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Swallow Hill was definitely busier at this time of morning, the town slowly humming into life as people made their way to work or school, while the winter sunshine turned the sky gold around the edges, banishing the last of the darkness. As I walked along the river path, I saw clusters of snowdrops and primroses starting to flower and I wondered if at some point I’d see ducklings.

It wasn’t far to Toasty, and I found myself walking at a sharp pace so, when I got there, they were only just unlocking and I was slightly out of breath. I hadn’t even slowed down to look through the bakery window to see if my mystery man was there, which had been half the point of coming. I’d just have to see if I could spot him behind the counter.

“Morning,” said the woman unlocking the door. She had short, greying hair and faded tattoos, a floured apron on over her dark T-shirt.

“Morning,” I said as I stepped inside, the smell of bread and pastries washing over me. It felt like being wrapped in a warm hug made of butter, sugar, and flour, and I took a deep breath to savour every moment of it. It made me want to try and get here every morning when they opened, just so I could smell this.

Another customer, an older woman with a purple coat, entered and I moved to one side to let her go ahead of me because I hadn’t even begun looking at the assortment on offer.

The front space of the bakery was small, with much of the bread being displayed on wooden shelves in the window or on sloped shelves on the back wall behind the counter, with various pastries and sweet treats in a glass-fronted counter that ran opposite the outer wall, so I was almost enclosed with deliciousness.

My eyes found the rows of large, flaky looking croissants, each a deep golden colour, and beside them were perfectly shaped pain au chocolat, their pastry shining under the soft bakery lights. I’d thought I only wanted croissants, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had pain au chocolat either, especially one that looked as good as this.

“See something you like?” asked a deep, warm voice that sounded as rich as the pastries looked. I glanced up and almost did a double take when I saw the baker… my baker… standing on the other side of the counter. He was even more gorgeous up close, with a square jaw and a strong nose, and sparkling blue eyes under thick, blond eyebrows. His hair had been pushed back off his face by a hairband, and his broad shoulders were wrapped in a black T-shirt that almost looked painted on. “I started to wonder if I’d frightened you away.”

“No,” I said, offering him a smile. “I tried to get up later today so I could come in and get something. Usually when I make it down, you’re closing.”

And you’re not here.

But I didn’t say that, because that would be a surefire way to tank this entire conversation and I’d never be able to show my face here again. And I was not losing what promised to be the best source of croissants in a thirty-mile radius because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“I’m glad you did,” he said as his lip twitched into an amused smile. “And being out in daylight is proof you’re not a vampire.”

“I don’t know, I could be one of those special daylight walking, garlic eating ones.”

He chuckled, the sound reminiscent of an engine rumbling. “I suppose you could.”

“Well, if I find out, I’ll let you know.”

“Please do.”

His smile and the piercing intensity of his eyes was making my insides twist and I had to look back at the croissants before I melted onto the floor. “Which do you recommend?” I asked, pointing haphazardly at the counter. “I can’t decide.”

“Get both then,” he said.

“Okay, you twisted my arm.”

“It didn’t take much,” he said as he reached for a paper bag and some tongs.

“You’re very persuasive,” I said with a grin and half-shrug. “And I’m starving. Can I also get some bread please?” I glanced at the shelves, trying to figure out what to get. There were so many delicious looking ones it was clear I was going to have to come back and try them all. What a shame. “A white sourdough please.”

“If you like garlic, you should try the garlic and rosemary focaccia we do,” he said as he walked around the counter to fetch some bread, neatly ducking around the grey-haired woman who was still chatting to the woman in the purple coat. “It’s not quite finished yet, but give it thirty minutes, maybe an hour.”

“That sounds divine,” I said. “I’ll have to come back then.”

“I guess you will.” He slid the bread into another paper bag and rang it up on the tablet in the corner. “By the way,” he said as I picked up the two bags. “I’m Riley.”

“Jace.”

ChapterThree

Riley

Icouldn’t get Jace out of my head for the rest of the day, a million questions racing around my head as I made more bread, finished some things for the lunch rush, and made my way home. He was still there as I made myself food and threw a load of washing in the machine, and his smile floated in my mind as I showered and crawled into bed to watch the new series ofChef’s Tableon Netflix.

I wondered if he’d preferred the croissant or the pain au chocolat.

What had he thought about the bread? He hadn’t come back for any focaccia but maybe he would tomorrow.