Chapter 47
Juniper
I get what he’s doing. Together, we’re weaving our narrative, just like we did with Nana, and he needs me to play along.
“You mean after I kicked your butt when you couldn’t show me an AI art engine that can make human hands? And then you told me you hate all things sugar and I considered walking out right there?” I smile, praying it doesn’t look too fake. “Yeah, I remember. Third date.”
Delly leans forward, clasping her hands together. “So how did you meet? Dexter said something about a museum?”
“The Nelson–Atkins,” Dexter says. “She’s an art nerd just like you.”
“Oh!” I think Delly’s eyes blow up like golf balls. That’s where Dexter gets his charm, I think, even if on the surface it comes out very differently. “How lovely. You see, the very reason I came here, dear, was to invite you to my art show this weekend.”
“Art show?” I glance at Dexter, whose face stays impassive, though his fingers dip gently into my flesh.
This must be it.
The thing he warned me about, the inevitable formal introduction to his family, and I certainly can’t back out now.
“I’d love to, Delly. I’m no art snob. I just love our local scene.”
“You’ll fit right in!” She beams, and I look away. Seeing how happy she is doesn’t make this any easier. “It’s a casual affair. I do like to hold these little fundraisers sometimes. Dexter’s brothers have already said they’d be there, and I would love to make it a family event.”
“We’ll be there with bells on,” Dexter promises so gruffly I laugh. “Though next time you want to pounce on Junie, Mother, give me fair warning first.”
“Oh, stop. It’s fine,” I say hurriedly, digging my elbow into Dexter’s side. He’s not in any position to complain about unexpected visits. And judging by the wry smile he aims at me, he’s well aware. “It’s been fun meeting you, Delly.”
“And you, Juniper.” She finishes her coffee and rises. “I really should go and stop disturbing you at work. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.”
“Same,” I manage as she floats out of the store, somehow managing to command the attention of every single person
there.
Not that there are many now–we’re coming up on close and we don’t have extended hours today, so the only people left in the store are being politely herded out by Sarah.
She glances my way and nods politely at Dexter, then twists the sign and switches off the lights.
Chapter 47
Lights that are now fixed thanks to his money.
I slide the ring off my finger and sag back into the chair. Dexter removes his arm, and I try to pretend I can’t sense the eyes of every Sugar Bowl employee glued to us like we’re a freaking live reality show.
I’m never, ever going to live it down.
“Sorry about that,” Dexter says. “I came the second I heard. Didn’t have much notice she was going to descend on you.”
Descend is the best word for it.
I can still smell her perfume, something expensive and tropical. “She’s nice. And really intense.”
“She’s a Rory,” Dexter says with a shrug, “which means I know she’s a lot. If I’d had more notice, I wouldn’t have left you alone with her.”
“Does that mean you’re a lot to handle, too?” I meet his eyes, bright as the evening sky.
“That’s up to you, Sweet Stuff,” he snorts.
“I don’t know if I’m qualified,” I murmur, pushing my chair back and assessing what’s left to do.
Too much, unfortunately.
There’s still a lot of cleanup after getting those last–minute orders out the door. I’m on closing duty alone tonight after Sarah leaves because Oliver has an evening study group and Emmy called in sick.
And that’s fine. I don’t mind manning the ship by myself. I’m not the kind of boss who forces her employees to drag themselves to work just so they can shower our customers with germs.
“Since I’m here, I was hoping we could talk about the Sugar Bowl’s day–to–day operations,” Dexter says.
When I turn to face him with a frown, he just shrugs.
“Look, woman, I don’t know a damn thing about bakeries, but I intend to keep my promise. If I can advise you in any way, I might as well start now.”
There goes my face again, morphing into a cherry tomato. “Oh. Well—”
“Bye, guys!” Sarah calls, waving with a wicked, knowing smile as she darts out through the back. Oliver picks up the trash as he takes off his apron, excited to leave. Probably because he has a life after his studies on a Friday night.
I have a business date with a bad–tempered beast who only touches me when it’s time to lie.
Dexter watches me from where he’s still sitting, a frown deepening between his eyebrows. “You’re cleaning up by yourself?”
