I take one step outside the bakery, still trying to close the top of the cupcake container, when a woman whirls right into me, crushing two of them against my shirt.

“Oh, shit,” she says, her hands going out to the smear of frosting. 

Then her eyes go up to my face.

“Oh, shit, it’s you,” she breathes.

It’s Valentine, but here in the afternoon sun, she’s a different Valentine than the woman I snapped at during breakfast at the Short Stack two days ago.

It’s only been two days, and I haven’t stopped thinking about her. Last night, I finally forced myself to stop staring out the front window like some kind of stalker and go to bed, even though I’m dying to know just how close Valentine’s house is to mine.

Would a summer fling be so bad?

She’s wearing the same black t-shirt as before, but now I can see the jean shorts that hug the curves of her hips, and damn if she’s not the most gorgeous woman on the planet.

“First whipped cream, and now this?” I say it like I’m a little bit pissed off, but I can’t help grinning at her. I didn’t mean to run into her like this. I’m not the kind of man who normally buys cupcakes at the bakery. But they’re having a party at Minnie’s brand-new daycare. We walked in the place an hour ago, just to check it out, and she fell in love with the toys, with the other children, with the kindly middle-aged woman, Norma, who owns the place. Minnie didn’t want to leave, and I need to run some errands—namely, visiting my brother. All Norma asked was that we bring a little something for the party since she’d only planned on so many kids. 

So here I am, with cupcake frosting on my shirt and a pressing errand that I need to take care of.

“Now this,” Valentine agrees, her eyes flicking over the mess on my shirt. Her expression changes, like she’s made a decision. “I think the whipped cream might have been a better look.”

I give her a hurt expression. “Better than this?”

She grins, opening her mouth to reply, but just then the bakery door opens and Leslie, the woman inside, is there holding another tray of cupcakes. “I saw what happened,” she says. “Some replacements, on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her, but she’s already pressing the second tray into my hands—this one closed properly so no more accidents can happen. Then she’s gone, leaving Valentine and I standing out on the sidewalk, looking after her. “Tell me it’s not like this all the time.”

“Like what?”

“Sweeter than sweet.” I look back into Valentine’s green eyes. “So sweet it’s fucking disgusting.”

Her mouth drops open a little, and then she laughs out loud. It’s not a nervous laugh, it’s full and pure, and I love the sound of it. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s Lakewood.”

“Damn. I was hoping at least one person here wouldn’t give me a canker sore from all the sugar.”

Something has broken open between us, something has shifted in the air. I have to get back to that daycare, have to get back to the task at hand, but I don’t want to move an inch. I don’t want to shatter this moment.

“I’m not sweet,” Valentine says abruptly.

That calls for some serious side-eye. “Oh, please. I saw you blushing all during breakfast at the Short Stack.”

“Being a good waitress doesn’t mean I’m like all of these people. Trust me.” There’s a defiance in her expression that makes me want to know more—makes me want to know everything.

“Yeah? How are you any different?”

“You’re one to judge,” she shoots back. “You live in a cottage by the lake, a cutesy place just like everybody else.”

I pretend to be surprised. “Are you stalking me?”

She rolls her eyes. “I notice when someone moves in across the street, yes.”

“You also told me about the place when you didn’t have to.” I lean a little closer and get a big breath of her scent. Judging by her outfit, she’s been working at the Short Stack all morning, but underneath the smell of pancakes and bacon is something clean and pure and intoxicating. “It’s almost like...you wanted me to move there.”

The air between us goes as hot as Valentine’s face. This is closer to flirting than we ever got during breakfast, not counting the whipped cream incident, and my mind screams a warning. This is how you got fucked over in the first place. I shove that thought out of my head. Not every single moment for the rest of my life has to be ruined by Angie. Only some of them. 

Valentine’s lips part, and damn if I don’t want to wrap my hand around the back of her head and pull her in for a kiss right now. If I weren’t holding these cupcakes... “That’s ridiculous,” she says, but I don’t quite believe her. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“What more do you want to know? I’m an open book.”

She laughs out loud again. “Ryder Harrison, you are the least open book ever to eat at the Short Stack.”

“And yet we’re already on a first-name last-name basis.”

“If we’re so close...” A playful look flashes across her face. “How come you haven’t stopped over to say hello, like a good neighbor?”

“Whoever said I’d be a good neighbor? I won’t even be in town that long.”

“I’m hoping you’ll be a bad one,” Valentine says with a wicked look in her eyes, and the next moment her face is a deep red. But she doesn’t look away from me. She commits. “You know, the kind of guy who...who’s always mowing the lawn.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Mowing the lawn?”

“Mowing the lawn.” She’s deadly serious. “Shirtless.”