Handyman at the Bakery by C.J. Turner

Gage rounded the side of the big white truck and immediately saw what had made the difference.
The man climbing from the back was not the rotund old fellow he was used to seeing.
Not even close.
This guy had to be well over six feet tall, and his muscular frame was visible even through the shapeless uniform he wore.
Where’s his jacket?
It’s freezing out.
His strength was made even more obvious by the fact that he was carrying a fifty pound bag of flour on each shoulder like they weighed nothing.
As he turned from the truck toward the bakery’s back door, Gage caught a look at his face—square jaw with a short, sandy beard; lips parted in a half smile, the lower slightly more full than the upper; round cheeks that were flushed with exertion; eyebrows that came to slight peaks in the center; and large, expressive eyes.
Those eyes.
Everything happened at once.