Kathryn Springer is a USA Today bestselling author. She grew up in northern Wisconsin, where her parents published a weekly newspaper. As a child she spent many hours sitting at her mother’s typewriter, plunking out stories, and credits her parents for instilling in her a love of books—which eventually turned into a desire to tell stories of her own. Kathryn has written nineteen books with close to two million copies sold. Kathryn lives and writes in her country home in northern Wisconsin.
VISIT HER ON FACEBOOK: KATHRYNSPRINGERAUTHOR
To Jason and Tara Hardin—for living out a real life example of love. I love your story and your hearts!
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of pastries is in need of a hungry man.
He was back.
The bell on the door to The Dough Knot chimed a heads-up as the tall, semidark, and handsome not-quite stranger strolled inside, head down as he typed on his phone.
Charlotte Cantrell tried to disregard the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, but it was rather like ignoring a herd of stampeding elephants. You didn’t linger in denial—you just got out of the way.
But Charlotte had nowhere to go.
Behind the display case full of pumpkin cheesecake muffins, orange-coated petit fours, and cinnamon pecan cookies, she pretended to clean the already spotless counter and tried to look nonchalant. Like it was every day a drop-dead gorgeous man with amazing hazel eyes walked into her bakery and placed an order.
It wasn’t every day—it was actually only every Tuesday at 5:40. She could set her watch by him.
Charlotte automatically reached to box his standard to-go order—two of her delicious, secret-ingredient giant snickerdoodles—and hesitated. Would it be good customer service to let him know she remembered his order, or would it just come across as desperate?
She might be a single mom, but she certainly wasn’t desperate.
She waited, taking the opportunity to study him while he was occupied with his phone. The sweep of dark hair over his forehead. The perfect cut of his button-down shirt.
Mr. Right, who came every Tuesday, without fail.
And bought cookies for another woman.
He looked up then, caught her in her hesitation, and offered a sheepish grin that made him all the more charming. “Sorry.” He held up his phone. “I had to answer that. My friend’s on his way to meet me here.”
“It’s no problem.” She forced herself to act nonchalant. Or tried, anyway. Attractive, polite, and apologetic for something as small as texting while walking into a business?
So that’s where Mr. Darcy went.
It was enough to make Charlotte swoon like one of Jane Austen’s heroines, but then there’d be no one to work the register, and Ms. Mystery-Right wouldn’t get her weekly treat. Besides, swooning had only left her with a broken heart in the past, and she had no desire to repeat history.
Mr. Almost-Right caught her gaze then and smiled broader, as if somehow he could read her thoughts. She blushed, afraid the heat of the attraction pulsing toward him over the counter might overbake the baked goods. “The usual?”
So much for pretending she didn’t know.
She was a glutton for punishment. The man clearly had someone else in his life, someone he cared about enough to make a special trip to the bakery every single Tuesday. And yet Charlotte had deliberately sent her friend and part-time employee Julie on her afternoon break at five thirty so that she would be alone when Mr. Right showed up. What did she expect? That he would throw himself across the counter and proclaim his undying love?
It didn’t matter. Julie was due back any time now. A new bride—Julie called her Bridezilla—was coming in to taste a wedding cake. Julie was going to work the counter while Charlotte dealt with the bride.
Charlotte had spoken with the woman on the phone the other day. She had managed to compliment and insult the bakery all at the same time, and yet somehow left Charlotte eager to please her.
Such evil was almost impressive.
“The usual, yes, please.” He slid his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled his wallet from the other side. No ring on his tanned left hand. A few weeks ago, she had wondered if maybe he was a single dad, and the sweets were for his daughter. She usually had a pretty accurate radar for picking out fellow single parents.
But all of his comments over the last month or so hadn’t added up to that deduction. Melissa said to tell you thanks. She said the cookies this week were even better than last. Melissa said she hasn’t had a cookie this good since high school.
Melissa was one lucky woman.