Muffin Compares To You
The Way To A Man’s Heart
Frankie Love
Contents
Muffin Compares To You
1. Josh
Jessa
2. Josh
Jessa
3. Josh
Jessa
4. Josh
Jessa
5. Josh
Jessa
6. Josh
Jessa
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
The Way To A Man’s Heart Book 3
More Frankie Bite-Sized Reads
About the Author
Copyright © 2020 by Frankie Love
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Muffin Compares To You
The Way To A Man’s Heart Book 2
Frankie Love
I order a blueberry muffin to go… but when I see Jessa, the baker behind the counter, I don’t want to go anywhere.
I want to stay. Forever.
But this red-headed bombshell is a tough nut to crack.
She has walls up to protect herself but I know I’m the man to make this cookie crumble.
It’s time to convince her that I can be this Muffin’s man.
Dear Reader,
This better than a baker’s dozen! It’s the perfect 1-hour coffee break.
Josh and Jessa are ready to take a big ole bite outta love!
It’s got an extra spoonful of sugar… are you ready for a super sweet treat?
xo, frankie
Chapter One
Josh
Pulling on my charcoal grey suit coat, I head out of my corner office, in desperate need of a mid-morning pick-me-up. I wave to my secretary Kourtney as I pass her but she doesn’t notice. She’s on her phone, lips pressed together in concentration. I can’t help but tease her.
“Found someone with potential yet?” I call out.
She groans, lifting her chin. “I wish, Josh.” Kourtney’s on the perpetual hunt for the perfect man… yet in the year I’ve known her, she hasn’t actually gone out with anyone. I wonder sometimes if she started looking up, instead of down, would she see what she’s looking for?
Not that I’m one to talk. I haven’t been out in ages myself. I haven’t met a woman who sparked my interest… who seemed different. Who seemed like she might match me. I’m not picky, exactly. I just don’t want a woman shaped from a cookie cutter. I’d much rather have a muffin top.
I tell Kourtney I’ll be back in twenty and then I leave the office building and head down the busy sidewalk. I recently read about a new bakery in the neighborhood, and I have a terrible sweet tooth. It’s the reason I work out with my buddies so damn much.
The signage for Treat Yourself is blue and pink and as I open the front door, I am overwhelmed with the delicious scent of fresh-baked muffins. Next thing I notice is the very long line, customers who are looking at their watches or phones, annoyed. Not an employee in sight.
“Hello?” one of the customers in line calls out. “Anyone working here?”
There’s the clashing sound of metal pans hitting the floor, a yelp and then a moan. A second later, a petite red-headed woman rushes through the back room and into the shop, a look of irritation written on her face.
“Hey, no reason to panic. I’m here,” she says in an unapologetic tone.
“I’ve been waiting for five minutes,” a large man says, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “This is unacceptable.”
A woman with a frizzy perm and a pearl necklace nods. “Considering this is a new business, I’d think you would treat the customers better.”
The curvy woman behind the counter smirks. “You’d think, right?”
The pearl-clutcher doesn’t like that response. “I can take my business elsewhere.”
“Maybe you should,” the woman in the apron says with mock-seriousness. Her snarky tone does something to me — my cock twitches and my pulse speeds up. She’s unapologetic for making people wait. It’s the kind of no-nonsense attitude that works for me as a therapist. I don’t like wasting people’s time.
“By the way,” she announces to everyone in the bakery. “I’m totally okay. Just a mild burn. No biggie.” She holds up her arm, where an angry red mark snakes across her forearm. That must have had something to do with the commotion in the kitchen.
“Ouch,” I say, stepping past the other customers. “You need to put something on that.”
She furrows her brows. “I’m fine.”
I lift my hands, not wanting to insert myself where I’m not wanted. But damn, I want her. She’s a sassy bombshell with emerald green eyes and freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose.
“So who was first?” she asks the customers. None of them have left even though she told them they were welcome to. I have no doubt why: the pastries in this case are drool-worthy and could add ten pounds just by looking at them. And no one on earth would mind the weight.
We’re talking muffins that are fluffy and covered in sugar crumbs, pies that are lattice-topped and coffee cakes that are drizzled with brown sugar glaze. There is no way I can choose just one to take back to my desk.
And even the customers who were complaining a moment ago are now stepping closer and pointing to items they want as the red-headed beauty fills up pastry bags and boxes, pouring cups of drip coffee and helping everyone until I am the only person left in line.
“Quite a mid-morning rush,” I say, wanting her eyes to meet mine. They don’t even look up. Instead she reaches for a box and asks what I’d like. I bite back a laugh. She has literally no customer service skills. “I’ll take one of everything.”
