Page 2 of Ryder
“And miss this morning’s entertainment? Not a chance.” Elise starts his usual coffee order without being asked—black Americano, extra shot.
“Besides, Garrett’s out with Dad checking the north pasture.”
I busy myself with frosting the rolls, trying to focus on making each swirl perfect instead of the way Ryder’s presence seems to fill the whole bakery. It’s ridiculous, really. I’ve left behind a world of society parties and corporate lawyers to build something real with my own hands. I’m not about to get butterflies over some cowboy’s smile like a teenager with a crush.
Even if it’s a really great smile.
“So Dana,” his voice has that tone that usually precedes trouble, “I hear y’all are catering the Fall Festival next month.”
“Word travels fast.” I add an extra dollop of cream cheese frosting to his roll, telling myself it’s just good customer service. “Mrs. Henderson strong-armed us into it yesterday. Apparently, my apple pie is ‘simply divine’ and ‘exactly what the festival needs.’”
“Smart woman, Mrs. Henderson.” He watches as I plate his breakfast. “Need any help with deliveries? I’ve got a truck and time.”
Behind him, Rachel and Elena exchange looks that are about as subtle as a neon sign.
“That’s... that’s really nice of you to offer.” I hand him the plate, careful not to let our fingers brush. Last time that happened, I dropped an entire tray of scones. “But I couldn’t ask you to-”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” His eyes hold mine, and for a moment the teasing glint fades into something warmer. Something that makes my chest tight. “Besides, someone’s got to make sure you don’t work yourself to death. You’re here before dawn every day as it is.”
“I like the quiet,” I say softly, and immediately wish I hadn’t. It sounds too honest, too close to admitting why I’ve chosen this little Montana town, this simple life that would have my mother reaching for her smelling salts.
Something flickers across his face, like he catches the weight behind my words. But then that easy smile is back, and he’s reaching for his wallet. “Well, if you change your mind about the help, you know where to find me. Though fair warning—my assistance comes with a taste-testing fee.”
“Shocking,” I deadpan, ringing up his order. “Whatever would the festival committee do with all these leftover baked goods?”
“Exactly. I’m performing a vital community service here.” He hands over far too much money, like always. “Keep the change, sugar.”
“Ryder—”
“Consider it an investment in my future pastry needs.” He picks up his coffee and breakfast, then pauses. Something shifts in his expression, turning serious for just a moment. “You know, I-”
The door chimes again as Mrs. Peterson bustles in with her usual morning crowd of teacher friends, and whatever he’s about to say disappears behind that practiced grin.
“Ladies! Looking lovely as always. Dana’s got fresh cinnamon rolls this morning. Best in three counties.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me with the familiar mix of frustration and longing that seems to follow every one of our interactions.
“Oh honey.” Elise appears at my elbow with a sympathetic smile as Rachel and Elena wave goodbye, Rachel grinning through a mouthful of cinnamon roll. “You’ve got it bad.”
“I’ve got nothing except a lot of orders to fill.” I turn back to my kitchen, my safe space of precise measurements and predictable chemical reactions. “And shouldn’t you be home packing for your big trip?”
“You can’t hide in that kitchen forever,” she calls after me.
Watch me, I think, pulling out ingredients for the next batch of muffins. I’m good at hiding. Good at keeping things surface-level and sweet, just like the treats I bake. Good at pretending I don’t want more.
Because wanting more is dangerous. Wanting more leads to disappointment and judgment and those awful silent dinners where my parents act like I’m not even there.
Better to stay here in my warm, flour-dusted world where the worst that can happen is a fallen soufflé. Better to keep Ryder Winston firmly in the “customer” category, no matter how much my heart protests.
Besides, I have a festival to prepare for. Three weeks to prove to this town—and maybe to myself—that I’ve made the right choice walking away from my old life.
I just have to keep my heart from getting in the way.
Chapter 2
Ryder
“You’re an idiot.” Jake doesn’t even look up from the fence post he’s securing. “You do know that, right?
