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“Mom always taught me to keep my friends close and my enemies closer.”
He raises his baby blues at me. “Now we’re enemies?”
“A few minutes ago you were a love interest. Now you’re competition.”
His laughter reverberates through the room. It’s a genuine heart felt laugh.
“You’re safe with me. I’ve got someone.”
I swipe my forehead with an exaggerated movement. “Thank God. I didn’t want to have to take you out back and fight you for someone’s affections.”
“I like you, Maddy. I think we could be friends.”
I hug his arm. “We already are.” We move to the next table where a gift certificate for a private chef, masseuse, and chateau are being offered. “Do your parents know?”
He pens in a five thousand dollar bid. “No, it would kill my parents. They have dreams of grandbabies and a daughter-in-law.” I take the pen and scribble out his bid and write in ten thousand. Something tells me Malcolm and his lover could use this retreat.
“There’s always surrogacy.”
“Are you volunteering?” We walk down the row of offerings, stopping occasionally to bid.
“No. I mean, I want children, but I want to have them for myself. Tell you what. As soon as I pop one out, you can be an honorary uncle.”
“I get to babysit.”
“As an uncle, it’s a requirement.” Talking to Malcolm is easy. Too bad it isn’t that way usually. I’m not shy, but there’s so much pressure to marry and have kids, it makes me cautious. I don’t want to enter into a relationship out of desperation. I want attraction. I want connection. I want love.
“Your kid is going to be the luckiest little one out there. Me and Luke will be amazing uncles." He says the name in that dreamy way that people in love do.
“You and Luke shouldn’t hide your love. We can all learn something from love so passionate and pure.”
“How do you know our love is passionate and pure?” He picks up a signed tennis racket and mimics an overhand swing.
“Please… you nearly puddle on the floor at the mention of his name. You look like I do when I’m ready to devour a chocolate-filled croissant.”
He slides down three displays. “You like pastries?”
I run my hands down my body and over my flared hips. “Can’t you tell?”
“You’re body is perfect.”
“Says the man who likes men.”
“That’s irrelevant. You need to see this.” He reaches out and picks up a brochure for a cooking school. “Do you know Ripley Stark?” He shoves the brochure into my hand.
“Never heard of him.” I open the trifold page and see the most gorgeous man on earth. He’s obviously a cover model because men that look as good as him don’t need to cook. People cook for them.
“He’s the owner of Sinfully Delicious and he donated this cooking class. You need to do this.” He points to the description that says, Five Days to Sin: A French pastry course.
“I never buy anything for myself at these things, but if I did, and this is actually the man, I’d make
sure I was the highest bidder.” I run my finger over the picture of the dark-haired hottie in the chef’s jacket. “He’s so yummy.”
“Makes your mouth water, huh?”
That and other things get wet too, but I don’t say that out loud. I put the brochure down and move down the table.
“Speaking of mouths and water, can I get you a drink?” I needed a reason to break away from Malcolm to make sure I am the highest bidder on the getaway package.
