baking part, not the money part. The money part is an unfortunate but necessary evil.”
“Well.” I carded my hand through my hair, still feeling a little out of my depth, but surprised by how easy it was to get comfortable around Dante now that I’d made the decision to try. “I’m new to it all, admittedly, but if you ever wanted someone else to look at your books, I’d be happy to help.”
“You’re going to regret offering that when you see my office,” Dante said with a grin. “Because I’m definitely going to take you up on it.”
“Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” I couldn’t help but reciprocate his smile.
“You said you got this recipe from your mom?” Dante asked.
“Yeah.” I leaned against the wall. “She was a good baker.”
“My grandmother was, too,” Dante says. “She developed a lot of the recipes I still use.”
“Did she teach you?” I asked.
“When I was a kid, yeah,” Dante said. “Then I got an apprenticeship with a bread baker here. My grandmother and I both worked here, actually. I bought the place from the original owners a few years ago, after my grandmother passed, and decided to name it after her.”
He looked so open talking about this, warm, but a little sad. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Oh, it was years ago,” Dante said. “I’m glad the bakery’s finally got her name on it, though.”
I glanced around. Even in the afternoon hour there were still customers lingering, drinking coffee and chatting. The display case was noticeably sparse: most of the goods for the day had been purchased. The bakery was clearly well-loved and busy.
“From what I can tell,” I said, “it seems like she’d be pretty proud.”
As soon as the sentence had left my lips, I cringed. I had a serious case of foot-in-mouth disease sometimes. I’d never so much as met Dante’s grandmother—what did I know about what she would’ve wanted? My shoulders curled inward of their own accord as I waited for Dante’s response.
“You’re right,” Dante said softly, but firmly. “At least, I like to think she’d be.”
He was watching me curiously, and that slight furrow of concern was back in his brow. I liked the way he was looking at me before better. I drew my lower lip in between my teeth and straightened back up, rolling my shoulders down and back.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“For what?” That curious expression was still on his face.
“It—uh, it doesn’t matter.” What was I supposed to say? Sorry for being weird and antsy around you all the time? Sorry for always saying the wrong thing and making things uncomfortable?
“For doing your slouching thing?” Dante asked.
I started. “What?”
He gave a little half-shrug. “I’ve noticed it. When you look nervous. You kind of… curl in. Make yourself smaller.”
“I’m working on it,” I said, and I felt my cheeks burn. I must look fucking pitiful, if he’d already noticed one of my many weird tics. I’d thought I had it more under control.
Dante hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah? I’m glad. You look better when you’re standing up straight.”
Um, excuse me? He had opinions on how I looked? He thought I looked better certain ways? He’d noticed me like that? I swallowed hard at the thought. Dante seemed to realize what he’d said, as well, because he closed his mouth suddenly and glanced away like he was embarrassed.
“Dante!” Mary shouted over her shoulder where she was busy making a latte for a customer. “Timer’s going off!”
“Oh,” Dante with a jolt, and only then did we both notice the incessant beeping from the huge oven in the open kitchen. “Right—got to finish up a special order for tomorrow.”
I’d almost forgotten we were still in public, at Dante’s bakery, with Mary watching our conversation with not-so-subtle interest and customers still in the building. It was terrifyingly easy to lose myself in Dante’s attention and forget what I was supposed to be doing. Which was delivering these scones and then leaving.
How the hell had we gone from hostility to whatever this was in a blink? Even though there was absolutely no reason we should, we just clicked. I felt like I could stay here and chat with him for hours.
“I’ve got class,” I said, glancing at the clock. “And I’m gonna be late.”
“Sorry for keeping you,” Dante said, but his smile didn’t look very apologetic at all. “And thanks for the scones.”
I nodded. We both hovered for a moment, like we were both waiting for the other to leave first.