I push open the back door of the bakery and lean against the frame, watching Hendrix work. Flour dusts her apron, and she’s focused, piping delicate designs onto cookies. It’s late—too late for her to still be here.

Guess I screwed her—and myself—with this whole contest thing. That’s why when my surprises show up at any minute, she’ll be happy.

“Can I help?”

She startles, nearly smearing the icing, but corrects herself. “You scared me.”

“You’re busy.”

“Somebody created a contest that has made things a tad hectic. I wonder why?” she asks. I’m relieved to hear the amusement in her voice.

I move toward the cookie rack, snatch day-old ones off the rack, and take a bite. So damn good. I groan dramatically. “You’re going to make me fat.”

“Stop eating my cookies.” She slaps at my hand but her smile says she’s happy to see me. That makes two of us.

“Hello to you too.” I grin as I stop beside her and without thinking, wipe off a smudge of icing on her cheek. She stills, her breath catching slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. I take the opportunity to brush my lips against hers.

I mean, if she’s going to give it, I’m going to take it.

Sighs come from the other side of the counter. Hendrix jumps back and looks past me. “Hi. I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

“They know,” I say. “I had Sammy let them in.”

She looks at me confused. “What do you mean, they know?”

I grin. “They’re reinforcements.”

“Jase . . .” There’s hesitancy in her voice but relief in her eyes. “You don’t even know what I’m looking—”

“They’re graduates of the local pastry school, both with experience in cookie designs.” I introduce the two ladies who stare at the both of us eagerly. Hendrix shakes their hands and asks them questions about their experience. “They’re here to fill your orders. To copy the pattern you’ve already set . . . while you rest.”

Hendrix crosses her arms. “Jase—”

I press a finger to her lips. “Shh. No arguing.”

She glares but doesn’t push me away.

“We’ll go upstairs to your apartment. Stay here tonight. That way if they have questions on anything, you’re close by.”

“I don’t give up control that easily,” she murmurs to me. But she catches the amusement in my eyes, the notion of how easily she gives up control to me in the bedroom. “Not the same, Gizmodo.”

I bark out a laugh. “Then give them the rundown. Tell them what they need to know. And then they’ll take it from there.”