“What do you think?” she finally asks.
I wipe my mouth with a hand towel, then pluck my phone from the counter. “About what part specifically?”
She hesitates. “Um… all of the above?”
I chuckle, warm affection growing in my chest. “I think you start with the champagne cake and finish with the lemon.”
“Really? Instead of ending with the coconut?”
“Yes,” I say, but it comes out more like a question than a statement. “Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know.”
I walk out of the bathroom, shutting off the lights, and make my way to bed. It’s nearly two in the morning and I’m exhausted. We’re in California, so not only did our game start later than most do, but Cole’s parents hosted the team for a get-together afterward. Tomorrow’s going to suck, but I’m not ready to end my call with Kennedy.
“Why do you think that?” she asks, anxiety creeping into her voice.
Once I’m settled against the pillows, I prop my phone on my chest. “The champagne one is lighter, right? So it sets the tone without being too heavy right out of the gate. And the lemon ends the tasting on a richer note instead of just more sweetness.”
I pull the covers all the way up and will my muscles to relax. Considering Kennedy still steals the comforter from me—thesecondcomforter, the one I bought for her bed (that, yes, matches the first ugly one)—I have to enjoy full coverage while I can.
There’s no noise on the other line, so I check the phone screen to make sure the call hasn’t been disconnected. “Kenn?”
“Sorry, I was thinking it through,” she says, her voice far off in that way that means she’s going over a bunch of scenarios. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”
“Do what you think is best,” I reply quickly. I don’t want to be blamed if things go ass up. “You’re the one who actually knows what you’re doing.”
She laughs, sounding lighter and more relaxed suddenly. “I know, but I appreciate the input. It’s nice having a sounding board, even if said sounding board doesn’t understand the fundamental differences between baking powder and baking soda.”
I bark out a laugh. “Never gonna live that down, am I?”
“Nope.” She’s silent again for a second. Then says, “But seriously, Cameron, thank you.”
“Alone together, right?”
She chuckles softly, the sound a warm hand wrapped around my cock. “Right.”
“Want to grab dinner later this week? We can go to Sushi Dokku on Friday to celebrate your successful tasting.”
“I can’t Friday,” she says, disappointment bleeding through her tone. “How about Sunday?”
“I can’t.” My tone is too harsh, biting into the silence of the night. “I’m busy.”
“Okay, no worries.”
She doesn’t push me for more or demand to knowwhyI’m busy. She just accepts it.
Before I can second-guess myself or think too hard about why I’m revealing this fact, I blurt, “Sunday is the anniversary of my mom’s passing.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is filled with tenderness. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”
I frown, a weight settling on my chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it, so there’s nothing to forget.”
“Sophie’s my friend,” she reminds me. “Maya and I are going to watchThe Princess Bridewith her on Saturday night.”
Head down, I twist my arm and study the tattoo on my right inner wrist—buttercups and the lineas you wishin script font, inspired by my mom’s favorite movie. “Have you seen it before?”
“Mm-hmm. I was Buttercup for Halloween a few years ago.”
I grin as I run my fingers over the fine lines of the tattoo. “No Cinderella for you?”
