Lips pink and swollen from the kiss we just shared, the beautiful stranger looked up with lust-filled eyes. My hand was wrapped around the nape of her neck, giving the illusion that I was in control, but we both knew that wasn’t true. I handed over every ounce of self-respect I had the moment she sat back down in her seat at the bar.
She toyed with the buttons on my shirt before quietly murmuring, “On your knees.”
Leaning down a couple of inches, I place a soft kiss on the apple of her cheek. “Good night, Calypso.”
Her eyes heat and I get the impression she might actually say yes if I asked her to go back home with me. But I can also read a room, and there’s hesitation on her end to make it a recurring thing between us. So, I take a step back and nod in the direction of the cars parked along the street and hope to leave her wanting more.
“Good night, Liam,” she practically purrs before turning around and walking toward a classic 1994 Alfa Romeo Spider. Cherry red—fitting for her.
My attraction for her skyrockets even further watching her slip into the car, making my dick twitch a little.
Without a look back, she drives off. Standing there under the streetlight, I shake my head, thinking about the chances of being set up withherof all people.
Chapter Five
Calypso
There are some things in life I’ll never take for granted; the aroma of sea salt mixed with fresh produce and the combination of chattering voices from people visiting the farmer’s market are at the top of that list.
There’s also something special about being alone in a busy area. Some people hate the feeling. My youngest siblings, Vivi and Asher, would rather be in a room full of people to talk to. This is one of the few things Hudson and I are in complete agreement on.
People watching makes me feel less alone than I do in most social situations. For Hudson, it’s that no one expects him to add to the conversation. It still stands, so neither of us are ever lonely in a situation like this.
I’m also not as tied to Amada Beach in the same way as Vivi or Asher. Neither of them could ever imagine their lives somewhere else, but Hudson and I stay because this is where our mom and siblings are.
None of us would leave, but our reasons are different.
The weekly farmer’s market is a close second on my list of reasons to stay. It’s the largest in San Diego with over 200 vendors, and it’s a year-round event. Most of the vendorsline up along the pier, but it bleeds out to the sidewalks and beach.
Brighter Daze doesn’t have a booth, but Lexi and I have talked about it a few times. We have a small staff, and I’m not ready to give up my Sunday mornings here to work them instead.
We schedule two days off each, but as small business owners, we often end up working six days a week. Our shift manager, Gavin, is truly a godsend, and has forced us out on Sundays. Even the other staff members know not to call us before him, unless it’s a true emergency.
Technically, today is still work in some ways.
A large majority of the vendors for the bakery are local—or at least within three hundred miles of Amada Beach. It’s not always the most financially beneficial option, since a lot of the farms are smaller, family-owned ones. They charge more than the large corporate options. Don’t get me wrong, there are some things I have no choice but to outsource from commercial farms or different states. Like sugar and flour, two of our most required ingredients.
So, I already have contracts with some of the vendors here. Others don’t grow at a quantity large enough for such things. Still, I come almost every weekend and pick up a few things.
I find most of my inspiration here. It helps to know what’s doing well this year, so I can curate my menu at Brighter Daze, as well as for the hotel in La Jolla. I’ve already picked up lemons from more than one stall. It seems like there’s been an abundance of that this year. Now, I’m just trying to figure out what to pair it with…
Of course, there are raspberries, strawberries, and cherries. My mom always said I take a liking for them because they’re red, my favorite color. Maybe that’s true but my love for the berries—they technically aren’t all berries, but I digress—has intensified since I completed my culinaryprogram. There’s a versatility to them that’s often underestimated.
As I’m mindlessly walking through the stalls, stopping to sniff some homemade soaps I’d never use and sample some spicy honey that I end up buying, I almost don’t notice the hulking presence that walks up next to me when I stop at a small earrings stand.
“Those are pretty,” a low, gravelly voice murmurs right as I clock his presence next to me. Holding the small gold hoops up, I glance to my left, even though I know it’s Liam talking.
I would recognize his voice from our first night together, but it’s even more familiar after our dinner on Friday.
A horribly enjoyable dinner.
Focusing on the earrings, I take in the hoops, barely small enough to hook around the bottom of my ear lobe, but it’s the pretty, tiny heart that draws me to them. It dangles enough to add effect, especially for someone with hair as short and fine as mine, but it isn’t over the top either.
I nod in confirmation to Liam’s statement. “They are. How much?”
“One-fifty,” the young girl ruefully admits. She winces at the price she set, and I don’t blame her. It’s a huge reason why I’m reluctant to add our own stand. My prices have to be higher than someone who bakes as a hobby. There’s a certain profit margin I have to meet, especially with the extra labor time.
Trying to offer her a friendly smile—having been told it doesn’t come natural to me—I shake my head. “They’re gorgeous but I can’t.”