That piques her interest. “What?” She frowns, looking up at me. “Why?”
“I mean it. I want one of everything.” I give her a smile, the most charming one I have. I can’t leave this place without a date. A number. Something. Anything.
“What’s the catch?” she asks, narrowing her eyes and setting a hand on her hip.
“No catch. I just want to taste your muffin.” I lick my lips. I swear I can’t help myself. I chuckle, knowing I just put my foot in my mouth.
“My muffin, huh?” She laughs then, the hard look on her face fading. She rolls her eyes and starts loading up a pastry box with one of everything, just like I asked.
“Yeah, so what flavor is it?”
She sets the heaping box on the counter. “Blueberry.”
“Lucky me,” I say. “My favorite.”
She leans over the counter, looking me up and down. I know she likes what she sees because she bites the corner of her bottom lip. “You always flirt this much?” she asks.
I take her forearm, she lets me this time, and I know this burn needs to be taken care of. “You think this is me flirting?”
She smiles. “What would you call it?”
“Shopping local.”
Jessa
I have no idea who this man is — besides tall, dark and handsome. A cliché in a very nice tailored suit who appears to be the exact opposite of me. He’s put together, for one. Me? I am holding on by a thread. Or actually, a safety pin because that is what I have holding my pants together.
“Shopping local, huh?” I ask, registering my long pause. Suddenly aware of the fact he is holding my hand, my arm. He’s inspecting the burn with concern. “You think the burn is really bad?”
He winces. “Yeah, do you hav
e a first aid kit?”
I twist my lips. “I think so? But I don’t know where anything is.”
“How long have you been open?” he asks.
“Since yesterday.”
His golden specked eyes widen. “Congratulations. I thought this place was new, just didn’t realize it was that new.”
“Yeah, it’s a miracle I opened at all.” My stomach flip-flops. I wish I had been braver and left the loan with the bank officer who treated me so badly. Instead, I took the money and kept my mouth shut.
“Really?” He looks into my eyes, and my pulse quickens. His fingers brush my skin and I feel like he would listen to my problems all day if I asked him to stay. I swallow, not understanding a man like him. A man who doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get in my pants. A man who is happy to be holding my hand.
A man like him seems like he’d know how to hold a heart, too.
I hesitate, feel myself withdraw.
“Gimme a sec, okay?” he says, and before I can even answer, he is out the front door of the shop.
Unsure of what just happened, I head to the kitchen to clean up my muffin mess. I was surprised that so many customers came all at once, and in my hurry to to get the muffins from the oven and dropped them. So instead of getting ahead, I fell behind. And burned myself in the process.
“Hey, you back there?” He’s back.
I step out of the kitchen and see he has a first aid kit in his hand.
The gesture may be small to some people, but not to me.
“Come here,” I say, waving him to follow me into the bathroom.
Chapter Two
Josh
The bathroom is small. And I don’t mind in the least.
“What’s your name?” I ask as I open the antiseptic ointment, then apply it to her burn.
“Jessa James.”
“I’m Josh Jones.”
She smiles. “Look at us, both have parents who loved alliteration.”
I open an alcohol swab. “So Jessa, why is it a miracle you opened the shop?”
She groans. “Just drama with the guy at the bank. He rubbed me the wrong way. Acted like he was doing me a favor.” She shrugs. “And maybe he was. I don’t exactly have experience running a business.”
“But you love to bake?”
She smiles. A real smile. A smile that tells me the ones she flashed earlier weren’t the real deal.
And her real smile? Damn, muffin compares to it.
“What?” she asks, shaking her head self-consciously.
“You make me happy, that’s all.”
“Okay, dork,” she says with a laugh. “Are we done yet?”
I shake my head, not wanting to let her go just yet. “No, I need to put a Band-Aid on this.”
“I could be losing business right now,” she says teasingly.
“Which I’m sure you’re totally concerned with.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.
I laugh. “You didn’t seem worried about making those other customers wait.”
She shrugs. “I’m not going to apologize for making someone wait what, three minutes? I am so over the idea that I have to say sorry for being myself.”
“That’s refreshing.” I place the bandage on the burn. “Most people say sorry as their first reaction.”
“I’m not most people.”
“I can tell,” I say honestly. Wanting to know everything about her. “What do you do for fun, Jessa?” I close the first aid kit and stow it under the bathroom sink.
She smirks. “Fun? I’ve been so busy with Treat Yourself that I haven’t done anything truly fun in ages.” We walk back into the front of the shop, and I see a line has started to form again. I pull out my wallet, but she waves it off, handing me my massive box of goodies. “My treat,” she says. “You played doctor today.”
