Chapter 43

• By nine, Sparrow’s was hummin’ louder than the old fridge in the back — the line wound out the door again, plates slidin’ across the counter so fast Sadie swore she’d worn her favorite apron right through. But it didn’t matter. She loved every damn minute of it — the sugar dust stickin’ to her elbows, the warmth of fresh pie driftin’ through the door every time that bell chimed soft.
• Beau moved behind her like he’d always belonged there — sleeves rolled up, big rough palms slidin’ trays in and out, mouth pressin’ lazy on the back of her neck when he slipped by her at the register. Every woman with a to-go cup got the same look from him: Keep movin’, sweetheart — she’s mine. It made her grin so wide the old church ladies giggled behind their cups when they saw the way he’d tuck his nose into her hair when he thought nobody watched.
• By the time the line slowed, Sadie braced her palms on the counter, flour on her cheek, grin splittin’ wide when Beau slipped up behind her, palms bracketin’ the glass right next to hers.