Page 5 of One S'more Time

"Sometimes you just need the real thing." I meet her eyes as I say it, and something shifts between us. The air feels charged, like the moment before a summer storm breaks. Her smile softens, the teasing edge melting away into something more vulnerable, more honest. For a moment, we're just standing there, surrounded by the smell of sugar and chocolate, neither of us looking away. My heart beats a steady rhythm against my ribs, counting the seconds of this perfect, suspended moment.

"You might be right about that," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between us, weighted with possibility.

ELLIE

I'm suddenly not sure what we're talking about—or even what I'm talking about. All I know is how good it feels to have Nate's calming presence in my bakery. The way he fills the space with his quiet strength, making everything feel more grounded somehow. My fingers fidget with the edge of my apron, and I'm hyperaware of how close we're standing, how I can catch the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the bakery's sweetness. It's distracting in the best possible way. Part of me wants to step closer, to see if this electricity between us is just in my imagination or if he feels it too. But another part—the cautious part that's been burned before—holds me back, even as my heart races ahead without permission.

Cooper saves me from getting too lost in my thoughts, bounding over with a tail that seems to have its own zip code, wagging at approximately a million miles per hour. His chocolate eyes look up at me with such unabashed adoration that I can't help but smile. It's funny how dogs have this sixth sense about human tension—like they're little furry emotional lightning rods, ready to diffuse whatever electricity is building between people. And right now, I'm grateful for the interruption, even as part of me mourns the moment that might have been.

"Hey, buddy," I say, crouching down to Cooper's level and scratching behind his ears. "You look like a guy who needs another treat." His ears perk up at the magic word, and I swear I can see the calculations happening behind those soulful brown eyes—as if he's trying to figure out exactly how much tail-wagging will maximize his chances of getting somethingdelicious. It's a welcome distraction from whatever was building between Nate and me a moment ago, though I can still feel the lingering warmth in my cheeks.

I glance at Nate, and I see something that almost looks like frustration at the moment being lost, but I must be mistaken. There's a tightness around his mouth, a slight furrow between his brows that wasn't there before. For a split second, I wonder if he feels the same strange pull I do—that sense of something unfinished hanging in the air between us. But that's ridiculous. A guy like him wouldn't be disappointed about an interrupted moment with someone like me. I'm just projecting my own feelings onto his expression, turning ordinary politeness into something it's not. Again.

I've been through this before, and I never seem to come out the winner. The self-conscious voice in my head is all too familiar, the one that reminds me I'm setting myself up for disappointment again, reading into things that aren't there.

I pull myself together, straightening my shoulders and forcing brightness into my voice as I say, "Let me get these cupcakes wrapped for you." My hands are steady as I reach for the pink bakery boxes stacked under the counter, focusing on the task to ground myself.

"You're not going to sell them?" Nate asks, his deep voice carrying a hint of surprise that makes me look up.

I gasp in mock astonishment, pressing a flour-dusted hand to my chest dramatically. "These are your first s'more cupcakes! We can't waste them oncustomers." The teasing lilt in my voice comes naturally, despite my inner turmoil. Whatever moment I thought we were having is gone, but at least I can salvage my dignity with cupcakes.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and I realize just how much I've fallen for him. That laugh does things to me—warm, fluttery things that make my stomach tighten and my cheeks heat. It's ridiculous how quickly he's burrowed under my skin.

Chill out, Ellie. It's just a laugh. And those are just broad shoulders. And that's just the kindest smile you've ever seen... Okay, not helping.

I hand him the box, our fingers brushing in that brief, electric way that somehow feels more intimate than it should. I wonder if I'm going to see him again now that we've made the cupcakes, whether this was just a pleasant diversion in his otherwise busy life. A one-time thing. Maybe we'll see each other across the street in the coming days, exchange polite waves, and go on our separate ways—him to whatever retired firefighters do, and me back to my ovens and piping bags.

My throat tightens up at the thought, a small knot of disappointment forming that I hadn't anticipated. It's ridiculous how quickly I've gotten used to his presence in my kitchen, his laugh filling the spaces I didn't even realize were empty before.

"Better get you some treats to go, Coop," I say, reaching for one of the bakery's branded paper bags. "A literal doggie bag." I snort a little in laughter at my own joke, my cheeks heating when I realize what I just did. Great, now Nate's going to think I have the humor level of a grade-schooler. But when I glance up, he's smiling at me with a warmth that makes my embarrassment fade. I busy myself selecting a few of Cooper's favorite treats, trying to ignore how my hands are suddenly a little unsteady.

"See you soon," he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through my chest.

Is he really planning to see me soon, or is that just a generic statement? The kind of polite goodbye people toss around without meaning anything by it? With Nate, I can't quite tell, and that uncertainty makes my stomach flutter in a way I'd forgotten it could.

"Yeah," I say lamely, mentally kicking myself for not coming up with something wittier or more charming. "See you around."

And if I watch his firefighter's frame when he leaves, following that confident stride all the way to the door? Well, that's my little secret. Girl needs a few joys in her life, and the view of Nate walking away is definitely joy-inducing, even if it also comes with a tiny pang of something that feels suspiciously like longing.

6

SWEET ROUTINES AND FIRST KISSES

Nate

Over the past few weeks, I've developed a routine. Mondays and Thursdays, I swing by Sweet Somethings during that perfect lull between the morning rush and lunch crowd. I tell myself it's because Cooper likes the routine—dogs need structure—but even I'm not buying that excuse anymore. Hell, who am I kidding? Years of running into danger, and somehow this bakery makes my heart race more than any five-alarm fire ever did.

Today, I push through the door and catch her singing along to some pop song, piping bag in hand as she swirls frosting onto a tray of cupcakes. She doesn't notice me at first, completely lost in her own world. The concentration on her face is something to behold—eyebrows slightly furrowed, bottom lip caught between her teeth, those nimble fingers creating perfect spirals of buttercream with effortless precision. Cooper sits patiently at my side, his tail already thumping against the hardwood floor in anticipation of the treats he knows are coming his way.

"Don't stop on my account," I say, leaning against the counter with a grin I can't quite contain. "You were just getting to the good part. That high note was coming up, wasn't it?"

Ellie jumps, nearly squeezing frosting all over herself, the piping bag jerking in her hand. "Nate! How long have you been standing there?" Her eyes go wide, mortification written across her features.

"Long enough to know you've got a decent voice." I wink, and her cheeks flush that perfect shade of pink I've come to look forward to. It's becoming something of an addiction, seeing that color bloom across her face, knowing I'm the one who put it there.

"Liar," she laughs, setting down her piping bag with a shake of her head. "But you're a gentleman for saying so." Her fingers fidget with the edge of her apron, a nervous habit I've noticed whenever she's embarrassed but pleased.

Cooper whines at my feet, reminding us both of his presence. He's been so well-behaved until now, sitting quietly while I embarrassed myself, but apparently his patience has limits. Poor guy probably thought we'd forgotten he was there.

---