“I actually am a doctor,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I chuckle. “I am. But not a medical doctor — I’m a therapist.”
She nods slowly. “Right. Okay, well, nice to meet you, Dr. Josh.”
A couple behind me edges closer, and before I can ask Jessa out on a date, they are asking for slices of cherry pie.
At the door, I turn to get another look. She seems to be waiting for another look, too, because our eyes meet, and she bites down a smile.
It might not be a yes, but it certainly isn’t a no.
Jessa
The bakery is busy all day and there should be no time to think about Josh, yet it’s impossible not to glance up at the window… hoping that maybe he will come back around.
It’s out of my character — I’m never looking for a guy to pay attention to me. But there’s something about Josh that made me feel cared for. Yes, maybe it’s because he literally cared for me by tending to my burn — but it’s more than that. He made my heart feel light. And that isn’t something I have felt from a man before.
Most men I’ve known have only tried to tear me down. But just talking to Josh seemed to lift me up. And I want that feeling again.
I want to see him again.
By the time I close the doors for the day, my feet ache and my eyes are blurry. I ran out of nearly everything, which means that tomorrow I’m going to need to wake up even earlier so I can get a bigger head start on baking. I wish I had the capital to hire someone to help me, but I only managed to get a loan that covered the cost of the commercial kitchen and six months of rent. Eventually I hope to get help, but until then, it’s a one-woman show.
After wiping down the counters and turning off the lights, I walk to the front entrance to lock up for the night. As I reach it, I see Josh jogging toward me.
I bite back a smile, wondering where this giddy girl came from. But I don’t have time to overanalyze my feeling — Josh is here.
I open the door for him, and he steps in, a plant in hand.
“I caught you,” he says. “I didn’t know when you closed.”
“Three, for customers. Took me another hour to close everything up.”
“Well I’m glad you’re still here. I just finished with a client and had time to make it to my buddy’s garden shop.” He hands me a succulent. “This is for you. A grand opening present.”
“It’s… lovely.”
“It’s aloe vera.”
I smile. “I’m not a green thumb by any stretch. But I do know about aloe for burns.” Lifting my arm, where I was burned this morning, I realize how cute this gesture was. “Do I just rub this on the burn?”
Josh runs a hand over his smooth jaw. “I’m honestly not exactly sure. I think we’ll need to YouTube it over dinner.”
“We?”
He smiles, shrugs. “Yes. We. I mean, unless you’re busy?”
My eyes go wide. “Like right now?”
“Did you have somewhere else to be?”
I shake my head, setting the plant next to my cash register. “I guess not. I honestly would love some vegetables, though. I think all I’ve eaten today are carbs.”
“Same, and I got my butt kicked at CrossFit by my buddy, Matt,” Josh says. “Probably because I finished off that entire box of pastries.”
My eyes go wide as I lock the door. I must have put two dozen items in that box. “No you did not!”
He laughs, taking my hand and leading me out the front door. I have to admit my fingers slip next to his perfectly.
“My secretary helped. As well as everyone I saw today.”
“Well I hope my muffins helped them talk through their problems.”
“I think your muffins could solve all the world’s problems.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Maybe it’s the simple, sure way he talks, the way he puts me at ease — which I know is what he does for a living — but I have to admit that it makes me let down my guard.
And that isn’t something I’ve done in years.
“What?” he asks, noticing a change. I feel it too. A softness comes over me.
/> I shake my head. Squeeze his hand tight. “Thank you,” I say. “For coming back.”
He nods, giving me an easy smile. “I plan on coming back a whole lot more.”
Chapter Three
Josh
Dinner goes amazing — we find a place with a salad bar and laugh as we add extra ranch dressing to our kale and cucumber salads. Moderation is key, we agree on that.
The conversation goes easy — I tell her about my parents, who are on vacation in Tahiti for a special anniversary, and about my younger brother, who is at Yale. She asks where I went to school.
“Oh, I went to Yale too.” Her eyes widen and I try to shake it off. “My dad went there, so I had an in.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Let me guess, so did your grandpa.”
I shrug. “My grandma, actually.”
I find out Jessa was a foster kid who graduated and put herself through a baking program at the community college, and after interning at a bakery for a few years, she took a leap and opened her shop. I get the feeling she is really anxious about it succeeding. And not to put my therapist hat on, but I have a feeling her being brisk with the customers this morning was a way for her to put her walls up.
I want them to crumble and fall because right now, as I see the more vulnerable side of her, I can’t help but think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She is funny and kind and talented — she’s the whole package, certainly more than a single muffin.
And while I could have spent the entire night with her, learning everything there is to know, by the time we finish our dinner, she’s yawning.
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