Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(89)

Tonight, it was my place and I was leaving early to go home and make dinner.

“What change of plans?”

“My house, not yours. Game’s on,” he informed me.

“What game?” I asked.

“Nuggets,” he answered.

Hmm. This was interesting. Nuggets beat out Monday Night Football.

“And?” I asked.

“My set is better than yours,” he stated.

“Your set is better than mine?”

“Babe, your TV should have been retired about six years ago.”

“It’s only three years old.”

“Okay, then your set should have been retired about two and a half years ago.”

I blinked at my desk.

Then I asked, “What?”

“You trade up every year.”

I blinked at my desk again.

Then I asked, “Your truck was twenty years old but you trade up TVs every year?”

“Uh… yeah,” he said like, “Uh… duh.”

This was gearing up to be a milk jug discussion, I could feel it.

Therefore my decision about the future of the discussion was… whatever.

Moving on.

“I haven’t stocked your fridge in awhile,” I reminded him.

Another thing to note, two houses with one woman meant one woman cleaning two houses and stocking two fridges. Brock, I had learned, was not clean or tidy. Brock, I had also learned, had lived his life since divorcing Olivia (who, he informed me, was not a master chef or even close) on pizza, Chinese, fast food and takeaway Mexican.

Considering this, it was beginning to dawn that Brock’s body was a minor miracle even with all that running and gym time.

“We’ll order pizza,” he decided.

That I could do.

“Cool,” I agreed.

“And I’m tied up, gonna be half an hour later, maybe an hour,” he said. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home and you can order the pizza.”

“Does that mean someone died?” I asked.

His voice held restrained humor when he answered, “Yeah, sweetness, part of the gig of homicide is someone dying.”

I turned and looked out into the bakery smelling cake smells.

When my phone rang at the bakery, this usually meant someone wanted to order a birthday cake. When Brock’s rang at the Station, this usually meant someone had a cap busted in their ass.

My job was way better.

Thus I didn’t mind (too much) cleaning two houses and stocking two fridges.

“Okay, baby, text me and I’ll order the pizza,” I said softly.

There was a moment’s pause before I got a, “My sweet Tess,” then I got a disconnect.

I allowed myself some time to feel the tingle Brock calling me his sweet Tess sent shimmering through me. Then I shoved the rest of the cupcake into my mouth and allowed myself some more time to feel a different kind of tingle.

Then I shoved my phone in my purse, pulled on my coat and headed out.

I hit the public area of my bakery and, as it always did and I hoped it always would, that gave me a tingle too.

Three robin’s egg blue walls, one of them with a huge, stenciled pattern in lavender of hibiscus blossoms attended by hummingbirds with the back wall behind the display case painted lavender with “Tessa’s Cakes” in flowery script painted in robin’s egg blue surrounded by hibiscus and hummingbirds. This was positioned just a few inches from where the wall met the ceiling so people could see it clearly from the wide front windows facing the street.

I still had no idea where I got the theme, outside those colors being my favorite. Flowers and birds didn’t scream bakery! But the colors were warm and beautiful, the flowers and birds delicate and striking. I’d paid a whack for the look and the customized stenciling. With my constant changes and obsession with getting it just right I’d driven the artist bonkers who created it and my logo but it had been worth it.

In fact, I’d paid a whack for everything that had to do with the look or feel of my bakery.

Upon copious consumption of wine with Martha as I planned the rest of my life post-Damian, we had both decided if I was going to go for it, I might as well go whole hog. So when I launched Tessa’s Cakes, I didn’t f**k around. I planned everything to the minutest detail, hired my staff with careful consideration that went beyond them arriving on time and being able to punch buttons on a cash register and I launched the entire concept. Beautiful cakes that tasted really freaking good bought from friendly personnel who didn’t have vacant looks but easily apparent personalities in a bakery where you either wanted to come back or you wanted to stay awhile.

The floors were wood as was the frame of the old-fashioned display case which was filled with beautiful cakes, cupcakes and delectable-looking cookies, this topped with mismatching but very cool covered cake stands and glass cookie jars. There were battered wooden counters on either side of the display case that also held cookie jars and cake stands and there were shelves on the wall behind the case and counters with even more. Two big blackboards were on the walls on either side of the shelves with the day’s ever-changing goodies scrolled artfully on them in lavender and blue chalk, hibiscus and hummingbirds decorating the corners.

There were tables out front if you wanted to hang and eat your treats, these again all wood, again all mismatched the only thing each of the chairs shared was being wide seated, sturdy and comfortable. Each table was topped with a tiny steel bucket with a poofy display of flowers and there was a much bigger bucket filled with a spray of them on one of the counters. These were rotated twice a week by a local florist who gave me a killer discount because I had a small sign that advertised they were hers.