Page 6 of Sweet Dreams

But as she scrolled through the profiles of men from around the world, she felt a tiny spark of excitement. This was crazy. This was reckless. This was... exactly what she needed.

Taking a deep breath, Beth clicked "Create Profile."

Name:Beth Mason

Age:32

Occupation:Baker and small business owner

Interests:Baking (obviously), reading, movies, exploring new cuisines

She hesitated over the "About Me" section. How do you sum up a person in a few sentences? Finally, she typed:

Just a small-town girl with flour in her hair and sugar in her veins. Looking for someone who can handle my sweet tooth and my sassy mouth. Bonus points if you can knead dough or frost a cupcake!

Before she could second-guess herself, Beth hit "Submit." Her phone pinged almost immediately.

You have a new message!

Heart racing, Beth opened it.

From:Yuri_V

Subject:Privet from Belarus!

Hello Beth! I couldn't resist messaging when I saw you were a baker. I used to run a nightclub, and let me tell you, nothing sobers up drunk patrons like a good pastry. Any chance you deliver internationally? ??

Cheers,

Yuri

Beth found herself grinning at the screen. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

As she began to type her reply, the bell chimed again. Beth looked up to see Zack from The Daily Grind, the local café, walking in with his usual calm smile.

"Hey, Beth! Got a minute? I had some ideas for a holiday coffee blend, thought you might want to partner up..."

Beth nodded, only half-listening as she finished her message to Yuri. For the first time since last night, she felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach. It wasn't much–just a tiny spark–but it was there.

A sweet new start, indeed.

Three

Yuri's fingers hovered over the keyboard, a half-empty bottle of kvass at his elbow. The soft light from the computer screen illuminated his cozy Minsk apartment. The walls were decorated with worn nightclub posters. Outside, the snow fell softly, blanketing the city in white.

He squinted at the dating profile on his screen, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. Beth Mason, 32, baker from New York. Her smile was warm, her red curls wild and inviting. But it was her bio that had him chuckling.

"Just a small-town girl with flour in her hair and sugar in her veins," he read aloud, his accent wrapping around the words. "Looking for someone who can handle my sweet tooth and my sassy mouth. Bonus points if you can knead dough or frost a cupcake!"

Yuri cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Challenge accepted, moye solnyshko."

He hit reply, fingers flying across the keys:

Dear Beth,

Privet from snowy Minsk! I hope this message finds you well and that you are not buried under a mountain of holiday orders. Your profile caught my eye–not many bakers in the nightclub scene, I must say. Though perhaps that's where I went wrong. Nothing sobers up drunk patrons like a good pastry, am I right?

I'm curious, what's your signature bake? I'm partial to medovik myself, though I doubt my babushka would approve of my attempt. Let's just say my talents lie more in mixing drinks than mixing dough.

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