Crissy didn't have much time to think about Rob or the firefighter – Quinn – for most of the next day. Cakes, pies, and breads all disappeared faster than she could make them. She loved the holidays for their cozy bustle of activity in the shop, but at the same time, she hated the holidays for how busy she was constantly. Valentine's Day might be a little less hectic than Thanksgiving or Christmas, but there were still dozens of heart-shaped treats to whip up. Not one word of complaint would cross her lips though. Her mother and sister would just love to pounce on any weakness she might let slip...

Amy came zipping into the kitchen the next afternoon and grabbed a paper towel roll from the counter.

"Remind me when I have kids," she said, "why I don't want kids. A little boy at table seven just sent a huge cup of sticky soda flying over two other tables."

Crissy didn't pause in her work as she pinched each blueberry tart crust into perfect fluted edges.

"We don't even serve soda here," she replied.

"I know, and this is one of the many reasons why. Health hazards on so many levels. I mean, people are walking through it like they don't even care. The kid is playing in it like it's a mud puddle. And Mom and Dad are oblivious. No surprise there."

Crissy wiped her hands on her apron and leaned against the counter. "You love kids. Besides, you wouldn't let your brats touch soda until they were on their own and moved out."

Amy nodded. "Very true. Okay, better go before the kid starts licking it off the floor."

Crissy chuckled and shook her head as she put the tarts in the oven. She started on the next batch of tarts, lemon custard this time, but the ring of the customer service bell made her stop. She waited, expecting to hear Amy's perky chatter as she attended the customer, making polite conversation like it was easy as pie, something Crissy had never managed to pick up. Even after starting her own business and managing to stay afloat in the rough waters of the economy, the thought of a little chitchat made her turn to jelly in her boots.

The bell tinkled again. Amy still wasn't coming. That soda spill must have been huge...or she got to talking to the family and once Amy got talking, there was no stopping her.

The bell rang for the third time and Crissy sighed. There was no way around it. Amy never let it go past two rings unless she was really busy. Crissy brushed a few stray strands of brown hair back from her forehead, put on a big smile, and headed to the register.

"How may I help...?"

Her breath caught in her throat and the unfinished phrase slinked away under the counter. There, two feet away, standing at the register, was the firefighter she had so blatantly gawked at yesterday. He wasn't in uniform this time, but dressed in a black coat that made him seem even bulkier and intimidating than before.

Crissy froze for half a second. He hadn't noticed her yet as he studied the display case full of bakery items to his right, his face turned away from her. She spun around, preparing to flee and hide in the kitchen. Amy could handle it for all she cared, she just couldn't...

"Hi."

Shit shit shitty shit shit, Crissy thought. Her shoulders hitched up around her ears and she contemplated making a run for it. But she knew she couldn't do it. She would lay awake at night years later, beating herself up for being so rude. Better face the music now. Face the impossibly good-looking guy who made her knees weak at just the sound of his voice. God, the last time she felt this gooey after a first impression was Rob and that thought alone scared the hell out of her.

Crissy took a deep breath and, slowly, turned around. Quinn had that soft, easy smile on again, and it was like looking into the sun for Christ's sake. Crissy felt herself sway forward slightly, like a moth hypnotized by the dancing flame. Moths got burned by those flames, a little voice in the back of her mind said. Crissy squashed it and smiled back despite the tremble of fear in her stomach threatening to bring up that chocolate croissant she had for breakfast.

"Hi," she replied. "Can I...help you?"

"I hope so. I'm having a bit of trouble deciding here." He tapped the glass display case.

She nodded, letting out a small breath of relief. Food, she could do. She could talk about food all day long.

"Well, do you have it narrowed down to a few favorites maybe?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I had the apple turnover yesterday. Thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

Crissy's smile grew even wider. She loved those turnovers, her own recipe she had fiddled with over the years until it was just right.

"And you're looking for something similar today?"

"I'm looking to try a little bit of everything. I was hoping maybe the chef might have some suggestions," he said.

Crissy frowned. "How did you...?"

"You had flour on your cheek when I saw you yesterday," he explained, his gaze trained on her without wavering, confident and sure.

