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“Please,” I repeat. His manners may be awful, but mine aren’t.
With obvious reluctance, he takes the plate. “Have a nice day.” He doesn’t spare me another word or glance. He turns on his heels and strides away, his fancy black dress shoes clicking on the stamped concrete.
Wow. Guess I’ve been dismissed.
“Thank you,” I call out before he slams the front door behind him.
What an ass.
My aunt’s house is really quiet when I walk back into the kitchen, so when my phone rings a minute later, I startle and almost drop the
glass bowl I’m rinsing. The only person who calls instead of texts is my mom, and, since we usually talk on Sundays, worry that something is wrong floods me. I grab the phone without looking at the screen. “Hello?” I say tentatively.
“Hey, it’s Vaughn.”
“Hi.” I sit on a barstool for fear my legs aren’t strong enough to keep me upright. Because holy jalapeno pepper, his morning voice is a little rough and super sexy, and I can’t believe he actually called.
“Thanks for the muffins. They smell almost as good as you do.”
My cheeks are on fire. And I’m shocked his manager actually gave them to him. “You’re welcome. How are you?”
“Besides being pissed at my dad for sending my delivery girl home, I’m good.”
“That was your dad?”
“Dad, manager, and self-appointed gatekeeper. I didn’t know you were here or I would have put him on a leash.”
“I could…” I’m about to say “come back over” but stop myself. His father is there for a reason, and he definitely wouldn’t appreciate seeing me again. “…stop by later.”
“How about this weekend? I’ve got a booking in Paris this week and my dad is driving me to the airport in a few, but we’re having a barbecue Saturday afternoon. You and your sisters should come.”
Me and my sisters.
“Umm…”
“Would it help persuade you if I said it was my birthday?”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you going to be?”
“Twenty-four. I’m a Cancer. Which means I’m loyal, dependable, caring, and responsible. Convinced now?”
“Okay.” It’s not like we know anyone else around here or have an excess of party invites. And if something comes up, I doubt we’ll be missed.
“Okay you believe me or okay you’ll be here?”
“Both.” How can I say no to his birthday? I don’t want to say no. I’m just anxious, out of my comfort zone again.
“Great.” I hear some rustling through the phone line, of clothes maybe. “I’ve got to go,” he continues. “I’ll see you this weekend. Thanks again for breakfast.” He clicks off and I’d bet a million dollars I’m glowing like the sun on steroids.
“What’s with your face?” Dixie asks, padding into the kitchen in her bare feet and a faded T-shirt that falls to the tops of her thighs.
“What’s with yours?” I fire back.
She ignores my weak comeback and lifts a blueberry muffin out of the pan sitting on the counter. She breaks it in half, a tiny bit of steam billowing out. “I’m always happy when I’m five hundred bucks richer. Unlike you, princess, I actually have to pay my way.”
