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“Will you be okay here alone?” Cole asked, reaching into the basket beside the glider for a burp cloth, throwing it over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Becks said firmly. “We will be fine. Josh has been begging to come by more lately anyway. And I think I might actually be ready to let him. Don’t worry about us for a second.”
“And there’s always Nancy,” he suggested while patting Ruby’s back.
Becks’s scowl spoke volumes. “That’s the nuclear option.”
“But it’s still an option.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah, honey?” Ruby’s head fell heavily on his shoulder, her mouth open into a tinyoas the milk coma took her out.
“I know you don’t talk about her, your baker, your Mira.”
My Mira,he thought, that buzzing in his chest returning, intensifying.
“But ever since you got back from Montana, you seem so much happier.” Leaning forward, she squeezed his fingers. “I just want you to be happy. Whatever that looks like for you, okay?”
He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but the mist blurring his vision kept him from asking. One more earnest word, and he’d need to take a box of Kleenex with him on the road. “Thanks, Becks.”
“When do you leave?”
“I’m packing now. I’ll probably start driving tonight, stop somewhere along the way. Madigan needs a day or two to show me the ropes before they fly out.”
Taking Ruby back into her arms, then placing her in her crib, Becks kissed her fingertips and pressed them gently to her daughter’s forehead. She turned to Cole, offered him a hand to help him to his feet, and threw her arms around him. “We’ll miss you,” she said, then added, “But not that much.”
With a watery laugh, he squeezed her back. “Noted.”
“I mean we’ll survive. This is a really great thing you’re doing. I’m excited for you.”
“Yeah, it’ll be nice to help Madigan. He’s always helping everyone else all the time, and he deserves a break.”
Pulling back, she smiled up at him, and said, “I wasn’t talking about Madigan.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
MIRA
Takingadvantage of the quiet Sunday-morning calm, Mira tapped a green colored pencil against her lips, frowning at the veiny leaves she’d finished outlining around the base of a four-tiered cake. The wedding cakes in her sketchpad were only for fun, possible ideas for the future, except for this one, which was destined for the trash can. Her head wasn’t in it, too filled with Cole’s night-dark eyes devouring her body, his low voice rumbling over her skin.
It had been hard, coming to terms with her loneliness after he’d said goodbye yesterday, but not masturbating to the memory of him before she’d fallen asleep—and then again when she’d woken up—had been even harder. She still wasn’t sure what they were doing, what she could handle, but she couldn’t deny the way she wanted him, so badly she wondered if she’d need to come again to get any real work done today.
Her phone buzzed, the devil she’d just imagined pleasuring herself to popping on her screen. Setting her pencil down, she stole a moment to enjoy his caller ID pic, his sun-kissed cheeks, the sparkling blue water behind him, the stark white of his sail. But after the third ring, she took the call.
“Mira Harlow,” she said, “owner of Glazed and Confused and recent haver of spectacular FaceTime orgasm. How can I help you?”
His laughter was a soft breeze, tickling her neck. “Morning, sugar. How are you today?”
“I’m good.”
“What are you up to?”
“Hanging out, sketching, daydreaming.” About cakes. About him. About both at once, smearing frosting over every inch of his naked body. She was in so much trouble.
“Sounds perfect.”
Walking out into the bakery, she put the phone on speaker, set it on the counter, and started looking through her orders for next week. “How are you?”
