Page 16 of Baby for My Ex's Brother

“You’ve mentioned.”

“I’m going to keep mentioning it.”

The bell above the door announces Mike, who comes in carrying a box of inventory he picked up from the supplier. He sets the box down, looks between us, and says, “Did something happen? Why does Cherry look like that?”

“I’m perfect. What are you talking about?” Cherry asks.

“You look like you did when you found out they were making another Scream movie.”

“Luna had an adventure last night,” Cherry says.

Mike looks at me with genuine interest. “Did the revenge work?”

“Oh, it worked.”

“Nice.” He picks up the box again. “I’ll put these in the back.” He disappears, and Cherry and I listen to him moving things around, and then Cherry leans forward again.

“Call him,” she says.

“I don’t have his number.”

“Get his number and call him.”

“I don’t think that’s—Cherry, it was one night. He was very clear that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement?—”

“And then he took you back to his penthouse and kept you until morning.”

I open my mouth. Then close it. She does have a point.

“Call him,” she says again, and picks up her coffee with the air of a woman who has rendered her verdict and considers the matter settled.

I do not call him. I reorganize the wax inventory, which needed doing anyway, and I rearrange the front display, which did not need doing but gives my hands something to do. I help a customer who wants something for her bathroom and ends up leaving with three candles and a room spray, and I eat the borscht-adjacent contents of Darya’s container for lunch.

I actively try not to think about the fact that I’m eating food sent by the housekeeper of a man I slept with and will probably not see again. Which is fine. It was a one-night stand. My first one ever. Not seeing him after is a part of the protocol, isn’t it?

At two-fifteen, there’s a ringing sound I can’t find the source of. We’re all hunting it down, until Mike asks, “Is that the landline?”

“We have a landline?” Cherry asks.

I blink at her and run for the phone on the back counter. It’s buried beneath tissue paper and price tag rolls, but I get to it in time. “Ambrose Candles, Luna speaking.”

“Luna.” The voice is low and even, and at this point, I’d recognize it anywhere. My entire nervous system does something it has no business doing in the middle of a Saturday afternoon shift. “This is Ivan Fedorov.”

Cherry, across the shop, mouths something at me.

I turn my back to her, focusing on the conversation. “I know. There aren’t many people who call the landline.”

“Well, I didn’t get a number.”

“You looked up my work number.”

“I did.”

I’m not sure why I find that charming. “That’s very?—”

“I have a business event next Friday. An evening gala. My usual associate is unavailable, and I would like your company.”

I’m aware of Cherry behind me with the force of a small weather system. “Tell him yes. Whatever it is.”