Chapter 8: In Which I Make Up A Boyfriend

I keep my eyes carefully trained on the form in my hands. "The cake is the only thing I'm interested in speaking to you about."

"God, you're even more beautiful than I remember." Dante's voice is low, rough. "But just as feisty."

Something flutters in my stomach at those words, but anger quickly suppresses the sensation.

"What do you want?" I demand. "Why the hell are you here?"

"I should think that would be obvious," he says. "I'm here to see you. To convince myself that you weren't just a figment of my imagination."

For the love of God, I wish he would take off those damn sunglasses and let me read his expression.

"Well, you've seen me," I say. "And I have a business to run, so if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."

He glances around the shop. "You've got a charming little place here. You always did make amazing desserts. You seem to have done very well for yourself since the last time we spoke."

"A lot has changed since we were together," I admit.