Fake It Till You Bake It(3)

A hint of something—uncertainty, maybe—flared in her eyes.

He stepped back. Damn. He was used to his body. Used to how large it was and how he often intimidated without trying. Being six feet three, 265 pounds was an asset on a football field—not so much in real life.

“Can I help you?” The uncertainty had disappeared from her expression, making him wonder if he’d imagined it.

The bougie tone—and no, he hadn’t imagined that—immediately grated on his already stretched nerves once again. He didn’t care how beautiful she was. No one talked shit about his cupcakes and got away with it. “I overheard what you were saying.”

She blinked in obvious surprise, but then her shoulders stiffened and defiance settled on her pretty face. “And?”

He gave her credit, reluctantly, for not backing down. “And I’ll have you know we have the best cupcakes in the city.”

Her skeptical gaze swept up and down his figure and lingered on the shop’s logo on his teal polo. “You work here. I wouldn’t expect you to say otherwise.”

She thought he was a shopworker and not the owner. Which meant she had no idea who he was, even though he was one of the San Diego Knights’ most visible faces. She thought he was sucking up to curry favor with his bosses. He caught the eye of Ella, an actual part-time employee standing behind the cash register. She was pretending not to listen while halfheartedly wiping away nonexistent crumbs from the quartz countertop with a towel. Donovan gave a quick shake of his head. He wanted the critic’s honest opinion and didn’t want it swayed by his true identity. “Employee or not, I speak the truth.”

A quick eyeroll let him know what she thought about that declaration. “Dude, are you really getting your boxers in a twist because I’m not rhapsodizing about your cupcakes?”

His boxers were not in a twist. “My cupcakes are stellar. We use the best and freshest ingredients and the best recipes. It’s the only way to run a bakery.”

Critic nudged her friend with an elbow. “Yep, totally in a twist.” She tapped her chin, those lush lips pursing, then nodded as though coming to a decision. “I was wrong.”

She was admitting it? Maybe his day was finally looking up.

“You’re a boxer briefs kind of guy,” she continued, spreading her arms wide in a whatcha-gonna-do move. “Practicality rules. Functionality meets comfort all the way for you, I bet.”

He would not dignify her ridiculousness with a response. Even if it was true. Which it was. His Calvin Klein boxer briefs were the best. But he couldn’t stop his teeth from clenching. She noticed, if her smirk was any indication.

They were entertaining their audience. Her friend’s head swiveled back and forth between them like she was watching a riveting, fast-paced tennis match. Ella had given up any pretense of not listening. Any second now, she’d pull out a bag of popcorn. Thank God his partners weren’t there. He’d never live this encounter down. But he should be polite. She was a customer, after all. He forced his lips into a smile. “Why don’t you try one before making any more pronouncements? My treat.”

Critic pointed to her companion. “She came to get a cupcake for herself. I’m good.” The eww floated through the air, silent but deadly. She wheeled on those spindly heels like she’d been doing it her whole life, effectively dismissing him. His teeth ground together. Why did this woman he’d never met before know exactly the right thing to say to piss him off?

“That’s fine. Unless you’re scared,” he said to her back. He ignored Ella’s muffled snort of laugher.

The critic spun around with admirable quickness and agility. She could teach his teammates a thing or two. “I’m not scared.”

Ooh, looked like he’d scored a direct hit. “Then you won’t mind trying one.”

Her jaw worked side to side as she glared at him. “Sure. Why not?”

Needling a customer definitely was nowhere to be found in the “How to Be a Good Business Owner” handbook. But he’d never claimed to be perfect. Driven, yes. And his driven ass had had a bad day. The least she could do was admit his cupcakes were damn good. He clapped his hands together and hurried around the counter before either of them could come to their senses. “What kind can I get you? You eat sugar, right?”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“Are you gluten-free?”

“No.”

“Great. That means our entire menu is open to you.”

“Can’t wait.”

He chose to ignore the sarcasm. “You look like a vanilla person.”

Okay, maybe he hadn’t ignored it.

Her lifted eyebrow said she’d caught the shot. “Is that the best this shop can offer?”

He deserved that. “It is the most classic of flavors, but we’ve worked hard to come up with unique flavors and put our stamp on the San Diego cupcake scene.”

Her head tilted to the side. “The San Diego cupcake scene? I didn’t realize that was a thing.”

His lips quirked in spite of himself. “It is.” Too much of a scene, actually. The competition was stiff, but it only drove him to be better.

She considered him, a wide, and if he was honest with himself—dazzling—smile stretching across her face. “Who knew? You learn something new every day.”