I point to the stop sign farther down the street. “If we make a left there and loop around, there’s a back entrance for deliveries. It’ll be easier to unload there.”
And if your eyes are on the road, they’re not noticing the way my flushed cheeks now match my earmuffs.
He makes no move to put the car in drive. “Why don’t you head in while I pull around?”
“You sure?” I ask, already opening the door.
“Yup.”
I grab my purse and hop out, trying not to read too much into the way his eyes follow me as I walk to the front entrance and turn the stiff lock with shaking hands. Cameron waits until I wave at him from the front window before he drives off.
The front area is small, with just enough room for a table or two for order pickups and cake tastings, but I don’t spend much time there. It’s not the pièce de résistance. That’s through a set of swinging doors.
The kitchen is easily three times the size of the front. Large windows on the side wall let in natural light and another is exposed brick. Two full-size convection ovens stand side by side, their glass doors revealing spacious interiors. A gas range with four burners anchors the cooking line, sturdy and professional, and counters line the perimeter. In the center of it all is a maple table, the honey-colored wood adding warmth against the vinyl-coated concrete floors and stainless-steel appliances.
It’s perfect. And it’s mine.
As I stand in the middle of the space, slowly turning, my nose burns with unshed tears. I curse myself for not having the foresight to wear waterproof mascara, but then again, I don’t know the last time I got so emotional. Maybe when the originalHamiltoncast reunited at the Tony’s? When Jana and Cory (who had my vote from episode one) wonLove Islandlastseason? When Wilton brought back my favorite piping tips after they’d discontinued them years before?
A knock on the delivery door has me jerking in surprise. I didn’t think it was possible, but in the time I’ve been inside, I’ve forgotten about the six-five grump who’s accompanied me all day.
I turn the lock, then yank the door open with a flourish. “Welcome to Crumb & Co.”
Population: us and my crippling fear of fucking up.
Cameron’s lips kick up into a smirk. “Are you going to let me in?”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “You never did confirm or deny if you’re a vampire.”
His lips twitch like he wants to laugh but doesn’t want to admit how much he enjoys my teasing. “Kennedy.”
I waggle my brows, but step aside.
He’s already loaded down with a stack of boxes from my apartment. Once he’s set them on a counter, he leans against it, assessing the kitchen slowly. To me, it’s a dream come true, but I’m sure the simplicity of it all is woefully underwhelming to an outsider.
“It’s great,” he finally says.
My heart flutters in response to those words. Ugh. I hate how much his approval means to me.
I fan myself dramatically. “Slow down on the compliments, Cam. Next, you’ll tell me my walk-in cooler has great temperature regulation and really does it for you.”
“Does it?”
“Does it what?”
“Have great temperature regulation.”
He’s completely serious, waiting calmly for an answer about my cooler specs.
My throat tightens. “The cooler is top of the line.”
“Good,” he says with a single nod. “How do you feel?”
The question is so simple, but when I open my mouth to answer, the words get stuck in my throat. Instead, the tears I’ve been holding back slip down my cheeks one after another. A sob works its way out, despite the way I try to choke it back. It’s a loud, strangled sound that has me really, really cursing myself for not wearing waterproof mascara.
Cameron’s at my side in an instant, one large hand wrapping around the back of my neck and pulling me against him in a much-needed hug. “Was it something I said?”
I shake my head against his chest.
