Mason gestures at Dylan’s belly. “When are you due?”

“A month. I’m hoping for sooner though. I’m so sick with this one.”

“This one? Don’t tell me you have more than one already. You look too young to be a mum.”

“Ha!” Dylan’s face lights up. Her hands form to her belly. “Oh, my God. You just became my second favorite male.”

Joey whips his head to the left, his eyes wide with alarm. “Second favorite? Excuse you?”

I cough into my fist, breaking up the gab fest I’m in no way a part of. Three pairs of eyes train on me as I slowly retreat toward the kitchen.

“I guess I’ll just go get to work, since there’s apparently no need for me to hang around up here.”

Mason’s mouth pulls down.

I quickly regret my half-serious remark as his noticeable remorse tenses up his features.

God, why do I even care? And am I seriously irritated that he’s taking a moment to be polite? What is wrong with me?

He takes a few steps in my direction. I halt at the corner of the display case.

Dylan pushes against Joey’s shoulder, urging him to walk. “Come on. I need your help with something in the back.”

“You never need my help,” he snaps, then smiles back at her before the two of them slip into the kitchen, leaving Mason and I alone.

I move my coffee to my other hand. I’m suddenly feeling restless and too hot to drink such a warm beverage.

Mason gives me a lazy smile as he slowly advances. “Little devil. You ran off.”

My feet shift underneath me.

Jesus, his voice. Like honey coating the back of his throat. Sweet and warm. His words slow to leave his tongue.

I force my mouth to close.

Oh, my God. How long was it gaped open for?

Barrier. I need a barrier.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, swiftly moving behind the display case. I set my coffee on the back table and fold my hands neatly on the glass. “Your stalker level is quickly rising, you know. First the coffee shop, now you’re coming to my place of business. Should I alert the authorities yet?”

Mason cocks his head with a curious smirk, then moves to stand directly across from me. “Wait until I find out where you live.”

“What?”

He chuckles. “Relax, gorgeous. I’ll keep it professional, yeah? No house calls until you invite me.”

“Mm.” I cross my arms under my chest. “Don’t hold your breath on that happening.”

He smiles, then tips his cup back, taking a long swig of his coffee. His eyes never leave mine.

To keep myself from staring back like a hungry little fiend, I grab a bakery box and open the display case. My hand closes around a pastry.

He leans over, head tilting down to watch me. “You look cute back there, ready for work. How long have you been doing this?”

“A few years,” I answer, not looking up. “It started out as something temporary. I needed a job after getting fired from my old one and Dylan needed an extra hand during wedding season. I honestly wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I did. But almost immediately everything just seemed to click. I love the artistic side of it. The design process. How everything comes together. I don’t know. It’s not like I’m curing cancer or anything, but cupcakes seem to make people happy. I think happiness is therapeutic.”

I straighten with the box and set it on the case. Lifting my head, I lock onto Mason’s gentle stare.

“What?” I ask.

After a beat, he softly replies. “Nothing.” He leans forward and looks down into the box. “What’s this?”

“Um, it’s,” I shove the box closer to him. “It’s pastries I made. Here. And a cupcake for later. Red velvet. The icing is amazing.”

He studies the contents as if I’ve just offered him the greatest gift in the world. I remember him having this same look when I gave him the treats the other day outside his studio.

Maybe he really likes dessert. Maybe it’s a delicacy over in Australia.

Setting his coffee down, he fits the box between his hands, then lifts his head. His eyes appear darker under the bakery lights. “You never gave me an answer. I need an answer, Brooke.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll go bloody crazy if you don’t give me one.”

“Bloody crazy? Not just regular crazy? I’m picturing a massacre.”

He shrugs. “Say yes and no one gets hurt.”

I laugh, reaching up and pushing my hair behind my ear. “Wow. First stalking, now you’re threatening murder? You better be careful, pretty boy. I’m not so sure how you’d hold up in prison.”

He stares at me. The corner of his mouth lifts. “What are you doing tonight?”

Joey emerges from the back at that exact moment. I’m certain the queen of gossip was listening to every word of this conversation. If it was anyone else, I’d take his timing as purely coincidental.

“She’ll be at The Tavern with a bunch of us after we close up here. It’s a little bar we like to frequent. You should come. I’m sure they carry Fosters.”

I narrow my eyes at Joey as he comes to stand beside me. He gives me his biggest smile.

“Yeah, I don’t drink Fosters, mate. Not a lot of us do.”

“Really?” Joey turns to Mason with a hand to his chin, scratching along his stubble. He looks deeply perplexed. “Well, don’t I feel like the world’s biggest ass.”