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When I come back to the school, no one bats an eyelash when I say he has denied my request. But I already have a plan, I just need to prepare for it tomorrow.

When I tell the headmistress, she's kind, letting me know it's perfectly okay, but I let her know I want to try again.

Just need her consent to go there again tomorrow.

When she does, I'm excited to prove everyone wrong.

A part of me is also excited to see this man again.

He has left an impression. Maybe it's because of his tattooed back, it's one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

And... the way his eyes made me forget about everything else, I don't know.

I want to see them again. Even if that means interacting with his mood.

I swear he must have been born with a scowl.

My plan is simple: no one has ever been able to resist my muffins and he's not going to be the first. There's not much time to think about the muffins until I arrive at my apartment, drained with all the new information I had to pick up while trying my best to keep out of everyone's way.

I decide that simple is best for Marcus and get to work on my chocolate chip muffins.

I turn on the music and do a big batch, hoping this amount of sugar will be enough for a sugar rush that will lead to him accepting my request. Perhaps that will soften his face somehow too.

To be fair, I like him like this, rough around the edges.

There's an energy in him that makes me think he's very good in bed. That he'd have no trouble giving me orgasm after orgasm. I know for sure those arms of his would lift me up like I was a feather. He'd have no problem holding me against the wall and... No . I need to focus. It's not the time to lust over a stranger. I know this recipe by heart, I've done it a million times but there's a lot at stake here. It’s my first mission in my job here on Pepys Island. I really don’t want to mess this up. So I get my head in the game and lean in to figure out how to turn on the oven. It’s still unbelievably hot—even this late at night—and I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. But bribes must be made. I’ll just melt a bit in the process.

The next morning, I immediately grab a cab to take me there.

David, the taxi driver, gives me lots of tips about living here and plenty of ideas for places to visit.

The drive flies by, which is good because it doesn’t give me much time for me to think about whether I should have gone with a different flavor.

Before I reach the cottage, I hear a rhythmic thump. Is he chopping wood again? How much time can he spend chopping wood? I feel unprepared after spending so much time last night thinking about his muscled chest and back. I'll probably forget how to talk when I see them again.

But luckily, he's wearing a t-shirt today.

It's unbearably tight, which makes me think of his chest and gives me a good view of his arms, but at least there’s some coverage.

He's mending a fence, not chopping wood like I thought, and when he sees me, he stops.

His scowl is even bigger than yesterday, and I almost stop on my way to him.

"Hey."

"I told you not to come again."

"Well, I'm just here to give you some chocolate chip muffins. I've made them myself."

His mouth twitches. Barely, but I catch it. Oh, this man likes chocolate.

"What if I'm allergic to chocolate?"

"I'll just come tomorrow with strawberry muffins."

He sighs, like he knows I'll just find something he'll eat, so might as well get it out of the way.

I open the box and let him take one. He hesitates before taking the first bite. "Does this have poison in it?"

"Well, how could I convince you to give me access to the lake by poisoning you?"

"You could poison me and bring the kids over, fast way to get me out of your way."

"I wish I could have thought of that, but I didn't." I laugh at how nonchalant he sounds about being poisoned. "So you get the real muffins this time."

"Don't stare at me while I'm eating."

I keep laughing because he's snarling at me, but he's clearly shy.

I put the box on a small bench and turn to watch the birds flying over the fields, hiding in the trees from time to time while he eats.

It's quiet, but at the same time it's not really quiet.

There are all these sounds, the trees, the birds, the wind, but there's something more grounding about them than the sounds of the city.

"You can turn around," he says after some time.

I look at the box sitting on the bench with just three muffins left.

"You just ate three muffins?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"I was hungry. It's been a while since I've had something sweet."

He stares at me, looking straight into my eyes, making my knees wobble in response. I'm surely giving it an extra meaning, but his deep brown eyes do seem to pull me into giving him anything he wants.

It should be the other way around. I want access to that lake.

He hears the question before I have the chance to word it. "My answer is still no."

"Were the muffins bad?"

"No!" He shouts, almost like I'm hurting him for making the question. "They were the best muffins I’ve had in my entire life. You're a really good baker."

"What if I give you more? Will you let me then?" I take a step towards him but he steps back, in some way I thought we'd be friendlier now but it seems like he still doesn't want me nearby.

I don't want to leave empty-handed.

“I’ll do anything!” I beg. For some reason, it feels very important to me to prove myself to the headmistress.

She has been nothing but kind to me, giving me every single bit of information I’ve needed to move here and allowing me to choose when I’d come.

Truthfully, coming here to Pepys Island would've been so much harder without her help. I need to prove she was right in giving me the chance to work in her school, to prove her time spent helping me wasn’t wasted.

“Anything?” His eyebrows quirk up, giving me the first glance of something in him. Until now, all he has given me are nos, and a blank schooled expression. This is something I can work with.

“Are you sure of that?” His eyes roam my body as he clearly tries to intimidate me, but it does something instead, it sends a shiver down my spine, loving the attention he gives me.

This is new to me. I’ve never once liked to be undressed by someone’s eyes.

It always felt gross, invasive. So why doesn’t it feel gross now? I want him to keep looking at me.

I must be short-circuiting from the heat. This week’s been unbearably warm, and I’ve been sleeping less and less as the nights get hotter. That’s it. Clearly, I’m not thinking straight.