“And the cinnamon roll?”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Very much.”
Elena smiled.
“Good.”
He placed his coins on the counter.
“Two loaves today.”
She wrapped them.
Then added another cinnamon roll.
Gideon frowned.
“I can pay for that.”
“I know.”
He looked toward her.
She smiled.
“Consider it a reward for admitting you enjoyed the first one.”
For a moment, Gideon stared.
Then he laughed.
A short, deep sound.
Elena's heart gave an unexpected little movement.
The scarred mountain man looked entirely different when he laughed.
You could see the younger man beneath the beard.
The kindness beneath the guarded expression.
And something unexpectedly handsome about his severe features.
She handed him the package.
He looked toward the counter.
Then asked, almost awkwardly, “You make these yourself?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
She nodded.
“Except when the squirrels offer to help.”
Gideon blinked.
Then laughed again.
Elena grinned.
“Unfortunately, their wages are unreasonable.”
He shook his head.
“You've got a strange sense of humor.”
“I've been told.”
He studied her.
Then smiled.
“I like it.”
Elena felt warmth rise into her cheeks.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Gideon looked toward the door.
“I should go.”
She nodded.
“Of course.”
He picked up the bread.
Then stopped.
“Miss Whitmore?”
“Yes?”
He looked almost embarrassed.
“Best cinnamon roll I've ever eaten.”
Elena stared.
Then smiled so broadly that her cheeks hurt.
“Thank you, Mr. Hale.”
He nodded.
Then left.
And when the bell stopped ringing, Elena stood behind the counter wondering why three ordinary words from a rugged rancher had made her happier than all the elaborate compliments wealthy gentlemen had offered her throughout her life.
Their friendship began with bread.
Every Thursday, Gideon came to the bakery.
At first, he purchased only what he needed.
Then he began staying for coffee.
He sat at the strongest table near the kitchen, the one Elena's aunt had commissioned years earlier because it could accommodate large sacks of flour during delivery days.
Elena joined him whenever business was quiet.
They talked about weather.
Horses.
The price of grain.
The difficult road leading into the mountains.
And the strange customers who visited the bakery.
Gideon rarely discussed himself.
But Elena discovered he listened carefully.
He remembered details.
When she mentioned that the oven door wouldn't close properly, he arrived the following week carrying a small iron hinge he'd repaired.