She wagged her tail.
“She likes you,” Abigail said.
“The feeling’s mutual.” He stood and returned Michael’s stud finder. “Thanks. Tomorrow I’ll contact the local rescue organizations in the area and give them a description.”
Michael nodded. “That’s about all you can do. Listen, I’m thinking we should reschedule our consultation. Customers are starting to come in and we’ve lost our window of opportunity.”
Luke sighed. “I know. My fault and I apologize.”
“No worries. How’s Wednesday at three?”
“Let me check.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m free.”
“Let’s do it then. My business plan can wait a couple more days.”
“I appreciate your patience. If you can bring me that hamburger, I’ll get out of your way.”
“Be right back.” Michael paused in the doorway of the office. “Is two pounds enough?”
“Plenty. I’ll go shopping first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay, then.” Michael headed for the kitchen.
“I didn’t know you were a business consultant.” Abigail hadn’t been given that tidbit. “The way your mom described your old job, I thought you might be a chef.”
He grinned. “Don’t have much talent for cooking. I handled their marketing, financial projections, things like that.”
“And then decided to go out on your own?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Running into him like this was a golden opportunity if she had the nerve to take it. She tamped down a surge of anxiety. “I just might need your services.” There. She’d opened the door.
“I could give you my card if you’d like to think about—”
“I don’t need to think about it.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve been thinking about getting some advice but I didn’t know where to go. You’re local. I like that.”
“Local is what I’m concentrating on. I could help you tweak your business plan and—”
“I don’t have one.”
He blinked. “Didn’t the bank require it?”
“I paid cash for everything.”
“I see.” He hesitated. “A business plan is still a good thing to have.”
“I realize that. But I didn’t know who to ask, who to trust.”
“Then I’m honored you’re willing to trust me.”
She smiled. “Your dad’s a beloved minister in town and your mom’s a regular customer at Pie in the Sky. You just rescued this poor dog. I think I can trust you.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” He grinned. “When do you want to get together?”
“How about Tuesday afternoon after I close the bakery? Do you have an opening at four?”
He pulled out his phone. “I sure do. Four on Tuesday, then.”
“What’s your favorite cookie?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Sure I do. I want you to appreciate what a fine baker I am. Won’t that affect your calculations?”
“Cookies always affect my calculations. My favorite is peanut butter cookies. The kind you mash down with a fork.”
“I use a mallet, but the idea’s the same. Be prepared for the best peanut butter cookies you’ve ever tasted.”
“That’s a challenge. My mom’s are pretty good.”
That gave her pause. Surpassing his mom’s baking expertise wasn’t her goal. “Then let’s forget those. What kind of cookie do you love that your mom doesn’t make often?”
“Oatmeal raisin. She doesn’t like raisins.”
“Then that’s what I’ll make for you. See you at four on Tuesday.”
What had she been thinking? Abigail blamed the appeal of a rugged cowboy with a rescued dog draped across his broad shoulders. Yes, she had some financial issues, but she wasn’t ready to discuss them with anyone, let alone a professional.
Yet who better to help her than a professional? Who cared if he was a brown-eyed, muscular dreamboat with a heart of gold? He had the expertise to tell her how to solve her problem. She had business galore and she was in the red every single month. Soon the inheritance from her parents would be gone. Unless she turned things around, her business would fail.
But she didn’t want Luke to know that she was in dire straits. She’d rather have him think of her as a slightly disorganized but highly creative business owner. A few tips from him, and she’d be right as rain.
The self-talk wasn’t helping. Fifteen minutes before Luke was due to arrive, she’d burned the oatmeal-raisin cookies she’d made for him and was frantically mixing up a new batch.
Her other employees were gone, but Ingrid, her apprentice baker, was wiping down the bistro tables. Although Ingrid was off at one, she often came down from her apartment upstairs to help close.
Abigail lived upstairs, too, a convenient arrangement when she had to get up in the wee hours of the morning to start baking. The third apartment had been leased several months ago by a graphic designer named Roxanne.
“Are you okay?” Ingrid finished cleaning the last table and walked back to the open kitchen area. “I don’t usually hear you swear.”
“I just wish I hadn’t made this appointment. I don’t have time to deal with creating a business plan right now.”
“You don’t have a business plan?”
“Not written down.” She spooned the batter onto a cookie sheet.
“It’s in your head?”
“Sort of.”
“That doesn’t sound very scientific.” Ingrid tidied the bun she wore to keep her blond hair under control during work hours.
“But it’s organic. It’s flexible. Much better than spelling it out on paper and creating some anal manifesto I feel obliged to adhere to.” She glanced up when Ingrid started to laugh. “What?”
“Can I hide in the pantry during your meeting? I want to hear you say that to your business consultant.”
“I won’t say that to him. I’m only saying it to you. And I don’t see what’s so funny.” She put the cookies in the oven and remembered to set the timer.
“I know you don’t. That’s why your concept is so adorable. But you asked this guy to come over today, so you must know in your heart that you need a more structured plan.”
