it’s the morning rush. Julia can’t handle the store alone.”
“But the dough...”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Lizzie scurried out through the double doors to the front, leaving Daisy with the dough and Colin Forsythe. After donning one of the extremely unattractive hair nets—she was beyond caring how she looked—and thoroughly washing her hands, she took over Lizzie’s job. Punching dough was exactly what she needed right now.
“You’re really letting that dough have it.”
“Some doughs need a gentle touch. Others need a good, hard spanking.” Daisy regretted the words the second they came out of her mouth. “Please don’t quote me there.”
“Shame. It’s a good quote.” Colin said, coughing to cover up a laugh. “I thought bakeries did all the baking in the early hours.”
Daisy scratched an itchy spot on her chin with her shoulder and then gave the dough another punch, getting less satisfaction than normal from the warm, airy flour as it enclosed her fist and the smell of yeast that always accompanied the task. At the very least, his question was professional, so Daisy answered, hoping her voice sounded more composed than she felt. “It’s one of the reasons we’re so popular. We offer fresh baking all day long, featuring different bestsellers every day of the week. Tuesdays are cinnamon-bun days. These should be ready for lunch, and we’ll do another batch for the after-work crowd.”
“You’re always this busy?”
“Always.”
“How many people do you have working here?”
“Two full-time girls at the counter, although Chrissy’s sick today, and Lizzie and Bruce help me in the kitchen. Then I’ve got five part-timers for evenings and weekends.” It was then that Daisy noticed Colin Forsythe had no pen. No paper. He wasn’t even recording this. She frowned. “You’re not taking any of this down?”
He tapped the side of his head. “It’s all up here. Don’t you worry.”
After finishing with the huge bowl, Daisy covered it with a clean, damp cloth and placed it in the warmer to rise. Then she started on the next. She found it much easier to talk to Colin when she didn’t have to look at him and her hands were busy, keeping her mind focused on something other than the fact that he’d seen more of her than any man had in a very long time.
Colin pulled up a stool and sat down, watching her work. “How do you keep up with it?”
“It’s easy.” She glanced up. “I love it. Spending my time here isn’t work. And the staff—well, we’re like one big family.” The only person missing from that family was Nana. God, how she missed her.
“The sign on the door says Nana Sin’s been around for fifty years. How did you acquire it?”
“It was my grandmother’s. After she died, I inherited it.” And it did belong to her, no matter what Alan’s lawyer said. Daisy glanced down. Seeing her ex’s face superimposed on the bowl of dough, she gave the lump a good hard whack.
“How long have you worked here?”
“I can’t really say. I’ve basically spent most of my life here.” She glanced around the big kitchen. Though she’d made some updates since taking over three years ago, the kitchen still evoked the same memories. It didn’t matter that it looked different than it did when she was growing up. The smell was the same. Yeast, brown sugar, cinnamon, baked butter—it was synonymous with her grandmother, synonymous with safety and security and home.
“Tell me, Daisy...may I call you Daisy?”
“I think we’re past formalities.”
Colin chuckled deep inside that stupidly big chest of his. “When do I get to sample something?”
She blinked at him. A strange heat crept up the inside of her ribcage to settle at the base of her throat. Did he intend to sound suggestive? Because all Daisy could think about was Colin Forsythe sampling something much more...intimate than cinnamon buns. Her mouth and bare skin, for example.
Dammit, Daisy! Just because he saw you in your hot pink undies does not make him hot for you. Besides, he’s clearly an ass. Isn’t one ass in your lifetime enough?
The thought made her simultaneously hot and cold.
Colin grinned as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and motioned to a half dozen fresh buns sitting on cooling racks.
“Oh. Of course.” When he went to grab a bun, she slapped his hand, an automatic reaction, but one that felt way too familiar. She cleared her throat. “Not those. They’re for Johnny.” Daisy grabbed a plate from the cupboard and separated a bun from the others cooling. When she passed him the plate, she made certain their fingers did not come in contact.
No more touching. No more thoughts of touching.
Colin leaned over the plate and took a deep breath. His brows drew together, and a look of bliss came over him. It almost redeemed him in Daisy’s eyes.
Almost.
He lifted the bun and held it in front of his face before taking a big bite. His brows lifted and then dropped. “Mmm.” He turned to her, rapture written in the gleam of his eyes. He slowly took another bite. And then another. After his fourth—not that Daisy was counting—he said with a still partially full mouth, “Wow. So good.”
“Thank you.”
He finished chewing and then turned the plate in his hand, inspecting the last bite. “It’s perfect. You know that, right? The outside is crisp, the inside soft. They’re sweet and sticky, but the sweetness is balanced with the freshness of the bread.” He cocked his head to the side and asked, “Aren’t you having some?”
Daisy pressed her lips together. The buns were her all-time favorite, and witnessing Colin’s unrestrained enthusiasm—the groans, the finger licking, the orgasmic look on his face—evoked an aberrant longing that made it hard to breathe.
Orgasmic look? Where the hell did that thought come from? Sheesh!
“Here, have some of mine.” Colin held out the remaining bite for her.
Daisy backed away because the pull to lean forward and take the bite—with her mouth, right from his hand—was overpowering. “No, thanks,” she said, staring at his fingers, a vivid image of herself licking them ricocheting inside her head.
“You don’t eat your own baking?”
“Oh, yeah. All the time. Just not today.”
He narrowed his eyes. Under his scrutiny, Daisy felt like the shy, insecure kid she’d once been, desperate to please.
“Please tell me that you, of all people, are not on a diet.”
“What if I am?” Daisy asked defensively.
“I’d say stop.” He leaned back, crossed his arms on his broad chest and let his eyes wander over her body.
Daisy
