Page 28 of Merry Fake Bride

“Hi there, I’m so sorry for the wait. It’s been a little hectic today?—”

I stop dead just through the doorway and stare in shock at the man standing in the bakery gazing up at the display boards.

It’s Kairo.

His black hair is slicked back away from his face, and a pair of oval silver spectacles balances on his angular nose as he gazes upward at the signs.

His lips are parted ever so slightly while he stares.

Around his neck lies a black rope necklace with a handful of silver beads connecting the front, and they glint at me through the tantalizing opening of his white shirt.

With no tie, I glimpse a mouthwatering eyeful of his bare, golden chest.

He stands with one hand in his pocket which ruffles the sleeve of his grey suit jacket, exposing the heavy silver watch around his wrist.

Then he turns at the sound of my voice and his eyes widen like he’s just been slapped. “Devon?”

“Kairo…” I step up to the counter and force myself to close my mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“I was…” He frowns suddenly and removes his spectacles, then glances up at the boards. “I’m sorry, do you work here?”

“Yes, my family owns this place. Is there something I can help you with?”

His lips part as if he’s in pain and he looks as if he’s about to say something.

That look rises and falls several times like a swelling tide across his face while his lips part like a bobbing fish.

An unreadable struggle enters his eyes as we stare at one another, then he shakes his head. “I… I’m looking for a cake.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” My heart flutters slightly as his small smile grows into the same warm one he gave me at the hospital. “Any particular kind?”

“I… nothing with nuts.”

“Allergic?”

“No, it’s a texture thing.”

“Ah. Well, is there anything you do like? Or is it for a special occasion?”

“It’s…” He seems suddenly unsure of himself.

A far cry from the confident man who stood between me and the admin at the hospital, declaring that we were engaged. “I’m sorry.”

His dark brows knit together and that adorable swirl immediately forms on his forehead. “I need not a cake but some pastries for an office meeting for tomorrow morning. Anything with fruit would be ideal.”

“Oh, well I’m more than happy to—” As I speak, a sudden blaring alarm rises from behind me, and I remember the pastries my mother left in the oven. “Oh, no!”

Bolting from the counter, I sprint back to the kitchen as it fills with smoke rising from the oven while red lights flash on the smoke detector on the ceiling above. “No!”

Using a tea towel for protection, I drag the oven door open and with my only good hand, grab the tray of smoldering pastries.

As smoke billows out, the hot metal tray sears right through the tea towel to my fingertips.

Pain, hot and sharp, stabs at my fingers.

It’s too hot to bear.

With a pained yelp, the tray slips from my fingers, but before it can clatter to the ground, Kairo is there.