“It’s not so bad. Nothing new here,” I say bracingly, even though my back aches at the thought. “I just need to disinfect and sweep up. It’ll be over quick. If you can’t hang out that long, we can just do this another time.”
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“Bye, Junie!” Oliver calls as he, too, leaves out the back. The door closes and we’re alone.
“How often does this happen?” he asks. “How fucking often are you stuck here after close?”
“Oh, it can’t be more than…” I count in my head. “Three times this week?”
“This week?” He folds his arms and his eyes rip through me. “How many hours do you work. Junie?”
“A lot. But the good news is, if we keep doing this well, I’m thinking about hiring a few new part–timers to handle the evenings we’re open later, so-
“That doesn’t answer my question, sweetheart.” Sweet Jesus.
Even the way he says sweetheart makes my heart flutter, just as much as it stalls me in my tracks.
I need to get a grip.
But then he rolls up his sleeves and I lose my last hope of having any coherent thoughts.
He’s obscenely muscled, but I already knew that.
What I didn’t expect was the detailed mess of military tattoos spiraling up his forearms, all black and stark and a little dangerous.
He was in the Army, I think, judging by the eagles.
Now the indoor gym routine from hell makes sense, and so does that physique. The military honed him into a human work of art, and Dex hasn’t stopped honing.
“Junie?” he asks.
I realize I’ve been staring. Maybe drooling.
My heart rockets up my throat. I’m pretty sure I’m reaching new levels of death–by–crush.
I really wish I could figure out how to not spend my life blushing around this guy.
“Right. Um.” I need to find some chill before he thinks I’m utterly insane. “Yes, well, I work a lot. But so do you. Where’s the harm in that?”
A sad smile touches his mouth. “There’s a difference between burning the midnight oil and burning yourself down, Junie. When you’re this worn out, you need a break. You need to delegate. That’s where you can help yourself, by bringing more hands on board.”
Jeez, he’s being nice.
I mean, what counts for nice in his own growly, overprotective way. But there’s real concern in his voice.
He cares, and that leaves my heart that much more wrecked.
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“I’ll be fine, Dex. But maybe we can talk another time? I really don’t want to make you wait around.”
“What do you mean?” He spreads his hands. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Put me to work. We can talk specifics while we clean up. Show me what goes on behind the scenes. I don’t know jack about bakeries, but a man can learn.”
How?
How is he so perfect he renders me incoherent? “You… you don’t need to do that. Honestly.”
“And you don’t need to drag yourself home to another cold bowl of chili,” he rumbles with a knowing look. “Tell me what you need.”
Out of arguments, I point him to a broom and start on the tables, swiping the crumbs aside so he can catch them as he goes past.
As we work, we talk about the Sugar Bowl. I run him through the routine, from the pre–opening prep to closing cleanup.
He asks probing questions.
Like where we source our ingredients, how often they’re delivered, whether we have a website and what state it’s in. The last one’s pretty embarrassing–we do have a website, but it hasn’t been updated in seven years, and it shows.
We’re barely equipped to answer emails, much less handle mobile orders. And when it comes to having a nifty app. I might as well wish for a unicorn.
An hour later, I can’t say I mind the extra muscle.
Working together, we blow through everything a lot faster than usual. I set Dex to mopping the front while I clean up the equipment in the back.
“What about your plans for upgrades and renovations?” he asks as I exit the kitchen. The floor’s almost finished, too, gleaming wet and smelling like fresh lemon. A floor that we’ll have to do something with eventually if we ever want to shake off decades of wear and grout grime. “I made a tentative inventory last night of the stuff I’ve seen here, but I was wondering what you were thinking.”
He made an inventory? Last night? On his own time? He needs to stop before I cry.
“We don’t have to talk more business,” I tell him. “It’s getting late and we’ve got a good start.”
I hang my apron up and switch off the lights, plunging half of the store into darkness. He looks diabolically good when he works like that, the shirt tight against his back with his biceps bunching.
Damn, those muscles.
I shouldn’t be looking and I know it.
He’s my fake fiancé, not a piece of red meat.
I close the distance between us, trying not to check him out obsessively, even though that’s totally what I’m doing.
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“Well, if you really want to know, I’m thinking about replacing the mixers and ovens first and-”
I’m not paying attention. My feet slide out from under me and the next second I’m windmilling violently, flapping my arms and trying to catch my balance.
