Page 23 of Coming Home

“Oh, no,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Tell me I did not fall asleep on you. Please, no.” Even in the dark, he could see the blush rising on her cheeks.

Jackson chuckled. “I won’t tell you.”

She pulled her hand from his, covering her face with both hands. “This is so embarrassing. I apologize, Jackson. It’s not you. Nothing to do with you. It’s all me. I should have been more upfront with you.”

“What time do you usually go to bed?”

Ainsley bit her lip. “Eight-thirty. Maybe nine. Game Night is the exception. We try to wrap it up a little before nine. I hurry home. Wash my face. Brush my teeth. Fall into bed.”

“And how early do you get up?”

She shook her head. “You don’t want to know. Early enough to get all the breakfast goodies into the cases, although on the weekends, I continue to make donuts until almost ten o’clock. Donuts are a weakness of people living in the Cove.”

“When do you make everything else?”

“I get help with that. Gus, my first hire, really bakes most of the breads these days, and a lot of the cakes and pies. Gloria is on cookies and brownies and works the counter. Sheila, my newest employee, was strictly hired for counter service, but she’s shown an interest in baking. We’ve all taken her under our wings. She works the most with Gloria, though, on basic cookies.”

“What’s left for you?”

“I do all the specialty items. Eclairs. Cupcakes. Cannolis. I also handle any order that comes in, other than the church groups which order donuts by the dozens. I bake cakes for birthdays, anniversaries, and graduations. Engagement parties and weddings.”

“I suppose at some point, you have to keep your books.”

Ainsley tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have to keep up with supplies and do all my own ordering. Fortunately, Gillian Roberts keeps my books.”

“I haven’t seen Gillian since I got back to the Cove. I need to stop by and have a long visit with her. She was like an aunt to Willow and me. Coming to games. Attending Willow’s dance recitals. She even would go with Boo to Willow’s art exhibits.”

“I couldn’t make things work without Gillian,” Ainsley admitted. “She’s trained me to keep up with my receipts. Plan ahead. Keep track of all tax information.” She began yawning again. “Sorry.”

“You need to get in bed.” He only regretted that he wouldn’t be in it with her.

“I do.” She hesitated. “I want to thank you for a lovely evening. I was able to eat at a place I’ve always wanted to go. You were terrific company. I’m only mortified I fell asleep on the way home.”

“Well, you did have a couple of glasses of wine in you,” he pointed out. “And with the seat warmer on, I’m sure that contributed to your drowsiness.”

“I appreciate you understanding. I also know that while I had a great time, you’re probably looking for someone very different from me.”

Her words perturbed him. “Why do you say that?”

Ainsley snorted. “Because you’re Jackson Martin. The Jackson Martin. You can go out with anyone you want. I’m surprised our hostess didn’t slip you her cell number. Or if she did, she was really subtle about that. She sure wasn’t about anything else.”

Jackson cupped her cheek. “But I’m not interested in her—or anyone else, Ainsley. I’m interested in you.”

He leaned in and kissed her softly. Just one sweet, simple kiss. Then he broke it, his thumb stroking the smooth satin of her cheek.

“I hope you’ll want to try this again. Soon.”

He saw doubt in her eyes.

“Let’s play it by ear, Jackson,” she said softly, and then opened her door.

He hurriedly opened his own and met her at the hood of his car. “I walk a lady to her door. Even if it’s an industrial-sized one.”

She smiled and opened the clutch she carried, removing her keys and slipping one into the lock, turning it.

“Thank you for a nice evening, Jackson.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and brushed his lips slowly against hers once more.

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