Page 33 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

Maybe some of the critics here today will come away from the experience with words likegimmickandtacky.But, if that were me, just seeing the genuine joy on Ryan’s face would change my mind.

I capture everything. The joy of trying one of the pastries for the first time. The expression on a guest’s face when they cross the threshold into the space, their faces lifting up to take in the ceiling before they gasp.

Even though this place is super fancy, I have to admit I like Eorna more. Earthy, earnest. Here, everything feels as if it were placed with a pair of tweezers.

A few hours into the grand opening, I’m entranced by the windows outside the bakery.

Rather than just looking out into the street, the windows themselves act as a sort of terrarium for rare flowers. The noise of the room falls away as I take in the rare blooms and read the descriptions. A coral flower with yellow fringes, named theporcelain rose, a tropical flower with a waxy bloom. It’s dramatic, gorgeous.

Then, an orange firework pincushion with a hundred tiny feelers reaching out. The plaque tells me each petal is actually an individual flower.

There’s one that looks like a shell, or a made bed. Scooping and odd, I can’t stop myself from lining up the shot. Jade vine from the Philippines, a brilliant turquoise mirrored in the color of a pastry inside. Bleeding hearts—which I have seen before—but just as beautiful to me as the others.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh—shit,” I stand up, heart racing, bumping into Ryan, who laughs and steadies me at the elbow. “I’m getting lots of good shots, I just?—”

“I know,” he says, his eyes sparking when I look up and into them. The expression on his face flutters in my chest, then sinks down into my stomach. “Send me the flower pictures, too, please.”

Jesus.

When I say nothing, Ryan holds out a sample to me. “Thought you might like a taste.”

The thought is sweet, and I take the sample ofcroissant rubisin a tiny, crystal cup. The flavor unfurls in my mouth like one of those compact sponges that sayjust add water. It’s every red berry I’ve ever had in my life, something deep, something fresh and sumptuous at once. I thought I’d had a croissant before this. Turns out, I was wrong.

Ryan’s smile spreads over his entire face, and it’s better than the pastry. “You like it.”

My mouth is still watering when I frown at him and lower my voice, “Now I’m going to be hooked on this stuff. And it’s probably like, fifty bucks a pastry.”

He’s clearly surprised, but recovers quickly. “For you?” he’s flirting again, leaning in, tucking a stray strand of hair over my ear. “It’s always on the house.”

“Huh.” It’s all I can manage in response to that.

“Let me buy you a drink after this.” He jerks his chin toward the door, and I nod before I fully realize what I’m doing.

Ryan walks away, melting back into the crowd, and I raise my camera to take a photo of him just before the moment he disappears.

“Welcome to Chez Ryan, where all your dreams willcertainlycome true.”

“Really?” I ask, tilting my head and peeking around him, into the first room—which is, of course, a huge kitchen. “Are the northern lights in here?”

Ryan’s smile doesn’t falter. “Is that your dream? To see the northern lights? We can certainly make that happen.”

Following his lead, I kick off my shoes by the door, feeling suddenly vulnerable in my socks. For the shoot, I wore a pair of plaid slacks and a black blouse. My socks are black, too, and I’m glad he can’t see the tiny hole on the bottom of the left foot.

Maybe I should use some of the money from these big jobs to invest in new socks.

“It’s one of them.” I shoot a sly smile at him and follow him into the kitchen. The lights flicker to life automatically when we enter, and I roll my eyes at the show. When I stop awkwardly at the threshold, he comes close, placing his hands on my shoulders and steering me to a stool along the breakfast bar.

“You’ll sit here,” he says, as he pulls his hands away and rounds the breakfast bar into the kitchen. “I’ll make you a drink, and you can tell me about all those other dreams.”

“Why, are you in the market for some?” I raise an eyebrow and set my camera on the counter next to me, within reach. My hand itches to rest on it, but I tuck them both in my lap so I don’t look like a protective freak.

“What?” Ryan laughs, turning around, unloading ingredients from the fridge onto the counter. “I’m already living my dream, baby. This is everything I ever wanted.”

Thatbabyshould not flutter through me like it does.

Not for the first time today, I think of Travis. Then I think of him leaving me in that hotel room, leaving the country. Maybe it wasn’t just to put space between us, but it sure feels that way.