Marcus shook her hand, smirking. "Get your boxes ready, sweetheart. I’m about to bankrupt your pantry."
He marched up to the glass counter. The display was a minefield of éclairs, tarts, and macarons in pastel shades. Behind the register stood a woman with flour on her apron and a smudge of chocolate on her cheek. She looked harmless—soft curls, bright eyes, a gentle smile. sofia sweet bet