house existed. When he saw me, though, his expression softened slightly and his eyes lit with curiosity, a total 180 of how he’d looked at me yesterday morning when I’d run into him. He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped out from behind the counter.
“Hey, Heath,” he said warmly but quietly. There were a few customers sitting at a single long, communal table in Stella’s dining room, so Dante and I just leaned against the wall near the counter, out of everyone’s way. “What brings you to these parts?”
I swallowed hard. It was still a little difficult for me to fight through my nerves with Dante’s pale blue eyes fixated on me, but I’d come all the way here, hadn’t I? So. I cleared my throat. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Dante furrowed his brow.
“For the way I was acting at the clubhouse yesterday,” I clarified. “It wasn’t anything you did. And I was out of line. I just—” There was no real way to explain it without admitting things I wasn’t ready to admit to Dante. It was embarrassing enough, standing here watching Dante’s expression grow more and more concerned. “It was inappropriate. And I wanted to clear the air.”
The moment hung between us, and I pressed my lips together. I felt stupid, suddenly—like maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was crossing a line, or I’d read everything wrong.
“Thanks for coming by,” Dante said. “It means a lot. Really.”
His approval sent an unexpected rush of warmth through me. Relief. I’d made the right decision. “I’m glad,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still all right with our working relationship.”
“No complaints here,” Dante said easily. He smiled then, like he was waiting for me to say something, and he was willing to wait as long as it took.
My fingers tightened on the paper bag I was holding.
Dante glanced at it. “What’s in the bag?”
“Well, uh, it’s…” Suddenly I doubted myself fiercely, standing in this bakery Dante owned, while his muscular arms were dusted in pale flour from all the baking he’d been doing, and here I was, with my sad little bag of homemade scones. What was I thinking?
“Bag lunch? Change of clothes?” He widened his eyes. “Severed limb?”
He was teasing me, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter. And it didn’t feel mean, either. I bit back a smile.
“Here, it’s for you.” I held the bag out before I could think better of it.
Dante took it gratefully, and then peered inside. “What are these? They smell amazing.”
Seeing his shocked but delightfully curious expression brought some of my confidence back.
“Scones,” I said. “My mom used to make them when I was growing up. They’re, uh, made with Sprite? So. Like a lemon scone, I guess. Just as an apology. I’m sure they’re not as good—”
“Sprite, huh?” Dante interjected. “I’ve never heard of that. I can’t wait to try it.”
There it was again, that strange warm flush that flooded me when he was happy with something I’d done. I forcefully pushed it aside.
Then, to my horror, Dante pulled one from the bag. I hadn’t expected him to eat them right away, in front of me—he was a professional! Raven had said they were good, sure, and I liked them, but I didn’t know if I could stand here and watch him try one.
He didn’t give me a choice, though, because before I could protest, he was breaking one in half and popping a section into his mouth.
“Oh, these are good,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “The carbonation changes the texture. I might need to bring you on as my apprentice to get this recipe.”
The rush of anxiety became a rush of relief just as quickly. “Nah. I’m almost finished with school—can’t say I’m chomping at the bit to start another program just yet.”
“Eh, you’ll change your mind after you attend one of my Hell’s Ankhor baking classes,” Dante said easily. “You know, I remember Blade mentioning your classes at the college. What are you studying?”
“Business,” I said. “I’m in my last semester.”
“Business?” Dante asked skeptically as he finished the scone. “God, I don’t know how you stand it. The paperwork from running this place is about to drive me insane.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, the books are always wrong, my accountant quit, I’ve got inspections overdue, and I have a feeling I’m going to get audited by the IRS any day now.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his head. “I love the