Page 26 of Mitch

He never usually left without saying goodbye, so I knew he had to be there somewhere.

Hiding in the freezer maybe?

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you left,” I said,startled.

Mitchell set his camera down on the clean counter, raising an eyebrow.

“How could I leave without proper payment?” he said, flashing me a grin.

My cheeks flushed at his insinuation, and I wasn’t sure if I should have been offended or not.

“P—payment?” I swallowed, my mind thinking of his plush lips, his tongue in my mouth...

“I believe youdidsay there would be desserts involved in this gig,” he said teasingly.

Of course!

I felt like an absolute idiot. He’d offered his services at a discount because I had promised to pitch in some bake shop goodies.

“Yeah... yeah, of course. Uh, so, what, uh, what would you like to take home?” I asked as I slowly ambled backward, away from him.

Mitchell leaned against the back counter, spreading his arms along the ledge. He’d rolled up his zebra print sleeves to the elbow, and the first two buttons on his shirt had been popped.

With the way his dark hair fell in his eyes, and the smirk on his face, Icouldn’t deny he looked divine.

Just as delicious as any dessert in my display case.

I cleared my throat as I headed toward the case, grabbing a cardboard box and putting it together.

“I can think of one thing that isn’t in that case, that I’dloveto take home,” he toyed shamelessly.

I turned from him, my cheeks heating from his words.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Granted, I’d never been the best when it came to flirting, and I usually despised guys who were so cheesy in their pick up lines when it came to women.

No one had ever flirted with me like Mitchell did.

Man or woman.

Something about that made my entire body heat like a bonfire.

Is that what I want?

I wasn’t really surewhatI wanted. I liked Mitchell’s words. I thought he was pretty hot, even in a pink zebra print shirt that totally clashed with our clean and crisp aesthetic.

And I had to admit, drunk or not, I liked it when he kissed me.

No, I likedhowhe kissed me. Because no one had ever kissed me like I was some princess in a fairytale.

Like a dragon-slaying knight in shining armor.

“I highly suggest the cinnamon rolls. We make them fresh every day,” I said, ignoring his blatant flirtations.

Mitchell didn’t press me. He only hummed in understanding as he responded, “Whatever you say, Cream Puff.”

I turned around, incensed by the moniker he’d gifted me that first night we’d spoke.

---