“They won’t be if you tell them I cooked for the occasion.” That eases the tension on Isaac’s face. Try as she may, Catherine’s culinary skills have yet to rub off on me. “And we’re still keeping our March 5 date, right? So they’re still invited, it’s just not for a few more months.”
“Yes, we’ll wed again in March.” The hairs on my arms bristle when he drags his index finger across the top of my hand. “I very much look forward to marrying you again, Isabelle.”
The way my name rolls off his tongue in a seductive purr has me confident Roger forgot to turn on the AC. If he did, today’s temperatures must be record-breaking. I’m burning up everywhere.
“Are you looking forward to getting married again? Or the event that occurs after every wedding?”
Isaac’s smirk heightens my senses even more. Just like earlier, I’m certain he’s on the fence regarding which event he is looking forward to the most, although perhaps somewhat teetering toward the latter. I thought nothing would top our first exchange in his jet almost eleven months ago, but this afternoon’s exchange blew that out of the water. Isaac was attentive and firm while also blowing my mind.
It was so stimulating, if Callie wasn’t watching us with eager, bright eyes, I’d slide up the privacy partition and add another exchange to the long list of transportation romps we’ve had. Alas, a three-year-old’s inability to understand chemistry has me sinking into my seat before I shift my eyes to the scenery flying by my window.
It’s amazing how different it seems now. My life drastically changed in seventy-two hours. I’m no longer Isabelle Brahn, an orphaned FBI agent looking to find her place in the world. I am a mother and wife—two things I was certain wouldn’t be on my agenda for many years to come, if ever.
When familiar streets come into view, I seek Roger’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Can you swing past Harlow’s bakery on the way. I need to collect something.” Callie’s eyes light up as quickly as suspicion makes itself known on Isaac’s face. “It’s your birthday, we have to have cake.”
“We had cake,” Isaac disputes.
“Wedding cake isn’t birthday cake. Ask Harlow, she’d agree with me.”
Callie giggles at the face Isaac pulls. If he weren’t aware how disappointed I was to discover his and Cormack’s plan to run Harlow’s bakery into the ground, I’m certain he’d be putting tactics into place now to take her down. He hates when I place her between us, and we won’t mention her many other quirks he’s still adapting to.
I stray my eyes from Isaac to Harlow’s bakery that is shrouded in darkness. I’m not surprised. Although her kitchen had a recent makeover, she still wakes before the sparrows to prepare the scrumptious treats her customers devour every day, so her doors are closed shortly after five each evening.
“What a shame. We’re too late. She’s closed.”
Isaac tries to sound disappointed. You can be assured acting isn’t his strong point. He’s not just being a birthday Grinch, he is eager to commence ticking off the wicked thoughts he whispered in my ear during our tryst in the plane. He not only promised to cross off jet fucking from our list of activities today, he wants the shower, our bed, and his desk marked off as well. We’ve had sex in these places many times, but this will be the first time as husband and wife.
Isaac’s yummy scent streams through my nostrils when I lean across his body to pop open his door. “Come on, I know where Harlow hides the spare key.”
His growl is low and menacing, and it quickens my pulse, but not enough to stop me. Ignoring the frantic pulse between my legs, I crawl across his body before stumbling onto the sidewalk. Isaac and Callie join me ten seconds later.
“This way. There’s a side entrance down the alley.” I have to shout to ensure they can hear me over the traffic surrounding us. It’s almost six, meaning peak-hour traffic is at its heaviest.
As I bend down to gather the key Harlow left under the welcome mat, my heart whacks out a funky tune. Newspaper borders the glass I peered through at precisely five each morning when I was the FBI’s glorified coffee girl. It effectively conceals Harlow’s bakery from any snoopers lurking in the alley, but it’s extremely thin—paper-thin, some may say.
After the door creaks open, Isaac drags his hand not curled around Callie’s down the side wall, seeking the light switch. His brows join when his countless flicks of the switch fail to illuminate the bakery. “The fuse must be blown.”
I graze my teeth over my lower lip to hide my smile. “It’s okay. I don’t need it. The fridge has a light. It also houses the cakes.”
Isaac stops me when I attempt to enter the premises, mortified about my lack of safety. He’d never say anything, but he’s still uneased Megan’s body hasn’t been recovered. Considering this was one of her regular haunts when seeking a break from stalking Nick at the Dungeon two blocks up, his caution is understandable.
After gesturing for Roger to join us in the poorly lit alleyway, Isaac pushes open the door all the way. The low-hanging sun showcases Harlow’s new cabinets, stainless-steel counters, and industrial ovens, but the corners of the once-dowdy space are still cloaked by darkness.
“Where’s the fridge?” Isaac is neither scared nor nervous. He just wants to go home.
“Back left-hand corner. Just under the stairwell.” I point in the direction I’m referencing.
I became familiar with the floorplan when Harlow let slip on Colt Enterprises’ endeavor to force her doors closed. When the bakeries they placed in direct competition of hers closed down, Harlow had a ton of customers to serve but only two staff members to fill their orders. My baking skills aren’t any better than my cooking skills, but my bond with both Harlow and Callie strengthened the weeks we spent here helping Harlow get her beloved bakery back on its feet.
“Is there any particular flavor of cake you’d like me to steal?”
Isaac’s attempt to act angry is as sexy as sin. I love seeing him like this. His powerful demeanor is still beaming out of him in invisible waves, but there’s a playful edge brightening his eyes. It’s been there since he said ‘yes’ to becoming my husband months earlier than predicted.
“It’s your birthday, so the choice is yours,” I say at the same time Callie squeals, “Rainbow!”
I twist my lips. “Or we could have rainbow.”
Isaac’s laugh doesn’t echo around the empty bakery as you’d suspect. “Rainbow it is.”
