I sat back and wiped the crumbs off my fingers, laughing as I took in the scene. Plates of half-demolished cake sat scattered across the table like casualties of war. Bailey gnawed on a teething ring with intense focus, her drool landing in Pink’s lap. The bakery’s soft jazz playlist hummed in the background, clashing hilariously with the fact that three professional athletes and one very patient new mom were currently debating the structural integrity of buttercream.
Of all the things I had done with this team, I never could’ve predicted this. Two years ago, we’d been swimming in a glacier-fed lake in Alaska, basking in that World Series win glow, and now we were tasting wedding cakes like we were auditioning forThe Great British Baking Show.
And yet here we were.
Matty speared a chunk of the salted caramel espresso and held it up like evidence. “If you get this one, I can’t promise not to sneak off with multiple slices.”
“You’re not sneaking anything,” Dani warned without looking up from her plate. “Clarke has a spreadsheet. She will know.”
Pink snorted. “Of course she does.”
Soren grinned, unrepentant. “She’s thorough.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Remind me again why she isn’t here,” I said. “I could be wrong, but I feel like picking out a wedding cake is usually a thing for the groomandthe bride.”
“Because I’m still technically on maternity leave until the season starts,” Dani explained. She offered a fingerful of frosting to Bailey, who happily slurped it up. “Clarke is stuck doing double the work until then, which is why you have me to taste on her behalf. I have strict orders for us to narrow it down to three finalists, so eat up, boys.”
I reached for the lavender honey slice next. Warm, floral notes hit my tongue with the first bite. I knew without thinking about it that this was the one Bella would pick.
Just thinking about her making that little, involuntary hum she did when something tasted exactly right made my pants tighten.
Just the other night, I had made her dinner. She’d texted me earlier in the day saying she’d been on her feet for hours and all she wanted was someone else to feed her. I’d shown up with all the fixings for grilled chicken with roasted vegetables and a simple pan sauce.
For thirty minutes, I’d watched her sit at the kitchen table—barefoot, hair in a messy bun, clad only in sleep shorts and one of her brother’s old shirts—and moan around almost every bite.
It was torture of the sweetest kind, and yet nothing compared to what came next.
We had moved to her sofa for dessert, a peanut butter chocolate mousse from one of the food carts near the stadium, and some new rom-com on Netflix that we had both stopped watching about ten minutes in.
I’d nearly shot my load when Bella had taken the first spoonful and moaned again.
That same low, throaty sound.
I’d made it through three, maybe four more bites before setting both our bowls aside, shoving her back against the cushions, and stripping the shorts from her body.
Five minutes later, she’d been coming on my tongue, whispering my name like a prayer. Ten minutes after that, I’d spilled into her hand after the sloppiest and most uncoordinated—in the best way possible—hand job of my life.
Afterward, we’d just lain there, sticky and half-dressed, the rom-com still playing in the background like nothing had happened. No awkwardness, just easy conversation and shared silence, her head resting on my chest like it belonged there.
Because it did.
It had struck me then how natural it felt being with Bella. Like we’d been doing this for months instead of barely a week.
And that was how I’d ended up sitting there with a fork stalled halfway to my mouth and a dopey, far-off look on my face, which Pink noticed immediately. Because of course he did.
“You’ve got that look again.”
“Which one is that?” I shot back.
“The one where you smile like an idiot because you’re thinking about the depraved things you want to do to my sister.”
Correction: I was thinking about the depraved things I had already done to his sister.
“I don’t hear you denying it, King,” Soren said around a smirk.
“Because I try not to lie.”
