Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“How presumptuous of you,” I say, laughing.
Sucking in a deep breath, he squeezes my hand. “When are you done for the day?”
Mrs. Rizzo glances at Jamie and me, a warm smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Go ahead.” She motions her head toward the front door. “I can close up.”
“I’m almost finished icing the rest of the cupcakes.”
“Take your time,” Jamie says. “Pretend like I’m not here.” He moves his hand back from mine. “I don’t mind watching you work.”
My smile mirrors his. He’s so charming. And he’s here, at Rizzo’s Bakery, of all places. I’m in complete shock and by the looks of it, Mrs. Rizzo’s equally surprised by his intrusion.
Jamie looks at the glass cases that span the small shop. He licks his lips when his eyes land on the chocolate chip cannoli. They’re my favorite too.
“Do you make beignets?” Jamie asks.
“No, this is an Italian bakery,” I say, staring down at the cupcake I’m icing. “We have zeppole, they’re like beignets and popular right now with Christmas around the corner.” I point at the case with the Italian donuts.
Jamie nods. “Did you make them?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes sparkle when they meet mine. “I’ll take a box of everything you baked.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Seriously? I baked a lot of the pastries in the cases.”
“All of them,” he says, his voice level and serious. “I have a lot of teammates to feed.”
Mrs. Rizzo interrupts our staring contest and slides behind the counter next to me. “I can get this, Shannon.” Then she looks up at Jamie, smiling. “What can I get you?”
Jamie literally orders at least half of the store, keeping Mrs. Rizzo occupied as she stacks over a dozen boxes on the counter in front of Jamie. He ordered everything from zeppole, cannoli, pizzicato, and anisette cookies, and even Italian rum cake. After feeding his teammates, I know they’ll devour all of it. But he didn’t have to do this.
I finish the last cupcake on the table in front of me and box them up. A woman who lives around the corner ordered five-dozen cupcakes for her daughter’s fourteenth birthday party. For the last two hours, I’ve been working nonstop to ensure the pretty, pink cupcakes had enough glitz and glam to make a teenage girl happy.
Abby had me bake similar cupcakes in the past for sorority events. I’m usually the go-to person for cooking or baking. There’s nothing I love more than working in a kitchen, but I enjoy the comforts of the bakery far more.
Mrs. Rizzo rings up Jamie’s order, and I gasp when he hands over four hundred dollars in cash. The only time I’ve ever seen anyone buy that many pastries was for a large party. With the holidays around the corner, we’ve had more requests for Christmas-themed pastries and cakes in much larger volumes. This week alone, I’ve worked almost double my regular hours to help Mrs. Rizzo fulfill all the orders.
“Do you need help to your car?” I ask Jamie, who has half a dozen piled so high in his arms that I can’t see his face.
He angles his body to look at me. “Nah, I got it.”
“I’m done,” I inform him. “How about I grab a few and meet you at your car?”
Jamie angles his body to wink at me, and then he disappears through the door Mrs. Rizzo’s holding open for him.
She rushes back to the counter, lowering her voice to a whisper even though Jamie can’t hear her from inside the store. “I like him. How come I haven’t heard about him?”
“You did. Remember the guy I told you about? His name is Jamie,” I say, unhooking my apron. “We’ve been friends for a few years. But now, we’re kind of dating.”
She chuckles, her pale cheeks reddening. “You can’t kind of date someone.”
“We haven’t had a discussion about our relationship yet. I guess he’s my boyfriend.”
I don’t even notice Jamie walk back into the bakery until I hear his deep, manly voice. “You guess?” He pushes his hands to his hips, drawing my attention to his thick chest and broad shoulders.
“Um… I mean, I don’t want to assume.”
I step out from behind the counter, and he extends his hand to me. Slipping my fingers between his, he says, “You’re my girl, Shan. I thought that was obvious. Maybe I need to step up my game.”
I laugh at his comment and pat his muscular arm. “You’re game doesn’t need any work.”
“I hope you’re hungry.”
I shrug. “I can eat.”
We say our goodbyes to Mrs. Rizzo, and he leads me out to his car. The wind ripping through the city sends a chill down my spine. Cars fly down the street, dangerously close to the dark blue car.
“You own a Tesla.” I smirk. “How very Tony Stark of you.”
“Tony Stark drives an Audi R8 in the movies,” he counters. “But he has a Tesla Roadster in his workshop.”