And the only guy I’ve ever had a one-night stand with.
“Cooper,” I say, my voice coming out breathless.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hey, Nora.” His eyes scan my body, searing through me with every inch he takes in.
Gathering myself, I adjust the string of my apron. “What brings you in today?”
He looks off to the side. “I, uh . . . I need to order a cake for my parents’ wedding anniversary.”
“Oh yes, I do recall the email invite I got the other day. It was really poetic. Can’t wait to see the kind of fun you so evasively spoke about.” When he doesn’t crack a smile, I pull out an order pad from under the counter and pick up a pen. Clearing my throat, shaking off the nerves that emerged the minute I spotted him, I ask, “What can I get you?”
“A cake,” he answers simply.
When he doesn’t continue, I glance up at him. “Yeah, I figured a cake, since, you know, you’re at a bakery that exclusively makes cakes. What kind of cake would you like?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” he huffs out. “A good one.”
“Your attention to detail is really stunning.”
He drags his hand over his face, and I can’t help but notice the way his sleeves cling to his shapely arms. “I don’t have time for this. I have two biographies I have to edit today, and both have put me to sleep within the first fifty pages. Can’t you just pick flavors and be done with it?”
I set my pen down and fold my hands, making eye contact with those devastatingly silver irises. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t have time for your parents?”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters before stepping up to the counter and holding out his large hand. “Where’s the menu?”
“That’s what I thought.” I offer him one of our simple menus. “Here are the sponge flavors, and to the right are all of the fillings. Now, we can also make the outside frosting to be the same as the middle if you want, but honestly, there’s no fun in that.”
He lifts a brow. “Who the hell picks bubblegum frosting?”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, trying to maintain a steady heartbeat at the sight of that one questioning brow.
Carefully examining the list, he sighs. “Knowing Ford and Palmer, they’re going to want something classy like a french silk, whatever the hell that is, because that’s their personality, but my parents are simple.”
“I would agree with that sentiment.”
I’ve known the Chance family for as long as I can remember. I grew up in Seattle, though, which to a kid may as well have been an ocean away from Marina Island, so I didn’t get to know them on a deeper level. But because our moms play bunko together, we’ve been invited to many Chance family events. And we were always those awkward kids who knew each other, saw each other at parties, but never truly mingled. I’ve known Cooper Chance from afar—well, besides that one night . . .
“They really like butterscotch and chocolate. Do you have anything like that?” Cooper asks, setting the menu down.
“I could do a butterscotch sponge, soaked in butterscotch, with a butterscotch pudding in the middle and a fudge frosting. Do you think they’d like that?”
The corner of Cooper’s mouth tilts up, ever so slightly. If I didn’t know him better, I would have missed it, but there it is, plain as day—a smirk.
“Yeah, they’d like that,” he says as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “Do I pay for it now?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Not the whole thing. I usually take a deposit and then payment at delivery, but no need for a deposit with the Chances. But I do need to know how many people are invited to the party so I can figure out how many tiers to make.”
“Tiers?” His nose scrunches. “You’re not going to make a sheet cake? I thought maybe you could do a giant rectangle and print a picture of them on the top.”
I hold back my smile. “I’m letting you go with the flavors because that’s what your parents would like, but I’m saving you from your siblings when I say go with a tiered cake—it will prevent an argument in the future.”
He thinks on it. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He stuffs his wallet back in his pocket and takes a step back. “We’re good here?” Once again, his eyes roam my body. From my face down to my chest, those intense eyes eat me up, and it feels like a year hasn’t passed between us. I almost believe we’re back at the bar, his gaze making silent promises of what’s to come.