TWENTY-SEVEN
Jagger
TAE
Break a leg, Jag!
The guys know that I’ve been busy planning this date all week. Although I offered for them to come along, they both agreed it was important that I attempt to make amends with Delilah without them around.
My anxiety is unreal. I can’t seem to slow my heart; it thrashes erratically against my rib cage, and I can’t stand still no matter how hard I try.
This is more nerve-racking than putting on a show.
I pace around inside Springflour Bakery, wiping my sweaty palms on my dark jeans before rolling up the sleeves of my sweater. What if she doesn’t show up? I received a quick text when I sent her the mixer, but none of us have heard from her since.
Dora kindly allowed me free reign of the place tonight. With recent developments, she’s been able to hire new help, which means she can actually clock out before 3am.
“Keep your cool,” I urge myself, double-checking every tiny detail.
It looks perfect, exactly as I’d imagined. All I can hope is that she likes it. After years of training myself to become numb to other peoples’ opinions—it’s a necessity when your life is lived out under the spotlight—it’s a novel experience to feel nervousness like this. I can’t remember the last time I cared about what someone else thought as much as I do right now.
Then I see her through the slightly misted windows, and the tightness in my chest releases. Her hair billows in the wind as she knocks on the door. She’s wearing it down with a gingham pink ribbon, a few of her curls escaping around the sides of it. On anyone else, the mustard colored coat, navy dress, lilac tights and boots she has on wouldn’t work together, but she makes anything look stylish.
“Delilah!” I open the door to the bakery. “You came.”
She manages a small smile. “It looks that way.”
“Come in.” I step aside to let her through before locking up behind her. “It can be hard to go out places without cameras following me, so I thought we could have an indoor picnic here.”
One of her onyx brows arches. “You rented out the whole bakery for the night? Just for us?”
“That’s not all.” My excitement brews as I lead her into the belly of the bakery. The lights in the front of the store are dimmed, but I asked Dora to leave the lights on in the back so Delilah can choose whatever she likes. The counter is full, so we’re surrounded by stacks of mouthwatering pastries, expertly shaped breads, bulging doughnuts, thick slices of pie, and gorgeous layered cakes. Despite all of the amazing aromas, her scent is the best of all. I gesture around. “You can eat whatever you like.”
“There’s so much food here.” She gawps, shifting on her feet. I silently pat myself on the back for asking Dora to make doublethe amount of all of Delilah’s favorites. “You could have just bought a few things.”
“I wanted to do something special for you.” After everything I’ve put her through, I want to spoil her and make sure she wants for nothing. No one deserves to be treated like a queen more than her.
I beckon her beyond the counter to show her what else I have planned.
“Wow.” Her eyes widen, surveying the scene. “This is…”
Dora and I stashed away most of the appliances, covering every spare surface in candles. I lost count after I lit the hundredth one, but they’re romantic. Right? God, I hope she likes it. I even brought in a small table and chairs so we have somewhere nice to sit down. I didn’t want to risk sitting out front in case passersby stopped to peer through the windows.
“This isn’t even the best part!” My whole body tingles as I head back into the main part of the bakery where the menu boards are. This is what I’ve been looking forward to showing her most. “Close your eyes.”
“Jagger…” Her canine plunges into her bottom lip. “This is already too much.”
“Come on,” I plead. “This is the last part of my surprise, then we can eat as much cake as we’d like.”
When she closes her eyes, I flick the switch behind the counter with a flourish. The special light box hums into life, the bright pink neon light illuminating her gorgeous face. The old, weathered sign that used to read “Springflour Bakery” and was barely readable has been taken down, replaced by a sparkling new sign that says “Delilah’s.”
“Open them!”
When she opens her eyes, her hands fly to her mouth. “Y-y-you bought the bakery?”
“And named it after you,” I declare proudly. “I know how much you love this place.”
Instead of being happy, Delilah’s bottom lip trembles. Is she about to cry tears of happiness? She averts her gaze from the sign to the floor, her shoulders hunching as if she’s crumpling into herself. Even her sweet scent turns more acidic, hitting my nostrils in a warning that makes my inner alpha recoil.
