A Little Combustible Chemistry (Cactus Creek 0.5)(8)

The pest.

Relenting with a fierce blush, Dani admitted, “I didn’t learn much more than his name.”

But of course that just made Xoey put a dramatic hand to her heart. “I am so proud.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “You measure these things with a very short, very strange yardstick.”

“Quite proudly, yes. Because it’s the only yardstick that measures what truly matters in life.” She raised an eyebrow wisely. “Feel free to borrow it anytime.”

It was a dare.

Profoundly grounded, but a dare nonetheless. Dani snuck another peek over at Luke. Could she really do it? Risk her heart the way Xoey did so often? So fearlessly?

Just then, the target of her rapt attention glanced up and caught her looking at him. He and his buddies looked to be getting ready to leave and as if he could hear her silent question from where he stood, an encouraging little smile brought out one of his two dimples.

He was out the door before the whispered ‘no’ to her question quietly passed her lips.





CHAPTER TWO


LUKE WAS LOOKING to score a multiple tastegasm today.

After finally tearing himself away from Dani last night, the first thing he’d felt impelled to do—well, after the cold shower of course—was head to his apartment kitchen to work on a new chocolate. But not just any new chocolate. The new chocolate he’d been struggling with all week.

His muse, clearly, had nothing on his feisty little bartender.

With pure inspiration hitting him from every angle, his mind pinballing between woman and chocolate, he’d ended up working straight through the night.

Come morning, it was faith, not cockiness that had him calling his shot like the legendary Babe Ruth. Revving on a no-sleep high and an entire pot of coffee, he pushed through the storefront door of Desert Confections—past the never-disappearing renovation clutter that was two weeks behind schedule and the granite guys finishing up the counter that was supposed to be installed a week ago—and beelined it to the back in search of his shop manager, Quinn, the self-named Wicked Witch of the West herself.

Though most days, she prided herself on upgrading one of those W’s to a B.

Finding her in the office, buried in paperwork as always, Luke edged over to her desk and held his newest chocolate creation out about an inch from her mouth.

Then, he waited.

As he knew she would, Quinn didn't ask or even look before opening up for a taste. It was practically in her job description. Plus, though gorgeous, the woman had so many ‘does not play well with others’ and ‘may attack if provoked’ signs around her like a force field that she likely never had to watch out for a man waving anything else in front of her lips

Eyes still glued to the shop's post-relocation spreadsheets she’d been analyzing, Quinn chewed the chocolate carefully, almost scientifically. So slow it drove him bonkers.

Then finally, he heard it.

A thoughtful murmur twirled around an intrigued throat hum. And then one tiny sigh. All the quiet reactive noises Quinn made when a chocolate was good. But of course it was good. After once getting a face full of what she called constructive feedback ‘back’ from her, he’d never given her anything less than good since.

The question today was if it was great. Change-the-game great.

He backed up a step and crossed his arms. “Well?”

“Definitely a home run.”

He pumped his fist in triumph. No tastegasm this time but that was okay. At least she didn’t fake it. He hated when women did that.

“Our first home run of the year.” Grinning like a champ, Luke strode over to their whiteboard to log the new homer in on their chocolate chart, which was cross-referenced with ‘base numbers’ from the Quinn tasting scale.

Generally speaking, the bulk of the chocolate confections that made it from Luke’s test kitchen to his shop’s display cases took at least third base on the Quinn tasting scale. Aside from the customer-requested bridge mix by the scoop, Luke refused to sell anything that only got to Quinn’s second base, and it’d been years since he’d created any single-basers.

Then there was his gold display case chocolates. His pride and joy.

The elite line of specialty creations made up of all his homers to date...and the one multiple tastegasm on record.

Not a myth. He’d seen it with his own eyes.

And just as he never uttered the words that would evoke baseball’s no-hitter jinx, Luke never talked about the ‘multiple tastegasm.’ But his particular avoidance wasn’t for superstitious reasons. It was far more sinister. He didn’t even dare say the phrase aloud for fear it would clue Quinn in on the fact that the system he used to gauge her ratings wasn’t even based on baseball. It was based on her. Or rather, the sounds she made during tastings...which happened to be the same ones she made in bed.

She had no idea.

Though he’d really only started the whole thing as a joke that had been all the funnier because she never got it, the system ended up being too perfect to get rid of. Of course, when their very brief ‘benefits’ in that area ultimately expired right before they agreed to start the shop together way back in college, so did his window to let her in on the joke. And breaking the news all these years later sure as hell wasn’t an option, not with her being his best friend and the closest thing he had to a sister now.