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“Shane Fucking Hott,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says with a big sigh.
I sigh, too. “And he doesn’t exactly have a track record of longevity in relationships.”
“That’s an understatement.”
I slowly lower the phone and look at his message again, and I can’t help myself—the grin just takes over my face. Hell, it takes over my whole body. And watching me, Nia smiles, too, her eyes fond.
“But,” she says.
“But,” I repeat.
“You only live once. And if he turns out to be an asshole? At least you can say you had sex with Lord Mavryx Extyllior…”
“Screw Mavryx,” I say, grinning. “I can say I had sex with Shane Fucking Hott.”
I reach for my phone and text, What are you doing tonight after cake & cocktails?
Three dots. A long, long pause. Long enough that I worry I’ve pushed too hard. And then just one word from Shane.
You.
29
Shane
“I’m not sure about this,” I tell Hanna. “I feel like I’m willingly bearding the lion in its den. Seems like a bad choice.”
“Nan’s not a lion,” she says. “She’s not going to eat you alive. Or wound you grievously with her claws.”
“No,” I agree. “But she’s going to have capital-O opinions, so even though this is supposed to be our cake tasting, it’s probably going to end up being Nan’s show.”
Hanna laughs. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”
“And she’s Nan. She’s going to say bawdy things that make Ivy blush.”
Which isn’t all a bad thing. Making Ivy blush is one of my new favorite activities, especially now that I know she blushes all the way from her forehead down over her breasts right before she comes.
“Can’t argue with you on that one,” my sister says.
By some magnificent stroke of luck, we snag the last parking space in the tiny lot behind Rush Creek Bakery. As we enter, Nan greets us with a wave and shout from behind the counter, then comes out, dusting her hands on her apron. She’s in her seventies, spry and plump with a puff of white hair that’s gathered under a hair net at the moment.
“Hi, Hanna! Hi, Shane. Wait!” She reaches into the pocket of her pants and produces a phone. “Selfie with a movie star! Come here!”
I obligingly tuck myself into Nan’s arm, tilt my head toward hers, and let her photograph us. I can see that she’s cut off half my head, but I don’t dare point that out.
“You haven’t been in here nearly enough!” she says. “The Wilder boys are in here all the time. What’s wrong with you and your brothers?”
“Quinn’s the only one actually officially living in Rush Creek,” I say. “We’re not here very often. Only on…business.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I know what business you’re talking about. That will business with that Weggers. What is wrong with that man?”
I have similar thoughts, but the last thing I want to do is egg Nan on, so I just say, “Yeah, that business.”
“Well,” she says. “Tell you what. Every time you’re in town, come in here, and I’ll give you free chocolate chip cookies if you let me take a selfie. I get so many likes when I post famous people! Especially Hott ones. Pun totally intended.”
I don’t dare roll my eyes.
