“I don’t suppose you have one of the party sandwiches in that box,” Matt asked in the dark.
“I have éclairs with green sprinkles or silver,” I replied.
“I would kill for one of your great-aunt’s pigs in a blanket.”
“Your mother would be appalled,” I reminded him.
He barked out a laugh then leaned over to rest his head against my shoulder.
I reached out to stroke his hair then cursed when I realized I had smeared chocolate frosting in his hair.
Crap.
This is why you can’t be out in public, Merrie.
“You didn’t want one of those sandwiches anyway,” I said, trying to dig out a napkin from my purse before he noticed the frosting. “They were kale and chickpea sandwiches.”
I did not have so much as a Kleenex in the tiny little purse I had brought from the selection of boutique fashion.
And this is why I carry around what might as well count as a small suitcase bag. At least my real purse can hold more than a credit card.
“After that evening,” I said, “the only cure is Italian food.”
“We can probably still get a reservation at Camelli’s,” Matt suggested.
“Or we could order in,” I chirped.And I can try to get all that frosting out of your hair.
Matt smirked at me. “I did want to fuck you in that dress,” he whispered.
I didn’t think I would be able to wait during the two-hour drive back to Harrogate. But instead of turning onto the highway, the driver took us down one of the wide Manhattan avenues. Huge skyscrapers rose above us. I hadn’t been in Manhattan in months since I’d left my last job. But it still felt as awe-inspiring as the first time I’d moved there, so sure that I was going to make all my dreams come true in the big city.
That didn’t happen. You couldn’t even make them come true in a small town.
But I did at least have Matt. And shoot, maybe we would win the bake-off. With the way my cookies were selling, if I won the bake-off, I’d do more than break even. I’d actually have a little bit of savings left!
The driver turned the SUV onto a cross street.
“Are we picking up the food?” I asked, confused.
Matt kissed me. “We can have them deliver.”
“To Harrogate?”
He turned my face to his, the street lights reflecting the humor in his eyes. “I told you we’re staying at my penthouse tonight. In Manhattan,” he said to my confused look.
“You have multiple places to live?” I asked.
“You already knew that,” Matt reminded me. “I have a whole estate plus my place in Harrogate. Obviously, I have to have a place in Manhattan.”
The car pulled up in front of a contemporary glass tower. Matt helped me out of the car.
The doormen greeted him. “Welcome home, Mr. Frost.”
The building concierge offered to have my box of éclairs taken upstairs for us so that I didn’t have to carry it. He also offered to have dinner ordered for us.
Matt swiped the key card for the elevator. It was nicer than the shoebox I had lived in when I had worked as a receptionist in Manhattan. This elevator had a marble floor and light wood walls with bronze accents.
It also had mirrored doors, which revealed the streak of frosting like an inverted skunk stripe on Matt’s perfect hair.
