Page 37 of I Love a Good Challenge

I can now confirm she is just as pretty from this angle as when I tower above her.

“I—you’re—soaked!” Hand towels are thrown at me, the paper towels having long surrendered to the espresso machine and its madness.

“Lily, what happened here?”

She runs her fingers through her hair, having no idea she is also smearing chocolate across her forehead. Her forearm is thrown across her forehead like she is a Regency heroine collapsing on the couch in a fit of fainting.

“I was trying to clean the machine after today’s afternoon rush, and the button . . . stuck! Pouring . . . nonstop! I thought that machine was alive, and I’d entered a portal to a coffee-powered dimension, and this was the villain. I don’t know what I did to offend it, but it clearly has it out for me!”

I’m listening, trying not to let amusement show on my face. I’ve always controlled my reaction around Lily because I care for her. From the beginning of our relationship, I understood—almost instinctively—that she seems to struggle with feeling that she’s the only one not measuring up. It’s wild to me that she could think that, given both her incredible talent and how I feel about her, but it has always been clear that laughing at her is the conclusion she draws before she realizes you’re laughing with her.

“I say we take that machine down,” I reply with conviction.

I stand, and it is the most uncomfortable feeling I’ve ever experienced in my life. Coffee drips through my dress pants, running in little rivulets down my legs. I shudder. “Well, this is horrible,” I mutter.

“Oh gosh, what have I done?”

It’s then that Lily looks deeply at me, her grey eyes reflecting the beauty found in an overcast day. There is a hint of purple at the edges of her pupils, the hope of spring coming alive at the end of winter.

“George,” she begins, “thank you.”

My eyebrows arch up, the vulnerability in her eyes evident. “Don’t mention it.”

Lily takes a step closer to me. Before I can process what’s happening, my hand reaches out to push a piece of her hair that has fallen back into place behind her ear. I’ve dreamed of feeling her silky hair between my fingers again so many times since she pushed me away . . . I just never thought there would be such a powerful aroma of coffee when I finally had my chance.

The scent is so strong my eyes want to water. What is even stronger is the urge I have to reach into the pastry case and grab a handful of brown butter biscotti to dip into a fresh cup. But the strongest of it all is the pull I feel toward Lily.

My hand goes rogue, gently wiping some of the chocolate off her forehead before it trails down the side of her face to cradle one side of her jaw in my palm.

“I don’t know why I can’t seem to let you go. Lord knows I’ve tried,” I say softly, my voice cracking.

Lily responds by slowly raising her hand and placing it above my own. I inhale sharply, the sound loud to my ears as Lily closes her eyes and ever so slightly leans her head into my palm. Her movement is so nuanced I almost miss it.

I am leaning my head toward her a bit when I’m hit with the force of her eyes flying open, her gaze instantly connecting with mine. The only sound in the bakery is our breathing as we both lean in. My free hand clenches to restrain myself from pulling her closer. The other, I will not to shake as it caresses her jaw.

After all we’ve been through, is this the moment I get to kiss her again?

“Yoohoo! Lily!”

Gladys’ voice breaks through the trance we are in. Lily’s eyes widen. Immediately, a flash of emotion rushes through me, and I feel as if I could cry as I see the frost cover over any spark of new life between us once more.

“Have you seen the latest post I sent you about the men with glasses drinking coffee? They are my latest obsession! Art at its finest.”

The door creaks as she pushes it open. With a little jump over the currents of coffee still escaping to party in the town square, Gladys enters, oblivious to the mess. Her eyes lock on us.

“What’s going on in here?” she says with delight, eyeing Lily and me with a look so expressive I know I now have a lot to worry about.

And she hasn’t even seen the state of my pants. Too late. I see her eyes shift to my trousers. She shakes her head, swiftly opening her phone to take a picture or record—I’m not sure which.

“Honey, this is some act of chivalry, let me tell you,” she says under her breath.

Lily jumps away from me. “Ah!” she yells, running to the back kitchen. Pots bang loudly. I’m pretty sure I hear a few utensils thrown, and something that smells like burned caramel makes its way through the air as she pushes through the swinging doors and steps toward me.

“I burned the croissants.” Her despair is evident, her face crinkling with regret.

Normally, this would only be a laughable offense, but the look on her face tells me there is more to this than baked goods. Lily is excellent at her job. She co-owns the bakery, and there’s no way she would ever do anything to let Sparrow down.

“If you wanted him to burn your croissants, all you had to do was ask him, lovely,” Gladys chirps softly as she walks to the front door with a smile. She pops open an umbrella as soon as she hits the sidewalk, even though there hasn’t been any rain all day.

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