“Mooooom, you’re not listening.”

“Please, not now, Owen.”

Gabriel Maxim blew through the glass door of the bakery, pushed on by an icy wind. 

“A half dozen assorted muffins please,” he called out as he hustled to the counter to pay for his order. Shopping bags and a briefcase had his arms full, so he had no idea how he’d carry the damned muffins. But he had skipped breakfast to finish his estimate workup, and they smelled heavenly, like nutmeg, sugar, and Christmas. He probably should have hung back and waited until the mother/son duo had settled their differences, but his head hurt, and he wanted to set down his load. The sooner he could get to his favorite recliner the better. 

The woman filled a cheerful red-and-green-striped cardboard box and stepped behind the register. Gabriel had seen her that morning as she crossed Main Street. He hadn’t been the only one to track the progress of her well-rounded ass. The locals in the internet café had been jabbering about The New Baker at Crème Brule as he had worked on his laptop. She was filled out in all the right places to make a man’s fingers itch to touch. 

“Here you are,” she said breathlessly, hairs curling around her flushed oval face. His gaze landed on the boy, no more than fourteen he would say, and saw frustration. The two had moved to the small town about three months ago and had taken over the local patisserie. They also had moved onto the same street as Gabriel. 

“How much do I owe you?” He angled his body to try to pry his wallet out of his back pocket and dropped his briefcase. When he leaned to scoop it up, one of the shopping bags slid down his arm and almost hit the tiled floor. 

The woman smiled patiently. Her son crossed his arms as he narrowed his eyes at his mother, then turned a speculative gaze towards Gabriel, who finally sighed in resignation and gave up on the impossible rescue mission. 

“I’m Owen Phillips,” the boy said. “This is my mom, Donna Phillips.”  

Gabriel gave a nod in both directions. “Gabriel Maxim. Welcome to the neighborhood.” 

Donna nodded back, causing whisps of honey blonde hair to fall loose from the bun atop her head. Then she turned an unreadable look on her son as if annoyed with him for making the transaction a social one. 

“You live a few houses down from us, right?” Owen asked while going right on ignoring his mother’s frown and retrieving Gabriel’s briefcase from the floor. “You seem like the most interesting person on the block. I’ve been wanting to stop by.” 

Gabriel smiled, even though his back was beginning to want to give out. “What, you don’t think Ms. Carlisle across from your house is interesting?”

“Is she really a former spy?”

“That’s her story, and she’s sticking to it.” He chuckled as he thought of the spry seventy-five-year-old woman with dark skin and snow-white hair who ran their block with military precision. 

“She’s sweet,” Owen said. “Even if she is a little scary.”

“Have you seen Mr. Peterson yet?” Gabriel asked. He was another of the elder residents on the street and a particular favorite of his.

“Is he the one with…” The boy gulped and Gabriel bit back a laugh. “The robe?”

“He’s the one.” Gabriel winked as he added, “Not a stitch on under it either.”

Owen nodded so fast it looked like his head had snapped and might roll away. 

“He bent over to pick up his paper yesterday morning, and don’t you know the wind blew just then.” The poor boy turned the shade of a summer tomato as he rushed on. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Like two over-ripe pears about to drop from the tree!”

Gabriel and Owen sounded like a couple of hyenas before the door swung open on another gust. It felt good to laugh with the boy. An unwelcome thought hit Gabriel, that maybe his mother was right. 

“Listen,” Donna said right as he grimaced from a cramp in his left forearm. She looked as though she had just sucked a lemon. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you.” Her tone suggested the opposite, but Gabriel thought better than to comment. His stomach was growling, and his head had started to throb. 

“But you clearly have your arms full. Why don’t you take the muffins and pay me later?” She glanced over his shoulder and smiled welcomingly at the newcomer. Gabriel had the impression he was being dismissed and she wouldn’t have noticed if he was standing in front of her on his head. 

He gave a short nod and headed for the door as Owen hollered, “I’ll come by your house to get it from you. That way you don’t have to come back.” 

“Sounds good.” The door closed behind him, but not soon enough for Gabriel to miss Donna scolding the boy. He wasn’t sure if it was the same confrontation he had walked into or if the mother disapproved of her son inviting himself over to a stranger’s house. Either way he was staying out of it.

The sexy baker with almond-shaped green eyes had looked right through him. And just what, he asked himself, did he care anyway? He wasn’t looking for a relationship or to settle down. He enjoyed his freedom. 

Maybe it was all that babbling his mother had been doing in his ear every Sunday when he called home. He could expect the phone to ring any minute. She would be full of talk of his brothers settling down, the girls she wanted to set him up with, she needed grandbabies, blah, blah, blah.