Some Sort of Crazy (Happy Crazy Love, #2)(10)

“I don’t see that happening.” I crossed my arms. “So tell me what’s new with you.”

She smiled at me, and my chest got tight. “I bought a house.”

“You did? With Douchebag Dan?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you big jerk. On my own. A woman can own property these days, you know.”

“They can?”

She stomped lightly on my sneaker before moving to the sink, where she began rinsing the lettuce. “Yes.”

“Well, congratulations. Where is it? I want to see it.”

“It’s on State Street. It needs some work, but it has a picket fence,” she said gleefully, rising up on her toes. “And cozy alcove bedrooms and a huge clawfoot tub and a huge herb garden in the backyard.”

“Sounds perfect for you.” Too bad the Douchebag will probably move in. I couldn’t believe she was still with that guy. She was way too good for him. Jealousy flared unexpectedly in my gut, a hot ball of fire. The kitchen will probably smell like this every morning—f*cking awesome, like sticky buns are in the oven. Haha, sticky buns. I could give her sticky buns. Oh, shit. I adjusted myself a little in my jeans.

She glanced down at what I was doing, and her eyes flicked up to mine. “Nice.”

“Sorry. Anyway, I’m only around for a few days, so as soon as you’re ready, let me know. I can’t wait to see it.”

“A few days?” She turned off the water and dried her hands. “That’s a short trip.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to check out that asylum and catch up with you a little.” Because I’ve missed you. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.

But I wouldn’t say that to her. Clearly her life was going exactly the way she wanted it to, and the last thing I wanted to do was f*ck up our friendship, which sometimes felt like the one constant in my life. If only she wasn’t so hot. It was distracting as f*ck.

The timer went off, and she pulled the muffins from the oven. They were puffy and golden, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, smelling like heaven. My mouth watered. “Oh God, those look good.”

“You can have one. Let them cool first, though.”

A few minutes later, an employee arrived, a college student named Hailey, and the two of them went into full prep mode. I could tell I was in the way in the kitchen, so I went out to my car, got my laptop, and chose a table in the back to work at. Natalie brought my coffee cup out, refilled, and set down a plate with a muffin and a cinnamon bun on it, glaze dripping down the sides.

I looked up at her, unable to resist. “I really want to make a joke right now about glazing your buns, but I’m afraid you’ll take this away from me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I will.”

“How about buttering your muffin?”

She put her hand back on the plate and I grabbed her wrist.

“No! I promise I’ll be good. A perfect gentleman.”

“Ha. I’ll believe that when I see it. Can I have my arm back please?”

I looked down at my fingers wrapped around her slender wrist, and felt my dick coming to life again. Letting her go, I sat back and smiled. “You can have anything you want.” Especially if it’s in my pants.

She sighed. “You know what I really want?”

“What? Sit on my lap. Tell me.”

She glared at me. “Do you have to be such a flirt? What happened to the gentleman?”

He got hard. I sighed. “Fine, a chair.”

“I can’t sit anywhere. That’s the thing—I’d really like a day off. A day of just doing nothing but relaxing. I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”

“So take one.”

“I can’t, silly. Not everyone works from wherever they want to. I have to be here every day; that’s what being a business owner is.”

“Are you open every day?”

“During the summer, I am.”

“Can’t you delegate? What about a manager?”

She shrugged. “Not that I’m good at delegating, but I do have an assistant manager. I can’t afford to pay him for more hours or responsibilities right now, though. I have a pretty big house payment. And I’m still paying back loans I took out to open this place.”

“What’s a loan?”

She looked confused for a second and then she slapped my shoulder. “You trust fund babies. So out of touch with the real world.”

“Kidding, kidding.” I pulled the plate closer to me and looked up at her. “I do work for a living, you know. But is there something I can help you with? Do you need a loan from me to pay off the bank?”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Thanks, but it’s kind of a source of pride for me that I’m doing this all on my own.”

“Amorous Dan isn’t helping?”

“Not at the moment.”

Was it my imagination or had her jaw clenched a little before she answered? I decided to redirect. “How’s your interest rate?”

She winced slightly. “It’s OK.”

“Well then, there’s pride and there’s being stubborn.”

Something flitted across her face that I couldn’t read—surprise? Anger? Whatever it was, it was gone a second later. “Thanks, but I’m OK.”