Muffin Compares to You – The Way To A Man’s Heart Read online Frankie Love

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 10908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 55(@200wpm)___ 44(@250wpm)___ 36(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Muffin Compares to You - The Way To A Man's Heart

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Frankie Love

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B084PC83DK
Book Information:

I order a blueberry muffin to go … but when I see Jessa, the baker behind the counter, I don’t want to go anywhere.
I want to stay. Forever. But this red-headed bombshell is a tough cookie to crack.
She has walls up to protect herself but I know I’m the man to make this cookie crumble. It’s time to convince her that I can be this Muffin’s man.
Dear Reader,
This better than a bakers dozen! Its the perfect, 1-hour coffee break. Josh and Jessa are ready to take a big ole bite outta love! It’s got an extra spoonful of sugar … are you ready for a super sweet treat?
Books by Author:

Frankie Love



Chapter One

Josh

Pulling on my charcoal grey suit coat, I head out of my corner office, in desperate need of a mid-morning pick-me-up. I wave to my secretary Kourtney as I pass her but she doesn’t notice. She’s on her phone, lips pressed together in concentration. I can’t help but tease her.

“Found someone with potential yet?” I call out.

She groans, lifting her chin. “I wish, Josh.” Kourtney’s on the perpetual hunt for the perfect man… yet in the year I’ve known her, she hasn’t actually gone out with anyone. I wonder sometimes if she started looking up, instead of down, would she see what she’s looking for?

Not that I’m one to talk. I haven’t been out in ages myself. I haven’t met a woman who sparked my interest… who seemed different. Who seemed like she might match me. I’m not picky, exactly. I just don’t want a woman shaped from a cookie cutter. I’d much rather have a muffin top.

I tell Kourtney I’ll be back in twenty and then I leave the office building and head down the busy sidewalk. I recently read about a new bakery in the neighborhood, and I have a terrible sweet tooth. It’s the reason I work out with my buddies so damn much.

The signage for Treat Yourself is blue and pink and as I open the front door, I am overwhelmed with the delicious scent of fresh-baked muffins. Next thing I notice is the very long line, customers who are looking at their watches or phones, annoyed. Not an employee in sight.

“Hello?” one of the customers in line calls out. “Anyone working here?”

There’s the clashing sound of metal pans hitting the floor, a yelp and then a moan. A second later, a petite red-headed woman rushes through the back room and into the shop, a look of irritation written on her face.

“Hey, no reason to panic. I’m here,” she says in an unapologetic tone.

“I’ve been waiting for five minutes,” a large man says, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “This is unacceptable.”

A woman with a frizzy perm and a pearl necklace nods. “Considering this is a new business, I’d think you would treat the customers better.”

The curvy woman behind the counter smirks. “You’d think, right?”

The pearl-clutcher doesn’t like that response. “I can take my business elsewhere.”

“Maybe you should,” the woman in the apron says with mock-seriousness. Her snarky tone does something to me — my cock twitches and my pulse speeds up. She’s unapologetic for making people wait. It’s the kind of no-nonsense attitude that works for me as a therapist. I don’t like wasting people’s time.

“By the way,” she announces to everyone in the bakery. “I’m totally okay. Just a mild burn. No biggie.” She holds up her arm, where an angry red mark snakes across her forearm. That must have had something to do with the commotion in the kitchen.

“Ouch,” I say, stepping past the other customers. “You need to put something on that.”

She furrows her brows. “I’m fine.”

I lift my hands, not wanting to insert myself where I’m not wanted. But damn, I want her. She’s a sassy bombshell with emerald green eyes and freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose.

“So who was first?” she asks the customers. None of them have left even though she told them they were welcome to. I have no doubt why: the pastries in this case are drool-worthy and could add ten pounds just by looking at them. And no one on earth would mind the weight.

We’re talking muffins that are fluffy and covered in sugar crumbs, pies that are lattice-topped and coffee cakes that are drizzled with brown sugar glaze. There is no way I can choose just one to take back to my desk.

And even the customers who were complaining a moment ago are now stepping closer and pointing to items they want as the red-headed beauty fills up pastry bags and boxes, pouring cups of drip coffee and helping everyone until I am the only person left in line.

“Quite a mid-morning rush,” I say, wanting her eyes to meet mine. They don’t even look up. Instead she reaches for a box and asks what I’d like. I bite back a laugh. She has literally no customer service skills. “I’ll take one of everything.”

That piques her interest. “What?” She frowns, looking up at me. “Why?”

“I mean it. I want one of everything.” I give her a smile, the most charming one I have. I can’t leave this place without a date. A number. Something. Anything.

“What’s the catch?” she asks, narrowing her eyes and setting a hand on her hip.

“No catch. I just want to taste your muffin.” I lick my lips. I swear I can’t help myself. I chuckle, knowing I just put my foot in my mouth.

“My muffin, huh?” She laughs then, the hard look on her face fading. She rolls her eyes and starts loading up a pastry box with one of everything, just like I asked.

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