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She snorted softly at that little gem, but then saw Asher’s jaw tense. Recalling his defensive reaction to his brother’s comments back at the party, her eyes widened. “Oh,
wow, you’re serious?”
And wow, he actually believed in that kind of hocus pocus?
“She owns a shop down on Aspen Street.”
Honor saw the street in her mind’s eye. “Lift Your Spirit?”
“That’s her.”
Her irritation faded slightly while she began ladling the chocolate batter into the liners. Roxanna owned her own business. So maybe not quite the whack-job his brother accused. “I’ve never been in there, but my sister loves that shop.”
Glory and her friends met for coffee and then went to have their auras read every so often. Their mom had gone with her a few times, too.
“You should check it out sometime,” Asher suggested.
She arched her eyebrows in disbelief.
He winced even as a hopeful smirk quirked his lips. “Too soon?”
“Way too soon. Besides, she might put a hex on me.”
“She’s a psychic, not a witch,” he admonished, shifting to sit in one of her island chairs, his deliciously defined forearms still resting on the counter.
She noticed a scar on his left arm, thin, white, and jagged. A thought about how he got it quickly morphed to, were those gym muscles, or work muscles? Cameras weren’t that heavy to give photographers that much of a workout, were they?
And his hands. Large, clean, with neatly trimmed nails. After a few peeks she still couldn’t tell if they’d be soft or rough against her bare skin. The knuckle brush against her back as he’d zipped her dress earlier had left her fantasizing both possibilities.
“May I ask you something?”
That voice. Mmm. Yum.
But, his hesitant tone had her risking an upward glance. Her stomach flip-flopped at the unexpected intensity in his amber eyes. If it was going to be that serious of a question, she wanted to tell him no. Wanted to tell him to go home across the street, and yet she also didn’t want him to go anywhere. The conflicting emotions were as messed up as her common sense right now.
Before she could think of a reply that didn’t sound bitchy or cowardly, he asked anyway. “Was she right?”
Good. Not so serious. I can handle this.
“Of course not.” Honor scoffed. “I definitely do not jinx my cakes.”
“I meant about you not believing in love.”
Well, crap.
His voice was serious again, and her heart thumped hard against her ribs. She kept her gaze downcast and kept ladling. “That’s a pretty personal question, and we’ve only just formally met.”
He pushed up from the seat to stand at the island as if preparing to leave. “You’re right. Forget I asked.”
“Who doesn’t believe in love?” she said defensively. “I mean, I love my parents, and my sister and my brother. My two nieces.” She gestured toward him with the ladle full of chocolate batter. “And my best friend and her son.”
“Okay.”
There was something that sounded suspiciously like disappointment in his voice. She finished filling the liners, set the batter bowl aside, and turned to open the oven door as she asked, “Would it matter? I mean, say…hypothetically…I didn’t believe in love love. What would it matter?”
“It seems odd you’d choose to bake wedding cakes, of all things, if you didn’t believe,” he replied while she moved back and forth to put the second batch of cupcakes in the oven. “Hypothetically speaking.”
“It’s a business. I’m a designer first and foremost. What I believe shouldn’t matter as long as I create what the client wants.”
