Sweet Cheeks(10)

“Ships Ahoy.” His voice . . . silk over gravel. How can it still cause goosebumps to race over my skin despite everything? How can that stupid nickname I haven’t heard in almost ten years still ruffle my feathers and make me remember things I thought I’d purged from my memory? How can it make me say the one name I swore I’d never say again?

“Hayes.” My voice is calm. Even. Expertly disguising my racing pulse and the sudden surge of every imaginable emotion overwhelming me.

“It’s been a long time, Saylor.” No smile now, just a set jaw with intense eyes fixed on mine, and a flex of his hands at his side.

“A lifetime.” I break his stare and look around at my fledgling cupcake shop and suddenly feel completely inadequate. My cozy, little bakery compared to his larger-than-life public career. I wipe my damp palms on my apron, smear some frosting in the process, but am too overwhelmed seeing him again to care. I take a few steps forward, nerves suddenly jittering within, and have never been more thankful for the counter in between us as I am right now. A barrier. Some distance. Anything to break the pull those eyes of his have always had on me.

I glance over to DeeDee. I don’t have the wherewithal to try and figure out if the shock blanketing her face is because the famous heartthrob, Hollywood A-Lister Hayes Whitley is standing in Sweet Cheeks or because he obviously knows me somehow.

Her eyes flicker back and forth between us in an uncomfortable silence, amplified with years of unanswered questions before she nods as if she knows we need a moment to ourselves. She glances back to Hayes for a second and then leaves us alone.

I turn to physically watch her retreat into the kitchen area and use the few seconds to try and get over the shock of seeing him again. But when she disappears, I have no choice but to turn and face him. Unsure of what to say, I address everything but the elephant in the room. “Congratulations on all of your success.”

“Thank you.” His voice is soft—almost apologetic—and it pulls my attention to look closer to see the unspoken questions flitting through his eyes. He begins to speak and then stops. Hesitates. Looks down at the cupcakes in the case beside me then back up to me. “You look great, Saylor.”

His unexpected words surprise me. The simple compliment flusters me. And while a small part of me preens that he notices how I look, I also know he’s lying. Being splattered in a ticker-tape parade of blue frosting doesn’t look good on anyone.

But I need this reminder of just how smooth Hayes Whitley can be so I can rein in the strange mix of emotions I’m feeling. The familiarity from seeing an old friend and the bitterness of being left behind by my first love.

I’d prefer to hold tight to the bitterness and anger than acknowledge that fledgling flutter of hope my teenage self must have held on to somewhere deep down. Someday Hayes might come back for me.

Don’t even think it, Saylor. That’s not why he’s here. Besides, he’s ten years too late.

“Thanks. You too.” I clear my throat. Dart my eyes. Try to focus on getting through the next few moments without blurting out the questions I’ve held on to for years over why he left me. Tell myself to let it go. After all, I did try. I’d messaged and called, time and again without a response after he first left. If he’d wanted me to know the answers, he would have responded.

But he didn’t.

End of story.

When the silence stretches, my eyes are drawn back to him.

Everything about him.

How kind the years have been to him. The dark shirt and designer jeans that look worn but probably cost more than the new display case I’d love to buy. He’s still as ruggedly handsome as before, still has that mysterious edge to him that drew me in as a teenager, but there’s more character to his face now. More lines and angles—a maturity to his features—that make me wonder what those eyes have seen. His body is bigger, broader, more filled out compared to the teenager I once knew, and yet it’s his eyes that hold me rapt. They’re the same warm brown, same dark lashes, but the intensity in them is new. The way he looks at me—unrelenting and thoroughly—leaves any words I was hoping to speak faltering on my tongue.

“I talked to Ryder last week. He told me about the bakery, so I figured I’d come in and check it out when I got into town.”

I stare at him, my mind spinning as to why my brother would tell Hayes anything about me. Years ago, we’d had a fight after I’d learned he and Hayes talked occasionally. I was livid and felt betrayed by both of them. Hayes couldn’t pick up a phone and talk to me, but he could do just that and talk to Ryder? And Ryder was okay being friends with Hayes after how he hurt me? The only solution we could agree on was a type of don’t ask, don’t tell policy. I didn’t ask if Ryder talked to Hayes, and he didn’t tell me if he did. That and the promise I’d never be a topic in one of their discussions.

So either Ryder’s been lying to me all this time or something has changed to make him break the latter part of our agreement.

I can think of a few options.

Ryder’s words come back to me. Cause that flutter of panic to trigger deep down inside me as pieces fall into place. The knowing look he gave me when he said that. The sudden appearance of the one man we both know is decidedly more successful than Mitch or any of the Laytons. And publicly so.

Holy. Shit.

My brother didn’t let the discussion, or his ridiculous thoughts about why I should go to Mitch’s wedding drop like I thought he had. Weeks have passed. Weeks! And suddenly Hayes Whitley appears out of the blue?