“Hey there,” I call. “We’re closed, but—” I stop dead at the end of the hall. Elodie’s standing just inside the door, looking as skittish as a newborn foal that’s found its legs. She’s in her usual bakery garb of loose shirt and baggy pants with her hair in a messy bun. A dark tendril curls around the base of her neck, and I’d like to trace the path with my tongue.
“Hi,” she says, like she’s practiced this a million times and thinks she got it wrong at the last second.
“Hey.” I set the bottles down behind the bar. “Come on in.”
“I know you’re closed.” She takes a few hesitant steps, sucks in a breath, then weaves through the tables. “But I won’t be long.”
That won’t do at all. “You have to stay for a taste now that you’re here.”
“No, I couldn’t. I still have some cinnamon rolls to prep for a funeral tomorrow.” She stops by a stool at the bar counter. “It’s also my breakfast prep. I cook some sausage links so I can chew those cold while I chow down on a roll. It’s about the only noncarb I have these days.”
“Breakfast of champions.” I cross to the door and throw the dead bolt. Whatever Elodie came here for, I’m not letting anyone interrupt. When I return, I pat the seat of the stool closest to her. “Take a seat. Just a quick taste. It won’t do more than coat your tongue.”
“I don’t want to make more work for you.”
“It’s my pleasure.” I grab a tasting glass for her and open the bottle of Haven’s whiskey. I splash enough whiskey in to cover the bottom. “Haven named this Haven’s Rye because he wanted to see his name on a label.”
She smiles. “I can’t blame him.”
“We have to stay away from using the Hennessy last name so no one confuses our products with the cognac.”
“Better safe than sorry.” I don’t have to give her any directions. She swirls the glass, lifting it to her nose. Her eyelids flutter closed when she inhales. “I almost smell the caramel I make for cupcake filling. Mmm...” That sound goes right to my dick. “It’s spicy, but also sweet.” She takes a sip and rolls it around. “Yes. I can taste it all. Ooh, smoky. I like that.” She opens her eyes and I’m captured in her thoughtful gaze. The brown of her hazel eyes matches the drink in her glass. “It’ll go well with a fruity confection. Peaches. Cherry? No, I’ve got it.With a plain poppy seed batter—no almond extract. Nothing but smoky caramel and poppy seeds.”
“This bottle is yours.”
She blinks. “No, I can’t.”
“You can, and you’re going to make me those muffins. What are you going to call them?” I ask before she can reject my idea.
She studies the label. “Poppy seed cruisers.”
My grin spreads wide and my manly pride surges. “Cruisers has Cruz in it.”
“I know.”
“You’d name them after me when it’s Haven’s name on the bottle?”
A light pink paints across her cheeks. “Haven isn’t the one who kissed me the other night.”
“No, he wasn’t,” I say in a guttural growl. Haven’s never shown interest in her, and whether or not it’s because he noticed mine, I don’t care. The thought of another tongue down her throat besides mine makes me feral.
She pushes the glass away and takes a deep breath. “I came here to tell you that I don’t want to be friends, and I’m tired of hiding.”
There are two big confessions in what she said, but I’m hung up on the first part. She doesn’t want my friendship? I’ll honor her wishes, but damn. That’s worse than the flirting ban. Am I going to get restricted from the bakery? Will I get escorted out by her cousin like Pete, the guy who berates her for her pricing? “I’m sorry if I did anything wrong?—”
“You do everything right, and I don’t want to be friends.” Her eyes fly wide. “Oh, I made it sound like— No, I treasure your friendship. I’d be sad to lose it, but I want more when it comes to you. I always have.”
She punctuates her comment by blowing out a breath. Her nervous energy eases into a steady presence. She folds her hands like she’s waiting for my reaction.
When it comes to me, she wants more? She always has? So that whole time I worked to get closer to her, she wasn’t cold out of lack of interest? My smile starts long before it reaches my mouth.
“Well then, sugar.” I round the counter and plant myself on a stool facing her. “That means I need to take you out again.”
She spins to put her knees between mine. “Or you could kiss me now.”
Kiss me nowechoes loud in my head. That long tendril of hair that’s been teasing me is still tracing down her neck. I rub the silky strands between my fingers before sliding my hand around the back of her neck. Gently pulling her closer, I close the distance between us. A little whimper leaves her and she shoves her hands in my hair, less restrained than I am.
The whiskey on her tongue mingles with all the sweetness that’s Elodie Palmer. The scent of sugar cookies fills my nose and it fucking fits her. If I could bottle her, I’d drink nothing else for the rest of my life. I’m hard and pulsing behind my fly, and even though nothing’s going to come from it tonight, I don’t try to hold back.
