Page 19 of Fire and Icing

“Yes. That’s me.” Dustin looks almost bashful.

“Well, welcome to Waterford. We’re so glad to have you here.”

Melissa introduces herself and her two children, tells him all the details of her husband’s job as an accountant ending with, “Let us know if you need anything as you settle in.”

“Thank you very much,” Dustin grins warmly at Melissa.

She and her kids walk out, stopping to chat with one more local before actually making their way to the sidewalk.

“What can I get you?” Syd asks Dustin when he turns back to the counter.

“Actually …” he smiles at her too.

Again with that smile—the same smile he gave me after he hauled me out of my house. The one that belongs in a playbook. The one he probably honed as a teenage heartbreaker, sharpened like a blade, polished like a weapon. A smile designed to disarm. A tool in his arsenal. He wields that smile like a master swordsman. And it gets the job done. Half the women in my shop fall into a collective sigh-fest—unwitting casualties of his tactical charm.

“I need to talk to Emberleigh,” Dustin says, unexpectedly.

“To me?” I touch my hand to my chest.

He nods.

“Oh, okay.” Syd’s obvious disappointment seeps into her voice.

“Nothing personal,” he says to Syd. “It’s sort of … well … I just have to.”

“Ahhhh …” Syd smiles. “Is this one of those initiation things y’all do at the station?”

“Initiation?” He winks at Sydney. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Smooth. So smooth.

“I just need to say something to Emberleigh,” Dustin explains to Syd. “And give her our order.”

“Well …” Sydney waves as if ushering Dustin in my direction. “... be my guest.”

All eyes are on Dustin and me except for the few customers seated and chatting at tables down past the end of the glass case.

Dustin steps over to the spot in front of me, leaning just close enough to send an unexpected flicker of heat across my cheeks. He shifts, glances left, then right—like he’s checking to see who’s watching us. Then he takes a deep breath, pausing before releasing it.

His eyes lock on to mine, steady, unreadable. He rubs one hand over the back of his neck before finally speaking.

“I uh …” Dustin clears his throat, followed by a half-nod. His lips press together for a second before he lets out another sigh. It’s weighty, considering we’re in a bakery and he’s only here to give me an order for whatever the guys asked him to bring back.

“I’m truly sorry I—” he winces a little “—manhandled you like an oaf, Emberleigh.”

A slow, reluctant warmth fills my chest, one I refuse to acknowledge.

He actually called himself an oaf? And he admits to manhandling me? Huh.

Dustin’s gaze never wavers. Those slate blue eyes study me—more grey than blue today, with a stronger patch of brown around one pupil than the other. Distractingly uneven. Like maybe he’s not as put-together as his practiced smirk suggests.

“Okay. That’s fine. We’re good. Could we just not talk about it?” My words come out more clipped than I intend.

An apology was the last thing I expected—certainly not one delivered in front of my whole store during the tail end of the morning rush.

I look away from Dustin and down into the case. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a dozen donuts in whatever flavors you want to give us. But if you have any of those blueberry-lemon donuts, you might want to put a couple of those in—or three.”

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