“I suppose I do.” She rinsed out the stainless steel mixing bowl and put it into the large capacity dishwasher. “Did you take the leftovers in the case for you and Roxanne?”
“Not yet, but I will. She mentioned something about movie night at her place. Think you can stay awake through a full-length feature?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll pinch you so you’ll stay awake.” Ingrid’s gaze darted to the sidewalk outside the bakery’s windows. “Don’t look now, but a tall cowboy is headed our way. He’s carrying a laptop case over his shoulder. I should take off.”
Abigail’s heart began to pound. “Please don’t desert me.”
“But—”
“Not yet, anyway. Stay and meet him. Besides, you didn’t box up the leftovers.”
“I can do that after he leaves.” The chime sounded as the front door opened and Ingrid’s attention flicked to the front of the store. “Oh, wow, he is a cutie-pie,” she murmured. “Is that why you set this up?”
“No, but it didn’t hurt.”
“Thought so.”
“Come on. I’ll introduce you.” Putting on her happy face, Abigail walked around the counter. “Hi, Luke! Right on time. I’d like you to meet my assistant, Ingrid Lindstrom.”
He swept off his hat. “Pleased to meet you, Ingrid.”
“Same here.” Ingrid shook his hand. “Your dad’s a hoot, by the way.”
“He’s an original and I’m proud to be his son. Even when he appears in a spandex superhero outfit in public.”
Ingrid laughed. “You mean the Christmas talent show?”
“You were there.”
“We both were,” Abigail said. “I can’t wait to find out what he come
s up with next year. Listen, if you’d like to leave your laptop on a bistro table, I can take your jacket. We have a—”
“Coat tree. I see it.” He put down his laptop and unbuttoned his sheepskin jacket as he walked over to the corner of the room. “Something sure smells good.”
“Cookies,” Abigail said.
“Oatmeal-raisin?”
“You’ve got it.”
“Great.” He took off his jacket, which provided a nice view of broad shoulders in a chambray yoked shirt and jeans that cupped a firm ass.
Ingrid gave her a nudge and mouthed Oh, my God.
Abigail ducked her head so he wouldn’t come back and find her grinning like a fool.
He propped his hat on the same hook where he’d hung his jacket and started back toward them. “All decked out for Valentine’s Day, I see.”
Both Abigail and Ingrid blurted out answers and then tripped over each other apologizing for interrupting. No telling how long that nonsense would have continued if the oven timer hadn’t dinged.
Abigail swallowed her laughter and looked at her friend. “Cookies are done.”
“I’ll take them out.” Ingrid’s voice was unnaturally high, as if she could barely keep from cracking up. With a muffled snort, she hurried into the kitchen.
Luke gestured to the front window. “I like the painted Valentine’s Day scene.”
“That’s Roxanne’s handiwork.” Abigail drew in a calming breath. “She’s a graphic artist.”
“An employee?”
“No, a friend. She lives in one of the apartments upstairs.”
“She did a good job.”
“She did. She helped us with the other decorations, too. It’s a major holiday for a bakery so we wanted to capitalize on it.” His gorgeousness quotient seemed to increase with every minute he stood there.
“I’m sure a bakery’s popular this time of year. People love their sweets.”
His mouth was especially nice. Full and sensuous. Better stop staring at it. “I’ve found that individual desserts work better than full-sized ones. They’re fun to make, too. I think of them as little slices of heaven.”
“Can you give me some examples?”
“Oh, like mini heart-shaped chocolate cakes, heart-shaped chocolate cookies with pink frosting, chocolate frosted eclairs with raspberry filling, strawberry tarts drizzled with dark chocolate…” Was it her imagination or had his brown eyes turned a shade darker? “Does that give you an idea?”
“Sure does.” He cleared his throat. “I can tell you love your work.”
“It’s my passion.”
“Obviously.” He took a breath and glanced around. “Your open kitchen concept is nice. It lets the customers see the work in progress.”
“Like this one.” Ingrid came around the counter with a small plate of fragrant cookies. “Can’t get any fresher than straight out of the oven. They’re still warm.” She extended the plate. “Help yourself.”
“As if I’d say no.” He took a cookie, bit into it, and closed his eyes with a soft moan.
Abigail couldn’t resist glancing at Ingrid. Then she quickly looked away before they both lost it. Luke might or might not be good for her business, but he sure as hell was good for her libido.
Chapter Three
What a fascinating woman. Luke had been mesmerized by Abigail’s description of the specialty treats she was making for Valentine’s Day. Her enthusiasm for her work was a real turn-on.
Good for her that she’d created a satisfying business that clearly brought her joy. Helping someone with such a positive mindset would be rewarding.
On Sunday afternoon at the GG he would have described her as cute. Today, surrounded by white lace, red hearts and the aroma of cookies, she was in her element. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
And she was looking back, her eyes bright with laughter. His reaction to the cookie must have tickled her. Were her eyes brown? Green? Hard to say. But he enjoyed the sparkle.
Ingrid set the plate of cookies on the counter. “Great to meet you, Luke. I’ll leave the two of you to continue your discussion while I head upstairs and feed my fish.”
“You live upstairs, too?”
