Page 45 of Fairy Cakes in Winter

“I texted it too. Check your cell.” The devilish gleam in his eye was like a drug. I had no shame or self-restraint, so when he’d whispered, “Sorry about that. I missed you,” I’d almost swooned.

What could I possibly say to that?I missed you too. I think about you all the time.

No way. Emotions weren’t part of our bargain. I had to keep the seriousness of my crush to myself.

Unfortunately, I was beginning to worry that I couldn’t do it.

My infatuation had reached a precarious tipping point over the past week. I couldn’t pinpoint when because it wasn’t a single incident. It was a series of small ones that had nothing to do with sex.

Incident #1: I’d been in the kitchen with Scott, showing him the new TikTok video I’d made when someone in the bakery screamed bloody murder. We’d rushed into the shop and found a wide-eyed Joanne at the counter with a customer while a departing customer juggling a newborn and a box of baked goods tried to console her two young children pointing at the gigantic spider on the front door.

We’re talking…a mammoth-sized spider.

One child cried that it was scary and the other was hysterical because he didn’t want it squashed. Their high-pitched voices bounced off the tiled floors and high ceilings. The decibel level was so high, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the windows cracked.

Needless to say, it was painful…until Scott saved the day.

He captured the spider on a piece of paper and banished it outdoors, crouching low to console the kids. Then he let them choose their favorite biscuits and slipped the treats into personalized bags. And he didn’t just write their names on the outside of a white paper bag either. He drew flowers and trees and ladybugs.

It was so…sweet.

Joanne breathed a theatrical sigh of relief when they’d left. She made sure Scott was out of earshot, adding, “If I was ten years younger and not happily married, I’d be tempted by that one. A man who’s good with children is a fine catch.”

Right.

Incident #2: Scott picked me up at the station, so I wouldn’t have to walk into town in the middle of a wicked winter storm.

He’d shrugged off my thanks with a cool, “No worries,” but it was thoughtful. And…he never once mentioned fairy cakes. Not in code or in passing.

Hmm.

And today…he took me on a date.

Okay, maybe it was more of a series of pleasant events rather than an actual date, but it turned into something more.

We’d discussed tying literature that specifically mentioned local historic sites into his spring campaign. I’d quoted something poignant yet whimsical from Jane Austen’sNorthanger Abbey, which she’d written while living in Bath, and braced for a snarky comeback when Scott crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.

“Have you been?” he asked after a moment.

“Where?”

Scott quirked a half smile. “To see where the town’s famous author lived.”

“No, I haven’t really had time to explore the area, but—”

“Get your coat. I’ll take you on a tour.”

And he did.

We walked by the Abbey and took the scenic route along the riverside before crossing the Pulteney Bridge. Our arms brushed when we made room for other pedestrians on the narrow sidewalks, pausing occasionally to critique various bakery window displays.

We took selfies—at my insistence—in front of Jane Austen’s former house at 4 Sydney Place, then crossed the street to the Holburne Museum where scenes fromBridgertonwere filmed.

One second, I was explaining my favorite parts of the series, and the next, we were inside the manor, touring a Henry VIII exhibit. We studied collections of old chinaware and portraits of people we’d never heard of as if they were the most interesting things in the world. I couldn’t speak for Scott, but I wished the rooms were the kind that magically got longer and longer, ’cause I never wanted to leave.

Afterward, he bought teas to go in the café and suggested strolling through the park behind the manor.

Scott.