Meghan’s P.O.V.
The smell of sugar and warm bread filled the bakery as I wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time this hour. The sun had dipped below the horizon about half an hour ago, leaving the soft glow of the overhead lights to illuminate the quiet shop. The last customer had left twenty minutes ago, but I kept myself busy, my mind racing in circles.
Blade would be here any minute.
I scowled at the thought, mostly at myself. I had agreed to this date—one date, just to get him off my back. That was it. No falling harder for his stupid smile or the way his voice could make my stomach flip. And definitely, no imagining a future with someone who had, by all accounts, treated half the town like his personal dating pool.
It’s tacos, I reminded myself.
Not a candle