“I do. It’s convenient.”
“I can see how it would be.” After she left he looked at Abigail. “Do Roxanne and Ingrid rent from you?”
“Goodness, no. I don’t own the building. I lease the space for the bakery plus one of the apartments. There are three up there.”
“So you have a landlord.”
“Landlady. Mrs. Gibbs.”
“Okay then. I was beginning to think you were independently wealthy.”
“Hardly. My inheritance was enough for the equipment and a cushion to get me through the first year or so.”
Something in her expression told him that cushion might be dwindling. “You’ve made this place very inviting.”
“Thank you. Want a tour?”
“Absolutely. Can I take a cookie for the trip?”
“By all means. Grab the whole plate.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He picked up the cookies. “These are delicious. Best I’ve ever had. Did you bake them or Ingrid?”
“I did. She’s concentrating on bread and croissants to start with, which is a huge help.” She walked around the counter. “Follow me.”
He sure was enjoying the cookies. And spending time with Abigail, who was the sort of vivacious, independent woman he was drawn to. His mom would have recognized that. She’d shown great restraint in keeping her mouth shut.
“We have four ovens.” Abigail pointed them out. “If I’ve stockpiled enough inventory, then we never have to run out of anything.”
“Not even by the end of the day?” Could be potentially wasteful.
“Rarely, especially now that I have Ingrid to help me. I start at three and bake until we open at six, when Ingrid pitches in. If pastries are going fast, we keep baking so we can replenish the supply.” She gestured to a large island in the center of the kitchen. “Prep area. Pans stored underneath.”
“If you’re baking, who waits on customers?”
“I have two more employees who are available to work the counter. I schedule one or both to come in at six, depending on whether it’s Ingrid’s day off. Traffic slows down around nine. We refresh the display cases, sweep the floor, wipe down the tables, things like that.”
“Your other staff members stay during the slow time?”
“There’s no point in sending them home. Business gets brisk again around ten-thirty when customers come in for mid-morning snacks. That’s when most people pick up their pies and cakes, too.”
“Do you serve coffee?”
She glanced at him. “I do. Do you want some?”
“No, thanks. Just wondered how many people stick around to eat their mid-morning snacks.”
“A few.”
“How about afternoons?”
“Some people want a couple of cookies or a pastry and coffee, but most are buying a whole pie or cake to take home. Not super busy in the afternoon.”
“But you still have three people here?”
“Except when someone’s on a break. I stagger those.”
He nodded. Sounded like she might be overstaffed but he wasn’t ready to get into that. When she showed him the supply room, he had the impression she was overstocked, but he didn’t mention that, either.
Better to emphasize the good things and there were plenty of those. “Your setup is great,” he said after the tour ended. “The kitchen is well organized and I’ll bet customers like being able to watch you at work.” He certainly would enjoy it.
“Thanks.”
“On top of that, everything’s spotless. I’m sure the health inspector loves this place.”
Her face lit with pleasure. “We’ve received excellent reports.”
“I need to make some notes, and I’d love some of that coffee, if you’re still offering.”
“Sure.” She gra
bbed a sturdy white mug and walked over to a large urn. “Cream?”
“No, thanks.” He took the full mug she handed him. “Smells great.”
“I’m particular about my coffee.”
“Will you have some with me?”
“That’s actually a good idea.” She fetched another mug and filled it with coffee. “I’m hoping to stay up and watch a movie with Ingrid and Roxanne tonight. Usually I fall asleep halfway through.” She hoisted her mug. “This will help.”
“Yeah, but you still have to get up at three.”
“There’s that. I usually catch up on Sunday.”
“That’s a fallacy. Sleep doesn’t work that way.”
She laughed. “I know. But I pretend it does. Hey, before you get started on your notes, what happened with the dog?”
“I still have her. And that reminds me. I have your scarf in my coat pocket.” He set down his mug and walked back to the coat tree.
“Nobody’s claimed her?”
“Not so far. The vet said she’s healthy and confirmed there’s no microchip. I’ve contacted all the local rescue operations, but I’ve heard nothing back.” He returned with her scarf and handed it to her. “Appreciate the loan. I washed it.”
“That was nice of you.” She laid it on the counter. “If no one shows up, will you keep her?”
“I’m not thinking about that yet. I don’t want to get attached and then have someone show up to claim her.”
“Then I’ll bet you haven’t named her, either.”
“No, ma’am.”
Her smile was warm. “I completely understand. But good luck keeping your distance. She looked like the kind of dog who would steal your heart.”
“Mm.” He wasn’t going to admit that she already had. “Guess I’d better get to work.”
“Do you want me to stay out of your way while you make your notes?”
“Not at all. Please sit with me. That way if I have more questions you’ll be right there.” And whenever he looked up, he’d be able to see her smiling face.
“All right, then.”
The bistro chair was a little small for him, but the coffee, the cookies and the company made up for it. He hauled his laptop out of its case, flipped it open and typed a few sentences to remind him of what he’d seen so far and what he’d investigate as they moved forward.
A Cowboy's Kiss (The McGavin Brothers Book 7) Page 2
