I grab Zander’s arm again, tugging him away as the kids scream and cheer, making their way to the tables. I manage to drag him around the corner and open the back door, but two men are walking down the back alley. I slam the door shut and peek around the corner. Laurel is standing in front of the opening to the back part of the bakery with a woman and a man holding a very expensive camera trying to look over her shoulder.
I grab Zander’s hand and shove him through the first door I find, slamming it shut behind us.
What I didn’t realize is that it’s not Laurel’s storage room—it’s Laurel’s janitorial closet. The cramped space barely fits us both.
“We shouldn’t be doing this with little kids in the other room,” Zander mutters, voice low.
“Stop thinking with your dick right now,” I whisper, my ear to the door.
“That’s hard to do when I’m around you.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Stop flirting with me.”
“I’m not flirting,” he says, voice rougher now. “I’m stating a fact.”
I roll my eyes, which is a waste because he probably can’t even see them in the almost complete darkness. We’re quiet for a beat, and it dawns on me that the people who say your senses are heightened during pregnancy must be right because the scent of his cologne or soap or whatever it is makes him smell delectable. Plus, the cramped space, I feel his presence too. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet”—he leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek—“you dragged me in here with you.”
I press my back to the door. “Had I known it was this small, I would’ve just let you be spotted.”
He chuckles in my ear. “I like you looking out for me.” His voice is flirtatious and sweet.
I want to grab the back of his head and press my lips to his.
“What do you want, Zander?” I’m confused after that almost kiss the other night at The Hidden Cave and him acting this way now.
“Is you not the answer you want?” His hand brushes over mine fisted at my side. The touch is light, but deliberate, and my pulse trips.
I swallow. “Zan.”
“Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name. The way you just did.” His pinkie strokes along mine as he weaves our fingers together.
“What?”
“Still not the word I wanted.” His thumb strokes my knuckles.
The walls of the closet feel as if they’re closing in on me, the air becoming heavy. I should push him away, but instead, I tilt up my chin. And he’s there, as if he was waiting for me in the darkness.
“I never forgot you,” he says softly.
His mouth catches mine before I can talk myself out of it. Soft and hesitant at first, as if he’s waiting for me to shove him away. When I melt into him instead, he deepens the kiss, his hands cradling my jaw.
For a few blissful seconds, it’s just us again. No crew. No press. No small-town gossip. No complications. Just Zander and me, pressed together in a janitor closet, stealing a kiss that feels so right. I inch up on my toes, my fingers tightening around his dark strands.
Then light floods the small space.
We jerk apart and stare through the open door, eyes squinted.
Peyton stands in the doorway, eyes wide. “Kissing!” He points at us.
Then a bunch of other little faces come into view.
“Zander and Romy sitting in a tree…” one of the children starts singing, and they all join in.
