“Okay, no big deal,” Alice cuts in before I can greet Stella. “I just wanted to let you know I sent you something exciting. Make sure you check your emails.”
We ring off with a promise to catch up soon, and I resume my morning mad dash.
“Morning,” Jackson calls from the back of the shop, sending a familiar, forbidden thrill through me at the sound of his voice.
I gave him permission a long time ago to bypass the front of the store and enter from the back. He even has his own parking spot next to mine because the town of Senoma is tiny, and Main Street has minimal spots. I got tired of listening to him complain about parking a block away. For someone so physically fit and willing to traipse up and down mountains with me, he’s sure whiny about the little things, like how far away he has to park.
The whiner comes in and hovers over the end of the counter, his stupidly tall frame taking up all the space. His irritatingly large shoulders mold the fabric of his James County Fire Rescue T-shirt taut. Tattoos peep from below the short sleeves, winding across his indecent biceps. I hate that I notice these qualities about him. I also hate that I find them attractive, so they get shoved into the box of things I don’t admit to myself.
The shop is empty, one of those random quiet moments that happen between rushes, and it gives me the chance to study him. The bags under his tired blue eyes broadcast that he didn’t get much sleep last night.
It’s the only imperfection on his otherwise perfect face.
“Whatcha got for me?” he asks, eyeballing my nearly empty display case. A lock of brown hair falls over his forehead as he leans over the counter. My fingertips itch to push it back inplace.
“Oh man, the scones are gone?” He sighs dejectedly, and I smother a smile. “Today’s was cranberry orange, too, right?”
“Yeah, they go almost as fast as the cinnamon rolls do.” I should be ashamed of the sadistic side of me that takes pleasure in teasing him. I know these are his favorite—which is why I saved him some.
A momentary flash of despair crosses his face before I let him off the hook.
“Check the box on the desk.”
He’s gone before I finish the sentence. From the back room, there’s a whoop, and then he’s back and chewing a mouthful, holding half of a scone. My mission in life is to spread happiness through baked goods, but I get an extra thrill when he goes crazy for my creations. He’s like a little kid in a giant’s body when I save him treats. He places the half-eaten scone in the box and pulls out the cinnamon roll.
“Ew, you’re gonna mix flavors like that?” I draw back in mock horror. “The disrespect.” I don’t really care if he wants to be gross, but I’m definitely going to give him shit about it.
He gives me a closed-mouth grin as he swallows. Then, maintaining eye contact, he shoves half the roll into his mouth. That dark, forbidden rush rolls through me again. In the background, my playlist rotates to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” and the low driving beat pulses in time to another incessant throb I am not acknowledging, even as heat rises through my entire body.
I should not be noticing how he chews or getting a thrill from the moan my food elicits from him. But I can’t help but imagine that moan in another setting. It’s feral and erotic and hits all my buttons.
Jackson’s my friend, though, not someone I should behaving pants feelings about. A: He doesn’t seem to be equally bothered by me, so this attraction is basically a crush. B: He’s my best friend’s brother, and I’ve seen the wreckage caused by him dating her friends in the past, so even if by some twist of fate he did return my attraction, it wouldn’t go anywhere because of Alice.
Jackson, blessedly oblivious to my discomfort, breaks our eye contact by turning away. I need to refocus on what I was doing before he came in. But as hard as I try to avoid it, my gaze is drawn back to him as he devours my creations.
I can’t help it. I like seeing the reaction someone has to my food. It’s a little hit of dopamine anytime someone closes their eyes and relishes that perfect sugary bite. And if I get a moan from them, my day is made.
That’s the only reason my eyes are glued to him, the only reason I’m transfixed by the sight of him chewing, watching his strong jaw clenching and releasing. The only reason I’m mesmerized by the flex of his throat as he swallows.
Get a grip, Magnolia. Quit ogling your friend.
I clear my throat as I wrench my attention away, reminding myself I have no business noticing anything about Jackson, and if Alice were here, she’d be glaring at me. I lived through that rough time when Jackson dated Alice’s friend, Harmony.
You’d think with a name like Harmony, the girl would’ve been all sunshine sweet and made of rainbows. She may have been, but she did a number on both Alice and Jackson and nearly ruined their relationship for good. It wasn’t until after they’d reconciled that they realized how toxic the whole thing had been and how Harmony had played Alice, making Jackson look like the ass, when Harmony was the one telling lies andfanning flames.
Since then, all of Alice’s friends have been on the no-dating-my-brother list.
Blissfully unaware of the way I’m staring at him, Jackson makes a show of putting away the other half of his cinnamon roll. Or maybe he’s not so unaware, according to the wink he shoots me as he sprawls out in the chair behind the counter.
I’m pretty sure he thinks I’ve put it there just for him, and he doesn’t know I stand on it from time to time to change my menu board.
He stretches his long legs out in front of him, the denim encasing his muscled thighs stretching taut in all the right places. “Did you see the email about the reunion?”
I step over his boots, then kick them out of the way. “Move your clodhoppers, please. Some of us are still working.” Once clear of him, I resume my organization of the display case. Am I hiding from this conversation? Yes. “I saw it but didn’t read it.”
“Are you gonna go?”
“Uh, hell no.” I scoff. “I didn’t like those people when we were in high school. Why would I voluntarily spend time with them now?”
