Trying not to think about how I’d not missedallcroissants, I stride down the brick sidewalk along Main Street. Due to the hour, the boutiques and seaside giftshops that line downtown Seal Beach are still closed. A few cafes and coffee shops stir with early morning customers, but it’s quiet here.
Bread is tucked between a dog groomer and Chez Jen’s, a French clothing boutique. It’s a tiny bakery with only three bistro tables in the small dining area. It not only serves the best pastries and lattes in town but offers an array of mouth-watering breakfast dishes. The rows of red umbrella patio tables lining the alleyway that runs between Bread and Chez Jen’s gives the popular bakery some much needed additional seating.
Reaching the front of Bread, I smile at the hostess.
“Pen!” She looks up from the tablet on the small podium tucked under an ivy-covered white lattice arbor. “We missed you.”
“Hi, Jela.” I brush a tendril that escaped from my messy bun behind my ear and look around.
It’s devoid of the typical hustle and bustle of a busy bakery’s morning. While I came early enough to ensure I wouldn’t have a long wait, there’re no customers flowing in and out of the bakery’s front door. No hiss of the espresso machine from theother side of the counter. No clatter of dishes or hum of patrons talking in the alleyway.
My nose wrinkles. “It’s quiet this morning.”
“Yeah,” she says, her tone a little confused. “Let me take you to your usual table.” Lifting the tablet to her chest, she rounds the podium and motions me to follow.
The alleyway is as quiet as the inside confines, the brick buildings on each side and oversize potted palms and Ficus trees create a secret garden aesthetic.
“Your usual table with a little surprise,” Jela says, sweeping one hand toward the table nestled between fat leafy palm plants at the back of the alley.
My heart jumps into my throat at the vibrant flower arrangement on the table. Pink, white, and pale purple roses pop against greenery in a clear vase.
“No,” I gasp and spin, slamming into a hard chest.
“Pen.” Strong hands grip my biceps.
I force my gaze up. “Ro—Ro—Rowan?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Pen’s New Boyfriend and My Competition
Rowan
“Pen,” I murmur, my thumbs skim along her bare arms.
Goosebumps bloom over her soft skin beneath my callused fingers. I drink her in. Those honey, almost doe-like, eyes peer up at me. That glossy pink mouth, which I crave to take with mine, opens with a tiny, hissed moan at my touch. With each gentle caress, her body softens against mine.
“It’s you—” Her forehead scrunches. “It’s just you.”
“Just me.” My mouth slants into a small grin. “Just Rowan.” I bite back the urge to say,yourRowan.
It’s too much to dare… but that’s why I’m here. Daring, despite the sins of hiding parts of myself and then walking away, that I can earn back her trust and the privilege to be her Rowan.
The breath I’d held the moment she strolled into Bread’s outdoor seating area releases with the knowledge that she isn’t pulling away. Her smaller frame still nestles against me. The tension that seized her lovely face dissolves with a ghost ofher smile. A soft pink caresses her cheeks and makes my hand jealous to follow its path along her now-rouged skin.
“Your beard.” She raises her hand and, with tentative touches, skates her fingertips across my clean-shaven face.
Like a petted puppy, my body melts into her touch. “I am surprised you knew it was me without my beard.”
After post season was over, I generally just trim my beard. Keep it neat, but shaving it is a symbolic gesture about no longer hiding myself from Pen. At least, that’s how Wes puts it. After talking to Sasha on Tuesday morning, I knew I’d been an idiot and would do anything to make things right with Pen. That includes asking Wes for help. The best friend I never wanted is a lady-whisperer, even if he’s the only one that calls himself that. With five sisters, two moms, and three ex-girlfriends who are still good friends with him, Wes practically has a PhD in women.
“Lay yourself bare at her altar,” he’d advised as he rummaged through my cabinets for snacks. Wes’s guidance calls for an unconditional apology. To be unabashed and unafraid. Though fear twists and turns in my veins. Still, I’m here.
“Do you like it?” My brows draw together. “I can grow it back if?—”
“No,” she says quickly and then bites her plump lower lip. “It’s good… All that matters is thatyoulike it.” She pulls back her hand and brushes a wayward auburn strand behind her ear.
God, I want to do that. I want to curl that silky lock around my finger. I want to run my hands down her body. I want to press my eager smile to her timid one. I want to…
