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I am impressed with Special Edition. Keep it up.
I can’t wait to tell Elodie. When I head home a little later, eager to sneak into bed and let her know, I pass The Chocolate Connoisseur on the way.
A new sign in the window reads Half Off Everything.
I groan. That guy can’t leave well enough alone.
32
POP-UP HUSBAND
Elodie
It’s a spicy kind of evening at Special Edition, since that’s our theme for this weekend.
Gage serves a jalapeño margarita along with a firecracker strawberry daiquiri.
“Oh! What’s bringing the heat?” a woman in rose-gold glasses asks as she takes a drink of the pretty red cocktail with the kick.
“Cayenne pepper,” he says proudly from behind the counter.
“Bring it on,” the woman says, then heads to a table with her friends. As they drink, they snap pictures of their reactions—a lot of hands flapping in front of faces and oh-oh-ohs moaned loudly.
“It’s the universal code for I drank something fiery or I’m feeling really, really good,” I say to Gage, feeling saucy tonight.
I guess good sex every day will do that to you. Every night too. Living with this man just has its perks. But there’s no time to linger in sex memories when I’ve got a line of customers eager for my contributions to our fiery Friday night menu.
I plate some of my cinnamon and cayenne pepper truffles for a pair of couples on a double date, I suspect, telling them, “Enjoy the heat.”
“We will,” one of the women says.
When there’s a brief break in the line, I turn to my…husband. I’m still getting used to that term. Temporary husband, I remind myself.
Like this shop is temporary. A pop-up shop and a pop-up husband. I grin.
Gage swipes a thumb across my bottom lip. “What’s that smile for?” He dips his voice. “You thinking of how I woke you up this morning?”
Electricity sparks down my spine. This man and his appetite. Well, it matches mine.
“Maybe,” I tease, remembering the sun peeking through the window, his arm roped around me, his fingers trailing along my belly. Then, in my still sleepy state, I pushed his hand between my thighs. It was a very good morning, even though we had to hustle out of bed before the kids woke up. “Or maybe I was actually thinking, you’re just like this shop.”
His brow knits in confusion for a few seconds, then understanding. “Thank you. I am spicy,” he says proudly.
I shake my head. “You’re a pop-up husband, I mean.”
I expect him to laugh, but his expression is blank for a moment. Unreadable. Then he offers a smile that feels like a cover-up. “That’s me,” he says, then turns to help an older man at the counter. “What can I help you with, sir?”
I paste on my shop owner smile too, but the vibe between us feels weird now as we wait on a new rush of customers.
Why did I blurt that out? Did I say the wrong thing? I was only trying to make a joke. To keep things light.
My mind clatters with worry for the next twenty minutes as I serve trays of spicy treats and Gage mixes drinks.
But an approving whistle pulls me from my dark thoughts, and I turn to see the face of…a rock star.
In. Our. Store.
Ethan Adair is here, and my mouth is a fish’s. I’m all agape at the sight of the front man for Outrageous Record two feet across from me.
