“Is…is everything okay?”

His voice, despite the fact that we haven’t seen each other for nine years, is exactly the same. The sound of it would shock me to the core if I wasn’t already rendered numb by the fact that the most important cake of the year—of my lifetime—is half-destroyed on the floor of the bakery, with two and a half hours to go until it absolutely has to be at the Forestview Country Club.

I tear my eyes away from him and back to the rainbow mess, then back to his…oh, god, his body, the sheer masculine perfection of it underneath an army green jacket, the tattoos he started to get in high school snaking down to just over his right wrist bone.

“Shit.” I mean to say it under my breath, but it comes out louder than that. Much louder. Almost a yell. My voice is high and thin with panic. Two and a half hours.

All at once, my body snaps into motion like it never stopped. I rush out through the open kitchen door and come around in front of the counter until we’re sharing the same space in the center of the store, only I don’t stop. I do inhale a big whiff of him as I go by, and my insides go liquid at the scent—something soapy, spicy, him.

It had to be Adam Walker. It just had to be.

I stride to the door like it’s the most important thing I’ll ever do and flip the open sign so that CLOSED faces out toward the street. Then I flip the switch that turns off the icicle lights I strung around the front windows.

Then I turn back toward him, my heart pounding.

“We’re closed.”

He straightens up. “You were open a second ago, when I walked—”

“Something’s come up.” I raise my chin a little and fix him with what I hope is a steely glare. “Is there anything I can bag up for you before you go?” I put the slightest emphasis on the word “go.”

He turns back toward the display case, which contains all of the cookies and pastries I made this morning. This should be an easy decision. While he’s not looking I smooth my hair back, tucking a few loose strands back into the protective netting that covers most of my head. Damn it. If I’d known I was going to see Adam again today, I would have worn—

This. I would have worn this. I would have worn the black pants and fitted top I wear to the bakery every day, with my white apron over the top. I would not have put on anything special. Not for him. Not after—

“How much are the cookies?”

“Two-fifty.”

“And the pastries?”

Oh, my God. “Listen. You can have three of each of them. On the house.” I hustle back around behind the counter and snatch up a piece of wax paper and one of the bags with my logo on it.

Adam steps to the side, craning his neck to see into the kitchen. “What fell?”

“Nothing fell.” The lie is instinctual, though I’m not sure why it makes any difference if Adam Walker knows that I’ve destroyed half of the most important cake in the world.

“It sounded like something fell.”

I stop shoveling the baked goods into the bag and look across the counter at him. When he senses my gaze he looks back at me. His eyes are attentive, blue, deep, electric—just how I remembered. I remember those eyes in other places, too. Like behind the gym, where he kissed me for the first time, and my entire body lit up with a need for him like I never experienced in my life, before or since.

The truth tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. “A cake.”

“Oh, shit.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward, and my heart seizes.

“Yeah. So, if you could just go, that would be—”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Since when does Adam Walker care about helping me?

“No.”

The moment the word is out of my mouth I want to shove it back in. The truth is, if he has steady hands, if he has any patience whatsoever, there’s a chance that he could—

No. No way.

After what he did, I never want to owe him anything.

“You sure about that?”

Every cell in my body aches for him, for his strong hands on my body, even though it’s been nine years and his hands are hardly the same as they were back then. They’re stronger now, a little bit rougher. What’s he been doing since then?

My mouth drops open to ask him, but instead, the mortifying truth rears its head.

“Not…not exactly. I’m a little pressed for time.”

“What kind of cake is it? Birthday?”

“You think I’d be closing my shop over a dropped birthday cake?”

He gives half a shrug, his eyes shining, but he doesn’t smile.

“It’s a wedding cake.”

He raises his eyebrows, nods.

“It has to be at the country club in two and a half hours.”

“Put down that bag.” Adam starts shrugging off his jacket. “We have to hurry.”