“Now, Cupcake.”
I watch her eyes widen as I slowly slide into her. She’s hot, tight, perfect, and I have to grit my teeth not to lose it right then.
I lift her ankles and rest them over my shoulders, my hands gripping her hips as I drive into her. Her back arches beautifully, her breasts lifting into my palms. I circle her nipples with my thumbs, whispering every filthy promise I’ve ever wanted to make.
She clenches around me, whimpering my name. I match her thrust for thrust, heat coiling, pressure building until we break together. Her nails carve into my back as stars explode behind her eyes, and the force of it rips a groan straight from my chest.
I lower myself on top of her, our foreheads touching as the final waves ebb into a warm glow spreading through my whole body. Her fingers trace patterns on my back, slow and tender, grounding me like nothing else ever has.
I pull the blanket over us, tucking her into me like something precious, because she damn well is, when her watch buzzes.
She checks it and groans. “Brooke. She says, and I quote, ‘Your porch light isn’t on. Remember to lock the chastity belt.’”
I laugh, pulling her closer. “Tell her to tell Gentry that if he hurts my baby sister, I’ll kill him and to never text you during sex again.”
“I’m leaving that last part out.” Hitting send, she takes her watch off and sets it on my bedside table.
I hold her tight, her breathing warm against my chest, excited about our future, excited about our now.
Exactly where we’re meant to be.
Chapter 13
Hallie
The Tea Spot smells of bergamot and orange. Liz sits at a corner table, no makeup, hair in a messy bun, looking younger and more uncertain than I’ve ever seen her.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Morning light filters through the lace curtains as she motions to the plush chair. She pours a cup of tea without asking. “Vanilla rooibos. Your favorite.”
The fact that she knows throws me. I take a sip, the vanilla and honey perfect. “How did you know?”
“I pay attention. Even when I pretended not to.” She wraps her hands around her vintage teacup, her long nails matching its delicate pink flowers.
Liz takes a hearty swallow and then slides a printed news article across the table. “Recognize this?”
I frown, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.” I skim the text, which details the conviction of a police officer who was sentenced to five years in federal prison for wire fraud.
She runs a thumb along the photo’s edge, a pained look on her features. “Brandon was my fiancé. He helped me with my booksafter we got engaged.” He stares back from the mugshot, clean-cut and boyish, the kind of face you’d trust with your life.
I wait silently because I’m not sure where she’s going with this.
“Right before you opened The Kindly Crumb, my business was failing.” A small Victorian grandfather clock chimes from the wall. “The shop was always full, but Brandon downplayed it. Nate’s restaurant was succeeding, so I asked him for help. When he found signs of embezzlement, a secret account and forged signatures, everything made sense.”
My stomach drops. “Liz—”
“When you opened The Kindly Crumb, within three months, you were thriving while my business had just started losing serious money.” She meets my eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted.
“So you thought I stole your customers?”
“Not exactly, but I thought your shop’s success meant people weren’t buying enough from me.” She swipes at her eyes. “When I asked Brandon about some numbers that weren’t adding up, he redirected the conversation and said you were telling people around town that our ingredients weren’t fresh or reliable. He made it sound like you were warning them off us. It was easier to believe than what the evidence was telling me.”
The bad-mouthing when I opened. The refused partnership. The constant hostility.
“I blamed you when my own fiancé was robbing me blind.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I made you the villain because I couldn’t face that I’d been sleeping next to the real one. I am so, so sorry for what I did.”
I think about the whispered campaigns, the customers she turned away. My mom taught me that hurt people hurt people. Not to excuse people, but as a reminder that you can have a soft heart and a strong spine at the same time.
“Your ex is a bastard,” I say finally. “And what he did was awful. But what you did to me? So wrong. And none of this explains why you weaponized Colt and Gentry at the auction.”
