A few hours later, Lumberjerk passes by my front window, waving jovially.

Such a jerk.

As the week progresses I decide that my disdain for Ronan is completely justified. He’s a dick. A giant, stupidly attractive dick who always wears long-sleeved plaid shirts—yes, I totally made up the flannel part—rolled up to his elbows with another shirt underneath it. And jeans. And work boots. Every damn day.

How do I know this?

Because every single day he passes my storefront at some point and makes a big show of waving exuberantly while shouting hello.

And yesterday he was wearing a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses. It’s all too much. And annoying.

Especially since he seems to love getting under my skin.

Every day I find a flyer tucked into one of my flowerpots for some kind of class or session to help “calm the restless soul.” One has a coupon for three free yoga sessions, which I’d be tempted to use if I actually had time for yoga. The next day he leaves me a brochure warning me about the effects of too much sugar and caffeine. It’s even accompanied with lavender oil.

But what really takes the cupcake are the contents of the cardboard box I find sitting in front of my door this morning. I’m hesitant to open it, assuming something is going to jump out at me. I’m relieved to find nothing living, or dead, inside the box. That relief is short-lived, though, because inside the box is my unicorn martini glass. Except it’s been reassembled ass backward—quite literally. There are now plaid accents and a little logo with a guy in a suit of armor wearing one of those old-school nightcaps where its eyes used to be. Also, the horn is sticking out of its butt.

Half of me is annoyed and the other half is impressed that he took the time to do this to needle me. Again. It’s a hideous, yet quite amazing work of art. Not that I would ever admit that to his face.

On the upside, the constant banging seems to have stopped. The paper is still on the windows, so I’m assuming it’s going to be a while before the place opens. Although a new sign was put up yesterday boasting the name THE KNIGHT CAP in masculine gold letters. I’m almost surprised there isn’t some kind of plaid on the signage. I’m sure there will be loads of it making the interior extra gaudy.

But today I could care less about Lumberjerk, because it’s my grand opening and it’s going to be amazing. My Instagram following is already over one thousand, my Facebook page has double that. More than two hundred and fifty coupons have been downloaded.

I’ve been here since four in the morning frosting and decorating cupcakes. We have hundreds ready to roll, and Paul has a contingency plan should I be a little too hopeful about opening day. The display case is perfectly organized and prepared; the specials board is a work of art.

I make sure today’s featured cupcakes and drinks are front and center in the showcase: a lemon drop cupcake with lemon curd filling and a tangy lemon buttercream complemented by a delicious, tart, lemon drop martini. Its counterpart is a bourbon bacon cupcake with maple buttercream icing paired with a smoky bourbon old-fashioned topped with a strip of maple candy bacon. Yes, I’ve already Instagrammed them.

The sandwich menu is simple, yet the variety is pleasing enough for every palate and the array of savory and sweet scones, plus coffee and tea options, make this the only cupcake cocktail café of its kind.

I step outside and set up my A-frame sign boasting today’s specials and my quote of the day:

“WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS MAKE LEMON DROP MARTINIS!”

I double and triple check that the bar is stocked, the coffee is ready to be poured, the hot water is prepped for tea and Callie is comfortable with her counter duties. She’s my only employee—because one person is all I can reasonably afford to pay. I’m hoping we can handle whatever gets thrown at us. She looks adorable in her Buttercream and Booze shirt, and her shoes have a lemon wedge print on them, which is beyond perfect. Thankfully, Daphne’s agreed to help out this morning and not to take photos. I’m so freaking lucky to have her as a friend.

I clap my hands excitedly, smooth my palms over my apron and adjust the hem of my dress. Today I’m wearing an off-white dress with a huge lemon slice pattern. I added a temporary lemon slice tattoo on my cheek, decorated with a tiny yellow jewel.

I give Callie a brief rundown of the specials. While I expect the majority of my business to cater to the lunch, afternoon, and cocktail hour crowd, it seems spiked coffees might very well be a hit this morning, considering the line of people waiting for the doors to officially open.

We’re only a few blocks from the university, and there are several student-centric apartment buildings close by, as well as plenty of local businesses.

The first hour is mayhem of the most delicious sort. It doesn’t matter that it’s not even noon—almost everyone seems to want cupcakes and coffee or tea. The college crowd and the Saturday shoppers fill the café in the early afternoon, the two-for-one cupcake coupons are piling up, and I’m kept busy making martinis and bourbon old-fashioneds while Callie works the cash. Daphne sticks around since we’re far busier than I anticipated, which is not a bad problem to have.

Around three in the afternoon the door tinkles and Lumberjerk weaves his way through the tables, making every single woman in the place—college students, mothers, grandmothers—and a good percentage of the men do a double take.

Daphne whistles low under her breath. “Holy crap I think my panties just lit themselves on fire.”

I shoot her a look. “He’s not that hot.”

She gives me her seriously face but she doesn’t have a chance to respond because he’s already standing in front of us. I plaster on a smile. “I think you’re in the wrong place. Axe throwing is next door.”

“Blaire.” Daphne elbows me in the side.

He smiles back, widely. As if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me and every damn woman in here. “I thought I’d stop by and grab one of those cupcakes everyone seems to be freaking out over.” He pulls a two-for-one cupcake coupon out of his back pocket. Where it’s been curved around his tight ass.

Not that I’ve noticed how tight it is over the past week. Okay. I’ve totally noticed. Every single time he’s walked past the front window.

He passes me the coupon and I snatch it from him with more aggression than necessary, which makes that smile of his widen even more. Damn him and his perfect teeth and his sexy eye-crinkles. I motion to the display case of cupcakes, each tray labeled based on flavor with a description of the cake and frosting combination. “What tickles your fancy?” I cringe internally at my terrible choice of wording.

Ronan tips his head to the side and his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth. I want to shove it back in—with a mixing spoon.

He shrugs. “What you do recommend?”

“How about some Death by Chocolate?”

He chuckles. “I’m not really a fan of chocolate cake, or death.”

“Not a fan? Obviously you’ve been eating the wrong cake.” Daphne’s voice is smoky and low, like she’s thinking about eating one of those Death by Chocolate cupcakes off his naked chest, while riding him.

“Maybe.” He shuffles over a few steps and leans in, peering at the options. He taps on the front of the case, leaving behind a fingerprint. “Bourbon bacon cupcake with maple buttercream? That sounds good. I’ll try one of those.”