Page 130 of Sterling Heat

When we finally break apart, I ask, “Is Adara still with Vale?” My sister loves to babysit.

Enya swipes a hand down her form fitting dress. I love her professional clothing especially when she lets me strip her out of it.

“Yeah. Vale said she’d keep her for a little bit longer.” She shivers when the air conditioning kicks on, mixing with the water droplets on her skin.

“Want some coffee?”

“I’d love some.”

I circle behind the counter while Enya takes a seat. It’s funny how she always sits in the same spot. The place where we first shared a lemon cake. The seat where Adara was born.

“Got a text from Barnett,” I call out from behind the counter. “He aced that economics final. He’ll be here in a week.” My wife gave him some pointers.

Barnett Matthews turned out to be a dedicated employee, working extra shifts to earn back the money he took from Rena. Then I gifted it back to him as a donation to his college fund. He’s finishing up his freshman year at WVU under a football scholarship.

I come back around to the table and set down two sturdy mugs. “I have something for you.”

Her brows lift as she picks up the sturdy mug and blows at the hot steam coming from the liquid gold inside. She hums. “A lemon cake?”

Okay, I’ll get her that, too but I hold up a finger, signaling I need a minute. I head to my office and then return with a small paper bag. Taking a seat opposite her, I watch as she stares at the bag with intrigue.

“You know I’ve been cleaning out my office.” While I consider myself creatively messy, Enya suggested a better system to organize my creativity. She didn’t intrude, though, knowing I needed to initiate any system on my own. The bakery is still mine and she understands my need to own something as mine. Something I’m continually proud of that honestly, legitimately, legally belongs to me.

She watches me as I dip my hand into the bag. “And I found a few things.”

I pull forth one shoe and then another. A mismatched pair of heels that strangely look right when paired together.

“Oh my gosh.” Enya laughs, clapping her hands before her mouth as she falls back in the seat. “Are those my shoes?”

I lift one. “The day we met.” I lift the other. “And the day Adara was born.”

Enya reaches for the one and draws her forefinger and thumb down the spiky left heel that once went with an opposite shoe which snapped off on the sidewalk during a rainstorm. She picks up the other one and chuckles again. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I wore these that day.” The second heel is chunkier but still tall.

“And why do you have these?” She peers up at me. “Were you hoping Cinderella would return for her slipper?”

Being a girl dad now, I’m familiar enough with fairytales to know who Cinderella is. “Something like that.” I smile. “Or maybe she’d at least return for my lemon baby-Bundt cake.”

“Well, my sweet prince. I have something for you, too, but first . . . speaking of a lemon baby-Bundt cake . . .”

I laugh as I press off the table and stand. “Yes, my queen,” I mock, but she knows I worship her like royalty.

I set one cake on a plate and grab two forks before returning to the table. The plate sits in the middle, but she knows I’ll let her have the first bite. I always do because I love to watch her eat my treats. The way she savors it on her tongue. The way her eyes roll back a little. The seductive hum she gives, easily turning me on.

I hold up my fork. “What are we toasting to?”

Enya lifts hers but doesn’t clink it against mine. “I’m pregnant.”

Her eyes focus on my face as I take in the words. I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. A good lump. I’ll never be able to get a bite of this cake down.

“Your husband must be excited.” That’s my line. That’s how this went the first time. When a woman entered my bakery during a rainstorm and told me she was here to celebrate her good news.

“Is he?” She watches me, hopeful but hesitant.

“Sugar.” I drop my fork and scoop her up from the bench seat, drawing her into a tight hug before deeply kissing her. She melts into the kiss, passing her excitement at this news from her lips to mine.

She’s having a baby. And I’m the father. Because I’m her husband.

“When did you find out?” I mutter to her lips, dipping my fingers into her hair to remove the tight bun at the nape of her neck.