For a hot second, everything slows down. I hear Dexter swear.
I feel a thick, strong hand grabbing my arm and jerking me up.
Before I can blink again, he hauls me upright and suddenly I’m against the wall in front of him, barely breathing.
Yes, it’s every cheesy rom–com scene come to life, complete with the clumsy almost–fall where the hero literally sweeps you off your feet.
In the movies, this is where Prince Charming kisses me like he can’t live without me. And I’m flustered but I’m able to breathlessly confess how much I want this, how I’ve been dreaming about him nonstop.
Oh, I’ve definitely done some dreaming, all right.
But since this is real life and not a dream, I’m just an overheated mess.
I’m pressed against the wall with Dexter Rory leaning over me with less than an inch of space between us, that firm hand still on my upper arm, his heat impossible to escape.
He smells so intense, that teakwood cologne doused in testosterone.
I lick my lips, trying to convince myself that jumping his bones in the middle of my store might not be the best decision.
Then his gaze dips to my mouth, studying my lips like they’re a ripe strawberry.
My breath catches.
I’m so dizzy that if he wasn’t holding me up, I think I’d fall right over again.
Oof.
Like he needs another chance to notice how pathetically into him I am, craving against my better judgment–against any judgment–and how much my body wants him with an ache that’s obscene.
The desire sinks to my core.
The thought of kissing him again feels like warm water, this steamy liquid gravity pulling me under.
He looks up at me again and the heat in his eyes strips the oxygen from my lungs, brandishing a hunger that ties me
in knots.
Holy mother of God.
Worst of all, I think we’re both dumbstruck, too drunk on the moment to even speak.
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His breath is too heavy.
It falls across my lips until I can’t think past the urge to let him devour me, to find out what that rough, scary mouth
of his can do to me.
What would his kiss feel like on my skin?
What would he do if he knew he could just strip me down and let that evil mouth roam wild and—
His lips slam into mine with a groan erupting from his depths. I’m toasting a human volcano and it’s as delirious as it sounds.
I can’t feel my legs anymore as he lifts me up, the better to taste me, melting me down in his arms for a heavenly
second.
Then he jerks back like I’m electrified, his eyes flicking to mine, stormy and troubled.
“Junie, you can’t do that shit.” He’s snarling when he releases my arm and veers away, cursing under his breath. “I’ll pick you up this weekend. We can talk in more detail after the art show. You’re right, this isn’t the time or place,” he says, his voice burned.
“Dex, I… okay, yeah. This weekend.”
He clears his throat and heads to the door. “I’ll bring you my full report on the Sugar Bowl then. Just send me a few of your financials like we discussed and I’ll throw it back.”
My heart sinks like a dead balloon.
There are other things I’d like him to throw. Namely me.
Be nice, girl. He’s being the adult here since you can’t.
“S–sure thing. Thanks for… catching me. That would’ve left a nasty bruise,” I call after him, wishing my voice wasn’t so ragged. “See you Sunday.”
He raises a hand to wave as he almost runs to his car, but he doesn’t look back at me.
My face falls.
I’m the one causing this confusion.
I’m almost certain he’s sporting the world’s largest hard–on and it kills me. Which is only fair, considering my lady bits are one more kiss away from starting the place on fire.
I pick up some glass cleaner and a cloth and throw myself into wiping windows, scrubbing harder than I need to, finishing what we started cleaning and wishing viciously that he could finish what we started, too.
When did I get this pathetic? Good God.
This whole thing would be easier with a man who was even marginally less attractive. But really, I got lucky.
7
Chapter 47
I’m doing an incredibly stupid thing with a man who’s not the uptight, money–addicted monster he seemed to be at
first.
In fact, he’s such a gentleman it’s driving me bonkers.
I scowl at my reflection in the clean window like it’s about to put a hex on me.
This was a crime of passion.
A bigger mistake barely averted.
So why do I wish so badly we’d made it again?
Because we’ll see each other on Sunday. Then we’ll have to pretend we don’t know the meaning of sexual tension while it’s eating us alive.
In other words, I’m so comically screwed I have to keep laughing through the rest of the night so I don’t break down in a crying fit.
Chapter 43
Chapter 48
Dexter
