Page 21 of You Cake My Breath Away

The exposed beams running along the ceiling make the room seem larger, perfect for hanging holiday and event decor. Three long shelvesare placed behind what I assume will be the checkout counter, and I can’t wait to fill them with colorful take-out boxes with my bakery’s name in script across them. I imagine tables packed with people, mouths happily devouring my delicious treats.

“I can smell you thinking from over here,” Archer says with a more playful tone than I’ve heard in a while.

“Why are you so weird? Who says that?”

He shrugs and turns away from me, and I focus my attention on the work he’s done. My imagination runs rampant with all the ideas I had for this bakery, a blueprint of where I wanted every single shelf, counter, and table.

My eyes land on a shelf adhered to the side wall. “Oh no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s not where that goes.” I stifle the urge to be angry that he’s made decisions in my bakery without consulting me. After talking with Shantel, I realize they were all just trying to wait it out but still keep my dream alive if they could.

He grunts. “Where what goes?”

I point and his gaze follows. “That should be on this wall.”

“What are you talking about?” He pulls a rag from his back pocket, lifts his hat and wipes along his brow.

I clomp over to the shelf and wave my hands like Vanna White. “This doesn’t belong here.”

Heat invades my space as Archer leans down to meet my eyes. I’m 5’7, and he’s only about seven inches taller than me, but the weight of his stare makes me feel like a garden gnome he’s about to kick over.

“Yes, it does.” He stares at me for a second with narrowed eyes, biting down on his lip like he’s debating whether he should say whatever is brewing behind his emerald eyes. Pushing back from the shelf, he walksto the counter. “You said you wanted a space to hold kid's baking classes, and if that shelf was on the opposite wall or moved, you wouldn’t have room to do that.”

Brain malfunctioning, I find myself at a loss for words. The weird feeling snaking around my chest is unwelcome, but I don’t know how to stop it. I haven’t talked about my dream of teaching kids to bake since college, before he froze me out.

“How do you remember that?” I ask, curious if Jessie gave him instruction on how I’d want things done.

“You mentioned it the night we all went to Enchanted Rock before finals,” he says, gaze focused on the level before him.

“Oh.” How he remembers that night is beyond me. We all drank too much under the stars. He picks up a hammer, and I scramble to follow. “What can I help with?”

“I don’t need your help.” He crouches down to grab a slab of wood flooring.

I shrug off my jacket and kneel beside him. Goosebumps raise the hairs on my arms, and pressure settles onto my chest just from the sheer closeness of him. I wiggle away, putting distance between us.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I pretend to push up my invisible sleeves with a smile. “I’m helping.”

He closes his eyes and inhales like it’s taking everything in him not to throw me out. “I don’t need your help.”

Frustrated, I throw my hands in the air. “What the hell, Archer?”

“Don’t start,” he says.

I nearly laugh. Has any woman ever actually stopped after a man made it a point to tell her whatever she’s about to say is going to start an argument? I think not.

“No. You—” I point at him, “—don’tstart. This ismybakery.”

“It’s notyoursyet.” He covers his mouth as if he didn’t mean to say that.

But he’s right. Up until recently I had no idea about this building Jessie bought—because they kept it from me. I swallow against the sour taste in my mouth.

“It’s not a bakery until everything is finished,” Archer adds when I don’t speak, trying to walk back his statement. “And I’m the one doing the work on it.”

My voice lowers. “Then I’ll find someone else.”

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