One Funeral (No Weddings #2)(2)
And now I stood tall, amid other successful businesses, beside my grandparents’ beloved car, in front of my dream. Sweet Dreams. A blended design of old-timey soda shop and modern-day coffee lounge, the cupcake and cake bakery had become my home away from home.
Tiny leaves rustled as they tumbled down the cobbled sidewalk, the last vestiges of winter as March pressed on with spring. The early morning had a cool bite to the air, but I inhaled deeply, welcoming the fresh scent after an overnight misty rain.
I stepped up to the front door and closed my eyes as a flashback hit me hard. The day I’d met with Cade to learn how to market my new business, he’d caged me in this entry, much the same way he’d done last night. Only then, the shock of our attraction had caught us both by surprise—neither of us prepared for it, or able to do anything about it. Unlike last night.
The intensity of our first encounter, where we’d denied ourselves what our bodies wanted, still burned through me, magnified a thousand times over by the vivid memory of last night’s surrender to that attraction. I smiled, lost in the sensual echoes of his incredible kiss as I opened the shop and locked the door behind me.
I glanced at the overstuffed chairs and couch in the lounge-style corner. Cade had suggested warming the atmosphere with the coffeehouse-style furniture, especially the couch. Then he’d broken in said couch by occupying it regularly.
On a shaky breath, I hurried back to the kitchen, hoping to clear my head of whatever jolted through my body like a quad espresso. I also needed to clear my body of its instant addiction to the muscular god, otherwise known as Cade.
As soon as my gleaming oasis surrounded me, my whole body settled on a heavy sigh. Stainless steel and white marbled granite spanned the fifteen-hundred-square-foot space. High windows on the back wall had shutters painted in bright yellow, pulled back to bring in natural light. Touches of metallic red brightened the counters with a small blender, mixer, and toaster, but those were decorative pieces, used only when I wanted to make something for myself, like a smoothie for lunch.
And in this quiet space, within my haven of creative expression, I found peace whenever anxiety keyed me up. When the outside world got to be too much, I went deep into my private refuge at Sweet Dreams and baked my ass off.
Four hours later, the white counters were covered in a rainbow of cupcakes frosted in pinks, greens, yellows, and tangerines. As we were headed into Easter, I created themed frosting tops to look like grassy egg-filled baskets. Two dozen of those beauties lined the front edge, waiting to go up into the display case.
I jumped at an unexpected sound, a knock rapping at the front door. Confused, as both of my employees, Chloe and Daniel, had keys, I wiped excess yellow frosting onto my apron and went up to the front.
I gasped when I saw who stood outside on the front sidewalk.
“Cade.”
Rushing to the door, I unlocked it and pulled it open.
In each of his large hands was a Starbucks coffee cup. With his rumpled hair and dark shadow of stubble, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked down at me, like the struggle for being awake still raged on. “Morning.”
My heart flipped as I stared at him. And in the still-vivid aftermath of last night’s kiss, I found myself at a loss for any kind of clever banter, when witty replies had always come easily. “What are you doing here?”
Larger than life, his six-two frame dominated the entryway. “Don’t worry. I only stopped by to say ‘hi.’ Couldn’t wait ’til tonight to see you.” He handed me a cup. “Soy mocha latte, no whip.” He leaned down, smirking. “Am I bad for wishing you’d do the whip?”
The cup I’d been lifting paused midway to my lips. I held the hot liquid between us as if it was a talisman, protecting me from his devastating charms and the innuendo, heavy in his tone. Then my self-defense mechanism kicked in. “Very bad. Like running to the bathroom and vomiting out the wrong end bad.”
A deep scowl marred his handsome face. “Do not ruin my fantasy. I’m the one eating the cream.” His face relaxed, the wicked gleam sparking back in his eyes.
Eyeing him for a beat, I pulled the top off the paper cup, then blew on the scorching liquid, feeling easier banter flow back into my brain. “Maybe you should keep wild dairy fantasies to yourself.” I turned and walked toward the back, hiding a smirk as I left him standing in my entryway.
Behind me, I heard the door shut and the latch click, locking us in. “Aw, come on. What fun would that be?”
Stopping only when I’d made it to the center of the kitchen, I turned and stood my ground behind a giant worktable, hoping it was a safe enough distance from the overwhelming man I’d let into my safety zone. Part of the very thing that caused my sleeplessness now stood here in the sinful flesh in the very place I’d sought out to find peace.
And I had found it. Baking soothed me as nothing else ever had. Precise measurements, expected results, creative artistry all blended together to take me out of my head and into a mindless state of simply being.
Cade scanned the cake-filled room with wide eyes. “Whoa, Maestro. You’ve been busy.”
I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either.” He tore his eyes away from the sea of colored frosting, staring at me with an unreadable expression while he sipped his coffee.
“Really?” Relieved, I blew out a breath.