“Um, yeah. Somewhere.” She glances over her shoulder to the back, but I can tell by the shake of her hands and the darting of her eyes that she’s overwhelmed.

Or just had way too much coffee.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll chat with her later,” I say and wave a hand as I move for the next in line to order. Josie’s Java has been here for longer than I can remember. Whereas my bakery down the street is bright pastels and stripes, her aesthetic is more warm tones and dark browns to match the coffee beans that have been placed in various glass jars across the wall from me.

It’s busy today—when is it not—so I take the first available table I can find.

Of course, when I sit down and look up, those pale blue eyes are still studying me. He doesn’t avert his gaze, just holds mine long enough to make me uncomfortable. Then a group of girls at his back snicker and squeal as they stare at him.

He glances back at them and lifts his chin, clearly basking in their attention. I sigh and look away. It’s Los Angeles. Everyone here thinks they’re someone even when they aren’t. No doubt this guy’s the same. Or if he is someone—which I highly doubt—clearly, I don’t care.

And yet I look back and hold his eyes for a beat longer.

“Please tell me your day is better than mine,” Josie says as she steps into my field of vision and breaks off my staring contest. She sets my iced coffee in front of me and then wipes her hands on the dish towel that’s folded into the waistband of her apron. She’s about fifteen years older than me with cherubic curls and rosy-red cheeks. She peers at me from behind a pair of oversized, black-framed glasses and her trademark bushy eyebrows that she refuses to pluck. The woman is a legend in everyone’s mind but her own, and that’s why I’ve taken to her so fiercely.

I level her with a dubious glare for an answer that has her shaking her head.

“That bad?” she asks.

My smile is quick and sharp. “I haven’t found the right contract killer who’s willing to maim Paul’s nether regions.”

“Only his nether regions? Feeling kind today?”

“Cock. Dick. His tiny, little mushroom cap. Are those better?” I ask with a vindictiveness that’s not like me. She throws her head back and laughs. “I mean, I keep opening my fridge, hoping to find that whoever robbed that Bank of America down the street last week, stashed the sixty grand they stole there. No such luck. And then there’s the small matter of how I’m going to fulfill this gigantic order, so I’m trying to keep it all together without losing my shit.”