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22

Right before we reached the entrance of the bakery, I stopped and looked at him. “Most people wouldn’t begin the tour here.”

“You’re not like most, Alix. I learned that the night we met.”

I smiled and tried not to let the tone of his voice affect me. “I’ve become somewhat of a foodie, which means I eat like a pregnant woman.”

He laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Except I have this thing for chocolate cake, and I like to start my mornings with it. I’ve scoured the entire city to find the best. And it’s here”—I pointed at the door in front of us—“at Nona’s. So, this is what we’re having for brunch.” I paused. “You do like cake, don’t you?”

I tried to remember some of the food pictures he’d posted and if any were of dessert.

He laughed again, his grip on me becoming a little tighter. “Of course I do.”

I opened the door, and the smell of chocolate hit me in the face.

“Damn,” I heard him say from behind me. When I looked over my shoulder, he was gazing at the display of cookie s
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