But she didn’t.
We park around back, the rear light above my back door cutting a weak circle into the night, steam curling from the vents like the place itself is breathing. Jack and I, fingers laced, slip inside.
The noise hits first—the hum of chatter, bursts of laughter, the steady ding of the register. Then the smell: chocolate, peppermint, sugar, and coffee.
From the shadow of the kitchen doorway, I take it all in.
Portia is boxing orders, ribbon between her teeth as she ties bows with the speed of someone who knows how to pull taffy. Amanda has commandeered a piping bag, cream swirling on cakes like she was born for it rather than the stage. Even Mia is juggling her camera and trays, snappingcandids between shoving more whoopies into the display case.
And at the cash register—my mom.
The line stretches out the door, coats and scarves trailing behind. Steam curls from cups of coffee Eileen is doling out with the gravitas of a maître d’. “Next! Keep it moving, darlings, these whoopies won’t eat themselves.”
Jack leans close, his breath warm at my ear. “Looks like they’ve got it handled.”
I can’t speak. My throat’s too tight, heart too full.
“Thank you for shopping at Making Whoopie,” Mom says brightly, handing a customer their change—then casually tossing a bottle of lube into their bag. “Where every craving deserves a happy ending.”
The customer snorts. Someone in line laughs so hard they nearly drop their box, and the whole place ripples with it.
It might be my bakery. But tonight, it’s also Hideaway’s.
Jack shifts beside me, his body tense like he’s about to step forward, announce us, let the whole town see we’re here and we’re together.
But I catch his sleeve, fingers curling tightly into the flannel. A quick shake of my head.
His brows lift in question, but I tip my chin toward the narrow door at the back, the one that leads to my apartment. His gaze softens, understanding reflecting in the warm light filling the shop.
We move together, silent as guilty teenagers, slipping over the threshold and shutting the door behind us with a quiet click that muffles the laughter and clatter on the other side.
Our footsteps creak, hushed by the thick hum of adrenaline in my ears. Halfway up, his hand slides against mine, rough and steady, and I squeeze back, eager for harder touches.
By the time we reach my apartment, my breath is already ragged. We tumble inside, the door nudging shut on a room washed in soft lamplight and the faint scent of pine from the Christmas tree.
Our Christmas tree.
There are no words left to argue, no doubts left to wrestle. Just his mouth finding mine, the weight of his body pressing me back against the door, the heat of him chasing away every chill the day tried to carve into me.
Jack bends, strong arms sliding beneath me. I gasp as he lifts me clean off the floor, my legs wrapping around his waist by instinct.
My world sways as he carries me down the narrow hall, each step creaking beneath his boots. His lips never leave mine, kissing me through the stumble and sway until we reach my bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand throws a soft, golden glow, the quilt on my bed rumpled from this morning’s hasty exit.
He lays me down like I’m breakable, but his eyes—dark, hungry, reverent—tell me otherwise. I tug him over me, pulling his weight, his heat, wanting every inch of him pressed to every inch of me.
Clothes scatter in our wake—his flannel sliding from my shoulders, his jeans pushed down with impatient hands, my borrowed socks flung aside one by one. His body covers mine, hot skin to hot skin, and when he finally presses inside, slow and deep, I arch into him with a cry.
He moves carefully at first, like he’s savoring, memorizing, until my nails drag down his back and his restraint breaks. The rhythm builds, steady and consuming, until the room is full of the sounds of us—breathless gasps, low groans, the squeak of the mattress beneath our bodies.
I cling to him, every thrust driving away the cold, every kiss sealing something permanent between us. When I come apart beneath him, it feels like falling and being caught all at once. He follows, shuddering, whispering my name against my skin like a prayer.
Afterward, he collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest, his heartbeat pounding against my ear, his arm heavy and sure around me.
I burrow closer, wrapped in a quiet, steady happiness I never knew existed. Not something to chase. Not something to win. Just a place to rest. With Jack.
He presses a kiss behind my ear, his voice dropping to a rumble. “I want you to know one thing, Audrey.”
I smile against his chest. “That you love me?”
