“What? I was just cleaning up your chowder drool.” His grin is wicked, his eyes lit with that infuriating Hollywood sparkle that makes him look like he could sell sin in a snowstorm. “Waste not want not.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Skippy.” I wad up a napkin and throw it at him. “And I don’t have chowder drool.”
He dodges, catches me around the waist, and suddenly I’m in his lap, a bowl balanced precariously on the edge of the table as he recaptures my lips.
I laugh into his mouth, the sound softening as his hands slide under my sweater. The heat between us is always there, always a little shocking in how fast it flares.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it—the tree.
The one we decorated together. Our lopsided Pine & Dandy special, standing proudly in my living room withLarry the Lobster dangling crookedly from a branch. Multi-colored lights blink, white lights glimmer warm and steady, the whole tree casting a bipolar festive glow in my apartment.
The sight squeezes something in me. I remember how he tangled the lights instantly, how I teased him for his terrible ornament placement, how we laughed until my sides hurt. And then… our first kiss under its glow.
I still feel wary. The bakery name fight isn’t over, my mother’s voice still rattles in my head, and Jack is still Jack—Hollywood, contracts, big shiny world.
But the tree is here. And so is he. That’s enough.
For now.
Jack’s mouth trails along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
“You taste like chowder,” he murmurs against my throat. “But I should probably work off all that cream and cornbread.”
I grin up at the ceiling. “A late-night cardio session?”
He chuckles, low and dangerous, before lifting me in his arms.
I murmur a word of thanks to Jack’s celebrity trainer as he takes a step toward the bedroom. I grab his wrist—not to stop him but to redirect him. “Couch.”
His grin is pure male satisfaction. I roll my eyes, but my pulse is racing as we half-collapse onto the tiny sofa, laughter muffled under the weight of kissing. His hands are everywhere—gentle, greedy, grounding.
I moan into his mouth, the sound shocking me with howmuch I want him, how much I need this reminder that not everything is fragile.
We continue working out with the tree lights glowing and pulsing next to us, holding my doubts at bay for one more night.
Jack
“Hand check.”Amanda, her head poking in the door with a red and green hat looks like a festive meerkat, eyes me standing behind Making Whoopie’s counter next to Audrey.
The two of us roll our eyes in tandem, raising our hands like we’re under arrest.
“Oh.” She pouts. “That’s disappointing.”
“What is it that you want, Amanda?” I drop the arm closest to Audrey around her shoulders. “You’re letting out all of Audrey’s heat.”
She steps inside, the door ringing shut beside her. “Be at Love at First Sip in five. It’s Peppermint Mocha Appreciation Day.” She points at Audrey before swinging her finger at me. “Put on your merry faces.”
Audrey, face red from either the ovens or embarrassment, goes back to finishing off a tray of mini whoopie pies by sandwiching dark brown cakes around pale-pink swirlsof icing. Flour dusts her cheekbone like highlighter. “You go. Represent Making Whoopie.” She claps her hands clean. “And don’t come back without my dirty chai. Extra dirty.”
“Define extra.” I lift my hand she just escaped, my index finger brushing the white powder off her face.
Her eyelashes flutter. “If it’s not morally questionable, it’s not dirty enough.”
Amanda snorts, breaking the moment. “I like her.”
“I’m aware.” I pull back, disappointed in the interruption. Since the phone call with her mother, Audrey’s been…distant. Here. But not.
I haven’t brought up the other bakery since telling her that I had her cease and desist letter sent out, but I can tell the situation is like a bruise she keeps bumping, so I’ve let it rest.
