As she poured a mug, she took a moment to breathe, allowing the steam and aroma to soothe her frayed nerves. The normalcy of the kitchen helped even her out. Emily moved among her team, issuing quiet instructions, adjusting, tasting, and the staff responded without hesitation.
It was structured and organized. Everyone had a role, and everything had its place. All the things her personal life was not.
Julia breathed a little deeper. Maybe she’d move in here.
She was halfway through this week’s invoices and her single-shot caramel macchiato—a lifesaving fringe benefit—when Emily came in and leaned in the doorway.
“So,” she said casually, “did you get what you needed last night?”
Startled, Julia jerked hard enough that hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug. She grabbed a handful of napkins, dabbing at the spill. Only then did she glance up, stammering. “I—uh—what?”
“The urgent shopping trip,” Emily said. “The one that outranked tequila and tacos. That’s serious business.”
Julia huffed a short laugh, still dabbing at the counter. “Yeah. Well. A girl’s gotta have a couch.”
She hated to lie, but she wasn’t about to admit she’d gone to a meat market trying to forget. From her expression, Em wasn’t buying it. Their girls’ nights were practically sacred.
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“See what?”
“The couch you bought,” she said pointedly.
“Oh. I, uh, didn’t see anything I liked.” The lies kept snowballing. She should have known better. “I’ll have to keep looking.”
“Mm… You’re awfully jumpy this morning,” Emily observed.
“Am I?” Julia tossed the soggy napkins into the trash.
“Maybe you should ease off the caffeine.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Julia shot back. “You know me. Fifty percent of my blood is caffeine.”
Emily didn’t smile. Just watched her. Which was worse.
Julia turned to the invoices again, aware she was talking too much, moving too fast, doing everything she never did, and not well.
Nice going. Real subtle. Say you’re trying to hide something without saying you’re trying to hide something.
A stool scraped beside her as Emily sat. “Talk to me.”
“The Jamison wedding is going to be over budget.”
“You know that isn’t what I mean. You haven’t been to the club in a while. Maybe it’s time. And don’t tell me you’re fine,” Emily added quietly. “You look exhausted.”
Em was her best friend because she was sweet, kind, and caring. She could also be blunt, but in this she wasn’t wrong.
Julia sank into her chair with a resigned sigh. She spoke in a softer voice, too low for the others working on desserts at the prep table to hear. “I’m submissive. Not a masochist.”
“We have over 200 members,” Emily reminded her. “Leland Hale isn’t the only single dom.”
“I’ve been busy,” she replied too quickly.
Emily arched a brow. “Couch shopping?”
Julia released a breath, somewhere between a laugh and something else.
“It’s been what? Eight weeks? Those needs, and I don’t mean”—she dropped her voice and mostly mouthed—“sex. I’m new to this life, Jules, but not to the feelings. I know what it’s like to not have it for years. You can bury it in work and shopping, but it doesn’t go away.”
