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“Thanks, Griffin. He’ll love these.”
With a sour face, Griffin handed me a bookmark. “Here. Tell him to make use of this or I’m going to hunt down my books and take them back.”
Smiling, I accepted the bookmark and tucked it between the pages of one of the books. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”
* * *
When I returned home,my neighbor knocked on my door. “Hi, Mrs. Connelly, how’s your afternoon going?”
Her thin lipstick-lined lips spread into a wide grin. “Splendid, Ryan. It’s my fifty-fifth anniversary tomorrow. I was wondering if you had time to make me one of those pretty cakes you do so well.”
“Oh wow, fifty-five years! That’s incredible.” Maybe someday I’d be lucky enough to say that. “Of course I can make you a cake. Come on in and you can tell me what you had in mind.”
An hour later, my neighbor left, having placed her order, and promised to drop off a casserole because “I looked lonely” and “cooking for one was no fun.”
As I organized the ingredients to start on her strawberry mousse layered cake, I imagined doing this full-time, baking for my neighbors, making cakes for birthdays and anniversaries, filling orders for pastries for dinner and holiday parties. Maybe cupcakes for a child’s birthday celebration. Serving fresh hot coffee and croissants in the mornings to people on their way out to work, too busy to stop off somewhere on their commute.
With the money I had banked away, I really didn’t need to make tons of profit. I just wanted to be able to afford to do a job I loved and looked forward to each day. The more I fantasized about it, the more crystal clear the idea became in my head. My plan to open a little bakery kiosk in the lobby of my building sounded like the perfect fit for me. Rolling Hills had plenty of working professionals and stay-at-home spouses who loved to entertain, enough to keep me busy baking full-time.
When I returned to my office the following day, I was more than motivated to get to work on the headway I’d made the previous week. I made a list of things I would need to get started on right away and set about crossing them off with a single-minded determination. The Sugar Rush was a dream that was going to come to fruition, no matter how many hours I had to spend on the phone on hold with the permit department.
* * *
I was sobusy making plans to get my new business started that I completely forgot about my lunch plans with my mother. Not until Carson reminded me.
“Are you talking while driving? I hope you’re using your Bluetooth thingy. I know how distracted you get by the sound of my sexy voice.”
I laughed at his joke. “Why would I be driving? I’m at work. I’ve been on the phone all morning trying to line up a contractor to build the perfect bakery cart for my business. The condo association said that it has to be something mobile that is not attached to the building, and they gave me size requirements. But I have to figure out a way to include a warming plate, a mini fridge, and my espresso machine. I feel like my head is going to explode.”
“Take a deep breath, Boytoy. It’s all gonna work out the way it was meant to. I thought you were meeting your mother for lunch. It’s Wednesday afternoon.”
“Holy crap! I forgot all about it. I don’t even think I have time to cancel. She’s probably already on her way.”
Carson’s easy laugh rumbled through the phone. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything. You just focus on The Sugar Rush. I’m so damn proud of you, baby.”
“What do you mean, you’re going to take care of it?”
“Just what I said. Don’t worry about your mom. Have a great day.”
He hung up before I could ask more questions, which made me feel both curious and apprehensive. With Carson, I never knew what to expect because he was capable of anything. Just one of the million things that made me crazy about him. Before I could dwell on it further, the phone on my desk rang, and I was sucked back into the world of insurance premiums and policies.
It wasn’t until dinner time that I heard from him again. I answered the knock on my door, thinking it was another one of my neighbors coming to place a cake order or drop off food. But it was my boyfriend, looking disheveled and sexy in a black Limericks Lounge T-shirt and jeans. I never failed to appreciate the way his work shirts stretched tightly over his toned chest or the way his well-worn jeans molded his ass to perfection and hugged his thighs.
Carson Carrick was fucking hot.
How had I landed such a fine piece of ass? But I had, and he was all mine, standing on my doorstep holding a white paper bag with the lounge's logo on it.
“You gonna invite me inside, Boytoy? Or just make me stand out here all day, drooling over you.”
The idea that he was drooling over me, instead of the other way around, was laughable. Still dressed in my work clothes, I looked like a stuffy nerd with my khaki pants and a pale pink button-down shirt paired with a pastel argyle sweater vest. My shiny brown wingtips sealed the deal. If he was drooling over me, he needed to get his eyes checked.
“Of course you can come in. What did you bring me?”
He laughed when I grabbed for the bag and held it over my head, just out of reach. “No peeking. I’m fixing you dinner. Go sit down and relax.”
But I couldn’t relax listening to the commotion in the kitchen as he banged pots and pans, stifling a curse when he slammed one of my drawers shut, probably on his finger. Carson said he was unloading the delivery truck at the bar today, which is why he was dressed down. He had probably brought me something delicious from the kitchen that Gordy cooked. Surely, he was just reheating things, so why was he tearing apart my kitchen?
“Do you need help?” I called out, praying he would let me lend a hand.
