“I’ll walk you in,” he says with a regretful note to his voice, “but then I’ve gotta go. Iverson’s covering for me at Foster House.”
“You should’ve told me.” I could’ve figured something out.
“Nope, sugar. The guys and I help each other out all the time. I am right where I want to be.”
He says that after being my pillow in a waiting room all night. So much hotter than all his muscles. “I’m glad you are.”
When I get out of the pickup, he comes around, putting an arm around my waist. I want to lean back into him, to let someone else carry the heavy load for once, but I don’t, or I’ll fall asleep. He’d probably stand in one spot and keep me from falling all day too. Is this what being with a real man is like? “Want some cupcakes to take to work?”
“Nah, Elodie. They’d only make me think of how sugary sweet you are, and I can’t get my work done when I’m horny as fuck.”
The laughter is unexpected. “Fair enough.”
“Not fair at all.” He tilts my face up and places a firm kiss on my lips. When he pulls away, his eyes are heavy lidded. “It seems to be a condition I’ve been afflicted with a lot lately.”
I rise to my tiptoes and give him another quick kiss. “Me too.”
My breath hitches at his smoldering gaze, but I slip into the bakery and shut the door behind me without looking back. Otherwise, I might dive right back into his arms.
Cruz
I’m in the rickhouse with the forklift to retrieve the barrel getting dumped and bottled today. The smell of warm grains, old wood, and musty dirt surrounds me. Only a faint chirping of birds makes it through the walls. This is one of my favorite places to be. It’s quiet, and it’s tangible proof of my accomplishments.
It’s the weekend again, and I’ve barely gotten to see Elodie. The street fair is three weeks away, and the distillery is in full swing, preparing for the increased tourism load and readying for our booth at the fair and planning out our autumn distribution and cocktail menu.
I brought her dinner two nights ago, the same food she ordered from La Taqueria. She was pale with circles under her eyes. Was she tired? Stressed? She wouldn’t share. Her table was scattered with notes and calculations of what she’d need to make for the street fair and when. A large number was scrawled across the top of one sheet and circled so hard and so many times the paper had almost torn.
Something’s still going on, and she’s not talking.
I told her I was a patient man, and I have to be a man of my word. My pretty little baker is opening up to me. I just have to keep working at it. Unfortunately, I also have to keep working here and at the small ranch I run with my brother.
I locate the barrel I need and double-check the details stamped into the front. Yep, it’s the whiskey I’m looking for. I’m about to hop back onto the forklift when my phone buzzes.
Elodie: Can you call when you have a second?
At the risk of looking like I watch my phone waiting on her texts, I dial her up.
She answers with a breathless “Hello?”
“Hey.” I’m grinning and I can’t even see her. God, I’ve got it bad, and I don’t even care.
“Hi. Um . . .”
I tense. Is she going to tell me that she can’t see me anymore? That I’m too much of a distraction, and she’s got a business to run?
“My dad wants to invite you to a barbecue Sunday night. He wants to thank you for everything you did.”
I grin and lean against the cool metal of the forklift. “I’d love to, but only if you want me there.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
My smile stretches farther. That’s what I like to hear. “You might be sick of me.”
Her soft laugh travels over the line. “I haven’t had the time to get sick of you.”
“Are you sure? I might need to bring you one more meal to make sure.”
“If it’s the sesame chicken from Wok and Rolls, that might help me decide.”
