TWENTY-FIVE
TYLER
“Ready for the fame?” Eli teased as we set up for another busy Sunday morning.
“It’s one article, one time. We probably got a paragraph.” I shrugged, hoping to mask the nerves that had kept me up half of last night. “Make yourself useful.” I slid the tray of freshly iced donuts toward him. “Staci and Gabby can set these up before the line gets too long.”
“The reporter was here the entire afternoon. I’m sure you got more than one paragraph. I never met anyone so afraid of success.” He snickered, grabbing the tray and pushing through the double doors to the front.
I wasn’t afraid of success. What gnawed at me lately was the fear of setting my expectations too high only to see them plummet—or, even worse, getting the success I wanted and then finding out that I was unable to keep up with it. The thought of failing when it was just me was terrifying enough. Now that I was going to be someone’s father, it was almost crippling.
A knock at the back door broke me out of my panic spiral. When I clicked the lock open, I found Olivia, stunning at seven o’clock in the morning in sweats. I loved seeing this side of her. Before we forged this friendship that had turned into something neither of us had the guts to label yet, she was always so put together. I never saw her without a flashy outfit or perfect makeup, even at parties in my parents’ backyard. Getting to know her on this level meant seeing her let loose. She was always beautiful, but an Olivia without a stitch of makeup in a Yankees sweatshirt was my favorite. On some level, the pieces of her I’d only recently gotten to know after all these years of her poking her way into my life made her feel different, made her feel like mine.
“HappyNew York Timesday!” She looped one arm around my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. I stole another one when she pulled away and held her flush to my body, burying my head in her neck.
It was funny how the woman who had grated on my nerves my entire life was the only one able to soothe me.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” She pulled back and cupped my neck. “Overthinking, or trying to talk yourself into this not being a big deal?”
“Little of both. Why are you up so early? You should sleep.”
She shrugged, plopping a bag onto the stool next to the counter. “I was too excited for you to sleep. And I wanted to head to the deli next to the train station since I know they have all the Sunday papers early. I scored five copies. One for both of my grandmothers and my mother, and one for both of us.” She pulled one of the papers out of the bag, her brow furrowed as she sifted through the pages. “Here it is,” she sang as she held up the article.
I was happy no one else was here to see me try to keep cool while my heart lurched into my throat.
“Eeep, here you are! First mention too and… Oh my God.”
My stomach dropped when she trailed off. “And what?”
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her. “Tyler, you’re a thirst trap.”
“What?” I snatched the paper from her hand. The reporter asked if she could take a picture of me in front of the bakery. After a long night and half day of baking by the time she came in, my apron was covered in flour, but she’d insisted I’d leave it on. I hated pictures to begin with, so I’d folded my arms and tried not to feel like a total dick as I smiled for the camera.
“The messy hair, the baker muscles bulging out of your T-shirt. My baby daddy ishot.” She looked up and swatted my ass, coaxing an unexpected laugh out of me.
“What does it say?”
“It goes into how you bought the old bakery space and built it up over the past year, the cute name you chose, why your customers love coming here, and how you were a mostly undiscovered gem until a popular food blogger called attention to one of your desserts.” The pride in her eyes made my chest pinch. “It’s a great article, and they got your name and address right, which is the most important. A lot of businesses would kill for aNew York Timesmention.” She slid her palm against mine and entwined our fingers. “I’m so damn happy for you.”
“This is all because of you. That one post led—”
She waved me off. “I gave you a push maybe, but this is all you and how hard you’ve worked. Enjoy something for once.” She elbowed my side and kept reading.
I rested my chin on her shoulder, winding my arm around her waist and bringing her back against my front. I’d enjoy this because she was here to share it with me. I needed her more than I wanted her lately. Olivia Sanchez had gone from my childhood enemy to my person.
So why couldn’t I tell her?
“And…” she started, her eyes sparkling when she turned her head, “this reporter just hit on you a little.” She pointed to the next to last paragraph. “Tyler Bennett, thirty-five, was not who some pictured as the owner of a bakery on a quiet patch of highway on Long Island. His boyish good looks and quiet intensity are said to make him a hot local bachelor commodity.”
“You’re kidding me.Ugh.” My mind went to that stupid dating app that Eli made me download. I needed to delete it as soon as possible. The last thing I needed was for anyone to Google my name now and find me there.
Even if we hadn’t discussed it, as far as I was concerned, I was more than spoken for—I was owned.
“You do have a quiet intensity.” She turned toward me, chewing on her bottom lip. “Why I always loved pushing you. It’s sexy asfuck.” She looped her arm around my neck from behind and brushed her lips against mine. “I’m proud of you. And since you said you’re keeping your day off for once and closing tomorrow, how about a celebration dinner at my apartment tonight? You could even maybe”—she cleared her throat and stuffed the paper back into the bag— “maybe even stay over. If you’d like.”
There wasn’t an inch of Olivia I hadn’t touched or tasted in the past week, but we always stopped right before we had sex, and I hadn’t spent the entire night with her since the hotel room. Tearing myself away from her every time was killing me, but even if one night of amazing sex led us to where we were, I wanted to do things the right way. We didn’t need any more complications between us than we already had, but it seemed pointless to step so lightly now.
“I’d like.” I kissed the back of her neck, running my finger down the path of goose bumps prickling down her shoulder. “I’d like that a lot.”
