LITMIR.BIZ

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expecting the teenager. She’d reacted to the moment—she’d been nice. And she was a firm believer that no good deed went unpunished. So he wouldn’t show and she would be pissed, mostly at herself.

      She walked toward the rear door of the bakery, only to be joined by a tall, dark-haired kid who fell into step with her.

      “Good morning,” Raoul said politely.

      She glanced at him. “You’re early.”

      “I didn’t want to be late.”

      “I’m impressed you’re here at all.”

      “You didn’t expect me?”

      “No.”

      “I gave my word.”

      “You stole doughnuts. That makes your word questionable.”

      She wasn’t exactly looking at him as she spoke, so she couldn’t be sure, but she caught what looked like a flinch out of the corner of her eyes. Because she doubted him? Because she mentioned the stealing? Great. Every morning should start with a hypersensitive pastry thief.

      “You’re also a jock,” she added, not sure why she felt compelled to make him feel better. “I have this thing against jocks. It dates back to high school, when all the guys I had crushes on ignored me.”

      “I don’t believe that.”

      She sighed. “Are you trying to be charming?”

      “Only a little. I’m practicing.”

      She could guess who the master he’d learned from was. “Save it for someone who’s more easily impressed. I’m immune.”

      “I noticed. You didn’t like Coach Hawkins much.”

      “I wouldn’t say that,” Nicole murmured, even though it was true. She thought Hawk was gorgeous and had an amazing body more than capable of making her entire being go up in flames, but that didn’t mean she had to like the man. There was no way she was going to be taken in by his practiced smile and sexual heat that sizzled so much it probably contributed to global warming.

      Raoul held open the door to the bakery. Nicole went in and waved at Phil.

      “Morning,” she called.

      Phil, an older man dressed all in white, including his apron, hurried toward them.

      “Morning,” he said, looking Raoul over. “You ready to do work?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Phil didn’t look convinced. “This isn’t going to be easy and I’m not interested in complaints. You hear me? No whining.”

      Raoul straightened. “I don’t whine.”

      “We’ll see.”

      Phil led him away.

      Nicole watched them go. Raoul would work off what he owed her by scrubbing massive mixing bowls used to make bread dough. That would be followed by an assortment of tasks designed to make Raoul think twice about stealing rather than buying. She wondered if the lesson would be learned or simply endured.

      FOUR HOURS LATER Nicole had gone through the pile in her in-basket, a task she always dreaded. But she’d wanted to stay through Raoul’s shift and working in the bakery itself wasn’t going to happen until she was cane-free. She dropped the invoices into a folder and labeled it to go to her accountant. Phil knocked on the open door and stepped in front of her desk.

      “How’s it going?” she asked.

      “Good. Better than I expected. The kid can work. He does what he’s told, no attitude, no slacking off. I like him.”

      Nicole raised her eyebrows. “That’s unusual.”

      “Tell me about it. I think you should offer him a job. We need somebody like him in the off-hours. He goes to school and plays football, so he’d be available then. That’s when I could use him.”

      “Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

      Nicole stood and stretched. The ache in her knee was manageable and getting better.

      Raoul was in the back, stacking sacks of flour. He set each one squarely on the bag below, making sure the piles wouldn’t lean and eventually topple.

      “Nice work,” she said. “You impressed Phil and that’s not easy.”

      “Thanks.”

      “You want a real job? Part-time. We’d work around your school schedule and football. The pay isn’t bad.” She named an hourly rate slightly above what he would get working retail or even at a restaurant.

      Raoul put the last bag in place, then wiped his hands on the apron Phil had found for him.

      “I can’t,” he said, not looking at her.

      “Okay.”

      “I need the money. It’s not that.”

      “Then what? It’s casting season for the new TV shows and your agent is going to want you to fly to L.A.?”

      That earned her a slight smile that faded quickly. He seemed to collect his courage before looking at her. “You won’t want to hire me. Not yet. I’m going to be eighteen in a couple of weeks. When I’m an adult, I can petition to get my juvenile records sealed. Until then, I have a criminal record.”

      She was a little surprised and disappointed. “What did you do?”

      “I stole a car when I was twelve. To impress my friends. It was stupid and I got caught five minutes later. I didn’t do anything else before or since. Except the doughnuts and you know about that. I learned my lesson.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “There’s no reason for you to believe me.”

      There was one, she thought. Checking out his story would be easy, so he’d be an idiot to lie. And Raoul didn’t strike her as stupid.

      “Starting your criminal life by stealing a car is pretty impressive. Most people just shoplift. You headed right into the big league.”

      That earned her a slight smile. “I was a kid. I didn’t know any better.”

      He was still a kid, she thought. Did he know better now?

      “The job offer still stands. It’s not easy work, but it’s honest. And you’ll get all the leftover baked goods you can stomach.”

      “I can stomach a lot.”

      “Then this is a great deal for you.”

      He looked into her eyes. “Why would you trust me?”

      “Everybody gets to screw up once.” She thought of her baby sister. Jesse had been given four or five hundred chances and still managed to blow every one.

      “Then I’ll take the job,” he said. “I have football practice every afternoon, so maybe I could work in the morning, before school.”

      “Talk to Phil about that. He’ll be your boss. If you’re interested in more hours once the season is over, let him know.”

      Raoul nodded. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do any of this. You could have called the police.”

      She didn’t bother pointing out that she’d tried. Instead of Seattle’s finest, Hawk had shown up.

      “What is it with men and football?” she asked. “Why do you play? For the glory?”

      “I love the game,” Raoul told her. “I want to go to college. I can’t afford it, so I’m hoping for a football scholarship.”

      “Then you’ll turn pro and make millions?”

      “Maybe. The odds are against it. Coach says I have talent.”

      “Is he in a position to judge?”

      Raoul

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