"Oh." Her face flared with heat and she glanced away, forcing her trembling hands to remain still as she opened the display case. Food was safe. Food was what she knew. Food didn't look at her like...that.

Crissy snatched the momentary lull in the conversation to direct the topic into more neutral territory. Territory that didn't make her stomach get all tangled up in knots. Territory that didn't make her think dirty thoughts about a complete stranger with broad shoulders and large hands and...

Crissy tightened her grip on the display case's door handle and took a deep breath, forcing herself to take stock, to think like a business woman. He was a customer, nothing more.

Quinn tapped the glass and she glanced up.

"You were miles away," he said.

"Sorry, I was...holiday rush and all. Long hours, not enough caffeine."

"I'd offer to buy you a cup of coffee but since you already work in a coffee shop, well..." he shrugged. "I can only imagine how much you wouldn't be interested in that. And I'd better not engage any competition from another shop. That would just be bad manners on my part."

He was offering to buy her a cup of coffee so nonchalant like it was the easiest most natural thing in the world. Jesus, this was fast. Too fast. She rubbed at an invisible speck of dirt on the glass case.

"That's very kind of you, sir, but..."

Quinn laughed and shook his head, holding up his hands in surrender. And Crissy nearly melted on the spot. She could live the rest of her life listening to that sound over and over.

"Please, it's Quinn," he said. "And I shouldn't have put you on the spot that way. That was unprofessional of me and unfair to you." He stretched his hand across the counter. "Truce?"

Crissy hesitated but shook his hand anyway. His palm was warm and smooth, his grip firm but gentle, not crushing like most men she met, like what she expected from a man as large as him. That heat had returned in full force again and she pulled away.

"Truce," she whispered.

Quinn nodded and turned his attention back to the case. "So what would you recommend then? I should warn you, I have a sweet tooth that gets me into trouble more times than I can count."

It didn't matter what she chose, she thought. Just...get him out of here so she could think clearly again.

"Peach pie scones with vanilla glaze," she said, placing two slices into a small white paper bag and handing it to him.

"That sounds amazing," he said. And to her horror, his fingers brushed against hers as he accepted the bag, sending spikes of heat flaring through her all over again. She scrambled to ring up the total on the register and finish the transaction.

"It was a pleasure to meet you..." He laughed. "I don't even know your name."

"Crissy," she said. "Atwood. Crissy Atwood."

He tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. "I'm looking forward to tasting your recommendation, Crissy. Thank you."

He backed up, that direct gaze trained on her the whole time, until he reached the door and stepped out. Crissy zipped into the kitchen and braced herself against the counter.

"Well, that went well," Amy chirped. She sat on a stool on the far end of the kitchen, poking at a salad.

"Where were you?" Crissy shrieked. "Were you back here the whole time?"

Amy shook her head. "Nope. That soda spill took forever to clean up. I just caught the tail end of your conversation with Mr. Sexy out there. He's totally into you."

Crissy groaned and buried her face in her hands. "No, he's not, Amy. He's being polite. He wants food, that's all."

Amy snorted. "Yeah right, not from where I was standing he certainly wasn't. He was checking you out like there was no tomorrow."

"I'm not having this conversation," Crissy sighed, moving to continue rolling out pastry dough. "For all we know, he's got a girlfriend or a fiancé or a wife already. And she's probably really territorial about him too."

"That's understandable. I mean, look at him. Besides, he's not married. No ring. No tan line where a ring should be."

Crissy shot a glare at Amy. "That doesn't mean anything. And quit analyzing him."

Amy swung her feet back and forth on the stool. "Can't make me. It's my job as your best friend to analyze every guy who comes into your life and interrogate him as to his intentions towards you."

"Oh god, no, please don't actually interrogate him."

"I won't. If he behaves himself. Once I see him flirting with some sleazy little slut, then let the interrogations begin."

"Amy..."

Amy jumped down off her stool and wrapped Crissy in a hug. "I'm only partly joking, Cris. I promise, I won't embarrass you. But I really do want you to be happy and I want you to be safe. If that means I have to get a little bitchy around this guy to make sure you're okay, so be it."

She nodded and patted Amy's arm, leaving a floury handprint on Amy's black sleeve. "What would I do without you?"

"Cry and console yourself with a ton of pastries, of course."