Eight months later
Cole slid the final sheet of cinnamon rolls into the oven and wiped his brow. He didn’t know how many hundreds, maybe thousands of cinnamon rolls he’d made this week.
They were donating to the homeless shelter to celebrate Cinnamon Roll Day and had a discount on cinnamon rolls in the cafe.
Susan swept in through the doorway. “You want your break? Gavin’s here.”
Cole smiled and nodded. “Seven minutes.” He gestured at the oven.
“I’ll fix it. Go to him. He looks…antsy.”
Cole widened his eyes and hurried out of the kitchen. Gavin was lingering by the door as if contemplating leaving again.
“Gav?”
Gavin smiled but there was a tightness around his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Cole huffed. “Cinnamon roll?”
Gavin glanced at the door again, and a knot formed in Co
