Even in the middle of the summer when the humidity is so thick it feels like I’m walking through Jell-O, the sticky heat making my hair curl. It’s my very favorite place in the world.Įvery day I flick on the lights and set out the tables and feel like I’m living inside a snow globe. Walls lined in cozy booths with throw pillows and blankets. I spend my days mixing and plating and rolling and wrapping inside of an old tractor shed that my business partner, Stella, and I converted into a bakery as soon as she bought the place. I own a little bakeshop tucked in the middle of a Christmas tree farm about forty miles west of here. “Probably all the baking you do, right? Those sweet treats make you thick in all the right places.” I shovel another bite of passion fruit and coconut in my mouth. “Your profile picture doesn’t do you justice.” “I had no idea you were hiding all that.” He twirls his fork in my general direction. His eyes dip down to my neckline and hold. He burps into his closed fist and I abandon the effort. I cut my dessert into four perfectly portioned bites and try to make my face do something that resembles vague interest. Like the guy who picked me up for dinner in a horse and buggy. I’m not sure how, but I’ve seen stranger things happen. It’s possible that he’s not as bad as he seems. “Oh?” I indulge his attempt at conversation. He picked me up forty-five minutes late, berated the waitstaff as soon as we got here, took two shots of-and I quote, the cheapest bourbon available-and then promptly ordered a steak without bothering to ask what I would like. That’s a bold statement coming from the man slouched in the seat across from me. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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