I belatedly noticed him and three other hot guys standing in the doorway.

Apparently name guessing is a good distraction technique.

“No bakery. Not yet, anyway.”

“Hey. Eli,” one of the other hotties said as he stuck his hand out. He was shorter than the rest, around five foot ten or so. With his short brown hair and warm, brown eyes, he looked wholesome, boy next door. He almost seemed out of place at the shop, until you took in his ink. It was good ink. He must have agreed as there was a lot of it.

I took his hand. “Piper.”

“Xavier,” another introduced himself with a nod. This yummilicious man was all dark eyes and overgrown dark hair. It was hot, and worked for him. “Your desserts any good?”

“Well, people order. A lot, actually. So… yeah.” I knew my desserts were good. Based on the swell of my chest, hips, and ass, I knew this fact well. I had to sample stuff though. Quality control and whatnot.

You’re so good at lying to yourself.

The popularity of my desserts was what had brought me to the bank that morning. When I’d started making cakes for friends, I did one or two a month. Those one or two turned into three or four referrals, which then turned into three or four more referrals.

Before I knew it, my side hobby became a business, a Piper’s Cakes was born.

Up until last semester, I attended college but hadn’t picked a major. Since Piper’s Cakes was quickly growing, thereby solving the dilemma of what I wanted to do with my life, I cut back my classes and switched to a business major.

It was a scary decision, but in a good way.

In order to do all I wanted to do, I needed money for better equipment, more space, and maybe even some help. I was turning away a lot of orders because I didn’t have time. I couldn’t make money turning away orders. It was a cycle I was trying to break.

“Key,” a quieter voice said with a nod, the last of the hotties. He was a leaner and lankier hot, more Steven Tyler or Mick Jagger rock ‘n’ roll. He had slightly shaggy, light brown hair with moody looking brown eyes. “You got any dessert on you?”

I shook my head. “Nope, sorry. Maybe if I come back.”

I was rewarded with a half-smile from Mr. Brooding. As I was pretty sure that was as close to happy as he got, I was cool with it.

My answer was welcomed by a bunch of smiling, eager faces and murmurings of desserts to come. Most guys were predictable when it came to food. I’d delivered cakes for children’s birthdays, and it was the men that were hanging around, looking for a chance to swipe some.