish soda bread.”
Sasha felt a rush of excitement for the first time since sitting down with Dwight. She was looking forward to foot traffic for special-order items. “I’ll definitely add your name to my mailing list. I plan to alert everyone on the list of the day’s special.” She pushed to her feet, Dwight rising with her, and extended her hand. “Thank you for the pep talk. I left a pad at the front of the shop for you to put down your contact information.”
Dwight took her hand, his larger one closing over her fingers. He went completely still. “Why is your hand so cold?”
“I’ve always had cold hands.”
“Cold hands, warm heart?” he teased.
“You’ve got it,” Sasha countered.
Once her marriage soured and she felt comfortable enough to disclose the details to her mother, Charlotte had accused her of loving with her heart rather than her head. She didn’t want to tell the older woman that she did not want a repeat of her marriage, where every day was filled with hostility, so she’d bitten her tongue in order to keep the peace. However, in the end she knew she could not continue to put up with a man who was continually threatened that her popularity was surpassing his, as he constantly reminded her. It had taken more than six months for her to finally tell Grant it was over and that she wanted out. Much to her surprise, he agreed, and less than a year later they went their separate ways.
Dwight increased his hold on her hand, his thumb caressing the back and adding warmth not only to her fingers but adding a rush of warmth through her whole body. Though undeniably innocent, the motion elicited shivers of sensual awareness coursing through her. Sasha could not believe she was reveling in the feel of a man holding her hand.
“May I please have my hand back?” A teasing smile tilted the corners of her mouth.
Dwight dropped it as if it was a venomous snake. “Sorry about that.”
I’m not, Sasha thought. She wasn’t sorry because it had been much too long since she’d found herself affected by a man’s touch. Now that she looked back on her relationship with her ex-husband, Sasha knew she had been in denial when she refused to see what had been so apparent from her first date with Grant. He was a narcissist. It had to be all about him.
Despite what she’d felt when Dwight held her hand, Sasha knew there was no way she could allow herself to be swayed by romantic fantasies. Her sole focus was making certain she remained in business. She had invested too much time and money in the bakeshop to have it fail. Dwight stared at her, and suddenly she felt like a specimen on a slide under a microscope.
Without warning, a wave of exhaustion washed over her as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “It has been a long day, and as soon as I let you out, I’m going to head home. I’d planned to put up a batch of dough for bread, but that’s something I’ll do when I come in early tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait and walk you out.”
Sasha shook her head. “Thank you for offering, but I believe I can find my way to the parking lot rather easily.”
“I’ll still wait and walk you to your car.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
There was something in Dwight’s voice that indicated no matter what she said she wouldn’t be able to dissuade him. She showed him where he could put down his contact information before returning to the kitchen to turn off lights and retrieve her tote from the lower drawer in the file cabinet. Dwight met her as she armed the security system, opened and locked the rear door behind them.
Sasha pointed to the van parked several spaces down from the bakeshop. The parking lot was brightly lit with newly installed high-intensity streetlamps. A rash of burglaries and break-ins had prompted shopkeepers to get the town council to approve improved lighting to protect their businesses.
“The white van is mine.”
Dwight walked her to her vehicle and waited for her to unlock the doors. “Do you want to give me a hint about tomorrow’s special?”
“Red velvet cheesecake brownies. I’ll put aside a few and give them to Kiera when she comes in. One of the perks will be she will get samples of the day’s special.” Dwight’s dimples reminded Sasha of the indentations in thumbprint cookies when he smiled.
“That sounds like a plan.”
Sasha got in behind the wheel and started up the van. “Get home safe,” she said before closing the door. Dwight hadn’t moved as she put the vehicle in Reverse and drove out of the lot. Talking to him had offered Sasha a modicum of confidence that she could have a successful business offering the residents of Wickham Falls fresh baked goods.
Ten minutes later, she maneuvered into the driveway of the three-bedroom house where she’d grown up, and where her mother still lived. It wasn’t until she’d returned to The Falls and moved back in the house that she’d realized how small it was. Eleven hundred square feet was a far cry from the six-thousand-square-foot home she’d shared with her husband in Nashville’s tony West End neighborhood. Sitting on three acres of prime real estate, the house was so large the builder had installed intercoms for her to communicate with Grant whenever they were in opposite wings of the mansion.
Sasha had given all of it up—the
