“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.”
Mason grabs his coffee and the bakery box. “No worries. You can buy me a round tonight to make up for that little blunder.” He trains his eyes on me, stepping back. “And you. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
Damn it. I try, really, really try not to smile, but he throws on that damn ‘yeah’ at the end of his sentence, and I can’t help it. It’s cute. I like it.
Luckily, I don’t give him the chance to see it.
I duck down behind the counter, looking busy. “Mm. Yeah, all right. See ya,” I call out as I stare at the gray speckled tile on the floor.
The door chimes. Joey crouches down beside me.
“What the hell are you doing?” he whispers, searching my face.
“Working.”
He glances around the tiny corner I’m tucked into. “Yeah, okay. What was all that talk about giving him an answer? An answer to what? Did you not tell me something last night?”
I straighten and shove past him, moving into the kitchen. “You are lucky I tell you anything, Joey McDermott.”
Snatching my apron off the hook, I join Dylan at the worktop.
My mind begins cataloging possible outfits for tonight. I’ll definitely be wearing heels, that’s for sure. Mason seems strangely intrigued by our height difference.
Maybe he normally dates taller women?
Oh, my God. Why am I even thinking about what kind of women he dates? That damn kiss has left me stupid.
Joey claims one of the stools, pouting. “Brooke is holding out on us, Dylan. Can you please explain to her that there are no secrets within these walls?”
Dylan keeps her eyes on the frosting she is piping, flatly replying, “Brooke, you know the drill.”
I secure the apron string around my waist, ignoring them both.
Screw that. I don’t need to divulge anything.
Joey slaps the wood, then stands. “Fine. I’ll just go ask Mason myself.”
I grip his forearm. “Heyyy, that’s . . . not necessary. I’m sure he’s busy.” I press against his shoulder until he’s seated again, then I start to pace around the room, suddenly no longer able to stand still. My palms begin to sweat.