“I’m about to…Ash!”
“Make another mess for me to clean up,” I purred, pinching her nipple. “Please, Angel.”
She came then, reaching her peak, and I had no choice but to follow. I buried myself to the hilt, my face in her neck, my arm banded tightly around her waist, and filled her, groaning her name into her skin. She pushed back against me as if trying to deepen the connection between us. We were one. Whole. Perfect.
A soft, beautiful hum of satisfaction left her, and I smiled against her skin. “Yeah,” I murmured. “I know.”
“Would it be too much to ask for you to start my days off like that every morning?” she whispered.
“I’ll give you whatever you want. The entire world if you asked for it,” I promised, lifting my head. She twisted her neck, finding my eyes as she hooked her hand around the back of mine.
“You, Ash. I just want you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Angel
Marg set her coffee mug down gently, as if she was doing everything in her power to not make an unnecessarysound. Her office wasn’t colorful today. It hadn’t been since that last shift with Felix. I looked over to the vanilla extract stain on the wall, picturing the last time we were here together. How scared I’d been by his offer and how confident he was in me.
What I wouldn’t give for just an ounce of his quiet but steady reassurance, a firm pat on my back, and a nod of approval. The kind he used to give me after tasting something new I’d made for the dessert or brunch menu.
But I would never have that again.
None of us would.
My hands folded together in my lap, and I pressed down, forcing them to stay still.
“Sheriff Humbly stopped by my house this morning,” Marg said, finally breaking the silence we’d been sitting in for over half an hour.
“Any updates?”
“Just that Felix’s friend Jonathan returned home last night. Michael said he is no longer a suspect.”
“Frankly, Marg, I don’t see how he ever was. There was no motive,” I replied, swallowing the lump in my throat.
She clicked her tongue, leaning back in her seat. “Two murders within weeks of each other. In my hometown,” she whispered, her voice distant. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
The question was burning on the tip of my tongue. “Do you think Joann’s murder is connected to his?”
“No, dear, I don’t.” She paused, looking at the photo of her husband at the corner of her desk. “There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t wish he were here. I have so much to tell my sweet Andy, and the longer time goes on, the more I find myself needing his guidance.”
I nodded.
Her eyes flicked up to me, and she pulled off her reading glasses, letting them fall around her neck, the beads of thenecklace shifting. “Andy would know what to do, but me? I’m at a loss.” When I didn’t say anything, she waved her hands about. “He was the one who took care of all this. When I first told him I wanted to own a restaurant by the sea, we were sixteen and bursting with dreams. I expected him to brush it off, but he didn’t.” She looked back to the picture. “He spent the next few summers working two jobs while I was in culinary school, saving up. When this place went on the market, we jumped. I was scared. Oh, my dear, I couldn’t tell you how scared I was. If he hadn’t taken my hand and told me we could do this, I wouldn’t be here, behind this desk, looking at the beautiful and brilliant young chef I want to take over for me.”
“Marg,” I gasped, my chest deflating.
She smiled. It was small and didn’t meet her eyes, but there was warmth in them that washed over me like a warm summer’s rain.
“I’m just a pastry chef.” I shook my head and gestured to her desk. “I’m not a restaurant owner.”
“No, you’re not.” She leaned forward. “But you could be, in time.”
Fighting back the urge to laugh, I said, “I was still on the fence about taking Felix’s place.” Her smile faded. “I’m not creative enough to come up with a new menu biweekly. It takes me three weeks to figure out a new dessert menu. The lemon delight we have featured? I planned that back in May. It’s August.”
“Yes, I am aware of the month. Thank you, dear,” she sighed, tipping her head back to the ceiling.
I winced. “I’m not saying that I’m not honored. I am. Truly. But I’m not the person for the job.”
