Page 39 of Knot Baked Out For This
"I don't?—"
"'Best in the state,' he says. 'Should be illegal,' he says. 'Worth driving across town at 6 AM,' he says."
I'm going to murder Derek. Slowly. With his own helmet.
Hazel's eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "Is that so?"
"Constantly," Derek confirms cheerfully. "It's actually kind of embarrassing. Big tough fire captain brought low by baked goods."
"Fischer, don't you have somewhere to be?" I ask through gritted teeth. "Like the bottom of a lake?"
"Nope! But I'll leave you two to your 'not flirting.'" He winks—actually winks—and saunters off.
The silence that follows is loaded with ammunition neither of us wants to fire.
"Worth driving across town?" Hazel asks finally, voice carefully neutral.
"Your bakery is literally across from the station."
"At 6 AM though?"
"I... may have noticed when you start baking. The smell carries."
"So you've been stalking my baking schedule?"
"Stalking's a strong word."
"What would you call it?"
"Strategic awareness of local food sources."
She shakes her head, but she's fighting that smile again. "You're ridiculous."
"You're dangerous," I counter, and mean it more than she knows.
A customer approaches her booth, and I finally force myself back to mine. But I can still feel her presence like a sun burning at my back. Can still smell vanilla and cinnamon mixing with October air. Can still taste her cookie on my tongue—evidenceof my theft, proof that for just a moment, I let myself take something I wanted.
This is going to end badly.
I know it like I know fire burns and water drowns and Hazel Holloway was always going to be my undoing.
But when I glance back and catch her watching me again, that small smile finally winning its battle to exist, I can't bring myself to care.
The fair continues around us—noise and chaos and small-town drama in technicolor. Dottie's probably already posted about us on every social media platform known to man. The whole town will be talking by dinner.
And Hazel's still here. Not running
For now, that's enough.
Liar. It'll never be enough.
But I'll take what I can get, even if it's just stolen cookies and accidental touches and the memory of how perfectly she fits in my arms when she's falling.
Even if it kills me.
Which, given the way she handles cinnamon rolls like weapons, it probably will.
CHAPTER 7
