Fixer-Upper by Meg Harding Page B

if I opened a bakery.” He shrugged. “I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do.” He nudged his shoulder into Dakota’s. “Maybe I’ll go into landscaping.”
    He expected Dakota to laugh it off, make a joke. He didn’t expect Dakota to give him a contemplative look. “You could if you wanted to,” he said. “You’re good, and you’ve got the eye for it.”
    Jake felt his mouth hanging open. He closed it. “Thank you,” he stuttered, honestly shocked and unsure what to say. “That means a lot.”
    Dakota smiled at him, resting a large hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “You’re welcome.” The crowd around Jake’s car had thinned a little, and he started to edge forward. “So where are the lemon bars?”
    His selection of baked goods was completely picked through, many of the pans gone, carted off to cars or wherever. Jake leaned over what was left, scanning for the bars. “I wonder if I’ll get my pans back,” he said, moving a half-empty muffin tin out of the way.
    “Keep reminding them,” said Dakota.
    He found the bars underneath a pan of brownies. He carefully slid them out, turning to proffer the pan to Dakota. The bars were presliced, and he held it out, pulling back the cling wrap so Dakota could pry a corner free. He watched Dakota’s face closely as he took his first bite.
    Dakota’s eyes slid closed, and he let out an obscene moan. “God,” he said once he’d swallowed. “That’s good.” He took another large bite. Jake watched the way his jaw worked as he chewed, making his cheekbones stand out in even more definition. There were crumbs at the corner of his mouth. Jake’s fingers twitched, wanting to brush them away.
    “What’s going on here?”
    He’d been so absorbed in watching Dakota eat that he hadn’t even noticed Jasper’s approach. He nearly dropped the lemon bars to the ground, ended up fumbling them, he was so startled by his appearance. He tore his gaze from Dakota’s face and held out the lemon bars to Jasper. “I brought baked goods.”
    “These are the best,” said Dakota, reaching out to pluck another bar from the pan. “Fucking fantastic.”
    Jake had to duck his head, biting his lip to keep from laughing giddily. If he touched the tips of his ears, he was pretty sure he’d find them to be warm. When he glanced up at last, it was to find Jasper staring at him knowingly while Dakota stuffed another lemon bar in his mouth. Jake shoved the lemon bars at Jasper. “Want one?” he asked. Maybe if Jasper had food in his mouth he’d stop looking at him like that.
    Jasper took one, bit into it, and moaned. After he swallowed, he said, “And here I thought Dakota was exaggerating.”
    “I would never lie about this,” said Dakota. He was reaching for another one.
    “You can eat some later,” Jake said, flattered and pleased but worried for the state of Dakota’s stomach. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you eat the whole pan right now.”
    Dakota’s bottom lip protruded in an honest to God pout, but he did withdraw his hand. “Fine,” he said, staring mournfully at the bars.
    “I promise I won’t let anyone else eat them,” said Jake. “You can have them all.”
    Dakota beamed. “You’re the best,” he said. “I’m holding you to that.”
    Jake wondered if it would look suspicious if he brought Dakota lemon bars every day for the rest of the job.

Chapter Eight
     
     
    THERE WAS shade and soft grass and absolutely no breeze. His clothes stuck to him in places, and his hair curled like he’d just left a steam room. He’d sat down for a brief break, and he’d woken up who knew how much later. He didn’t want to pull out his phone and check the time, ruin the little bubble he had going. He was exhausted, even after his impromptu nap.
    Groaning, he dragged his hands down his face, smelled the dirt and outdoor scent, and wrinkled his nose. He’d fallen asleep on the job. Mortification flooded him. What would Dakota