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I froze with my arm inside the pastry case. “Uh, all I’m going—”
“No, no. The last few words.” She leaned close and stared at my mouth as I ran over everything I’d said.
“Having wild sex?”
“Wald? For real, where are you from?”
I blew out a heavy breath and shook my head as I smirked at my case. “Just not from here.” I tried to tame my accent—which I didn’t even know I had until I moved here—as much as possible around Kinlee. She and her husband, Jace, were always trying to figure out where I’d moved from, but if they found out they’d want to know why I was here at all. And I wasn’t ready for that.
“One of these days, Kace, I will get it out of you.” She took another bite of cupcake and moaned. “This is better than wald sex with Jace.”
“Okay, your husband is hot and all, don’t get me wrong, but I really don’t want to be thinking about him like that.”
“Just saying.” She held her hands up. “You were the one who asked.”
“Uh, no. No, I didn’t. And back to your original question: I run most mornings. Not all of us can avoid getting fat by having crazy hot sex, especially when we’re not having sex at all.”
She shoved the last bit of cupcake into her mouth and spoke through the bite. “KC, I have been trying to set you up for the last seven months! It’s not my fault you refuse to go on a date with anyone. You’re twenty-three—time to go on a date, woman!”
“Can I remind you that the last guy you tried to set me up with was shorter than me?”
It’s not like I’m an Amazon or anything, I’m five-seven, but I do love heels. Just another reason why I couldn’t stand Charles: he was one inch taller than me, so heels were a no-go. Of course, I wore heels whenever he wasn’t around, but he made me carry flats just in case he showed up anywhere I was. There are only so many flats you can wear before you want to find all the flats in the world and burn them.
“I only know so many single men!”
“This barbecue tomorrow, you aren’t going to try . . .” I trailed off when I noticed her looking away. “Kinlee!”
“I didn’t invite them! Swear to God, I didn’t invite them this time. The guys on Jace’s shift from the department are all gonna be there, and most of them are single, but that’s not my fault.”
Oh, Lord, single firemen.
“But it won’t just be the guys from the department, there will be other people, some couples from the neighborhood, all people you’ve met before.”
I nodded and shut the pastry case doors. “All right, well, you know I’ll be there, not like I have anything else to do on a Sunday. Want me to bring something?” I don’t know why I even bothered asking anymore, it’s not like I’d show up without something anyway.
“Cookies, cupcakes, whatever you want.” She leaned back and blew an air kiss before jumping off the counter. “Jeez, KC, I know you needed help taste-testing and all—what with your lovely faces you make—but you’ve really got to stop keeping me from opening my store. You’re bad for my hips and business.”
“My faces when I eat sweets are a secret, Lee! Only you and my employees know about them!”
With a wink and a saucy smile, she was gone.
Well, they were the only ones in Oregon who knew about them. I was teased relentlessly in pastry school for the faces I’d make whenever we tried our dishes, and Barb used to give a big belly laugh every time as well. Charles wouldn’t let me eat sweets in public because of those expressions, but he sure seemed to like them when we were alone. I shivered thinking about Charles and was glad that for eight months now I hadn’t had to pretend to not be swallowing back bile every time he kissed or touched me. I took a quick glance at the front of my bakery and smiled to myself before going to the back. For the first time in my life, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Brody
May 4, 2015
“OLIVIA!” WHAT THE fuck is all this?
“Hmm?”
“Liv, come here.”
“What?” she snapped when she got to the living room.
I took a deep, calming breath and planted a smile on my face. “What’s all this?”
“It’s called furniture, Brody.” Her eyebrows rose. “You know, you sit on the couches, put drinks on the coffee table, put your feet up on the ottoman . . .”
