Page 40 of Holding Penalty

Probably why I was able to convince myself to stay with Crew for as long as I did.

A sad feeling hits me, tugging down the edges of my mouth. Now I really need that sugary pick-me-up. Sure enough, when I bite into the Danish, I feel better.

I’m always happy when we happen to get a rush of customers right after a batch of pastry leaves the oven, so they get eaten at their best. That’s exactly what happens, and the next hour is a whirlwind of helping Kate deal with the steady stream of customers.

I’ve been in a good mood all day. Now that I know I’m getting my inheritance, pretty soon I’ll own this place. It’ll be mine. It won’t get sold and risk being bought by some investment group that wants to gut it and turn it into who knows what.

The beautiful tiled floors, the old wooden order counter, the ornately carved display case, the plants living on the windowsills, all the things about this place that I’ve grown to love, they’re not going anywhere. This bakery will be my own, for good.

Just six months of being married on paper to Nash, and I’ll have the business I’ve always dreamed of.

We get less busy as the afternoon gets late. Kate’s shift ends, and I’m holding down the bakery alone until closing time. After about ten minutes with no customers, I decide to step outside and get some air. The AC is starting to make me chilly, and it looks like the heat outside isn’t quite as bad as it was at the height of the afternoon.

I breathe a sigh of pleasure when the balmy sunshine hits my chilled, AC-prickled skin.

We’ve got a great location on South Lamar Boulevard in Austin. There’s a small parking lot in front of the store to pull in commuters driving by, and it’s also easy for the residents in the houses and new apartments spread out behind the highway to walk to us.

If there’s one thing I’d change about this place, maybe I’d like to build an addition onto the building and make it a seating area. Maybe then expand our hours so that people have a place to get a coffee and a snack and relax outside of their homes later in the evening.

A truck pulls in from the road, and my heart climbs into my throat when I notice the paint job.

I really don’t know why the sight of Nash stepping out of his truck is so hot. I’ve seen literally thousands of people exit vehicles in my life and never once thought it was something erotic. But something about seeing Nash’s denim-clad legs swing out of a pickup truck …

“Out for your smoke break?” Nash quips.

I bark a laugh, taken aback by Nash making a joke. “I do not smoke, Nash Miller,” I chide, folding my arms over my apron.

“Not anymore, maybe. I remember you used to indulge.”

“Only when I was drunk at a college party, which doesn’t count.”

“Still open?” Nash steps onto the sidewalk in front of the store. A crisp, woodsy scent hits my nose, and my blood pumps a little harder.

“Yep, for the next two hours.”

Nash glances to make sure there’s no one else in earshot. “Good. If this bakery is worth marrying me for, I need to see how good these pastries are.”

“Nash Miller eating anything other than baked chicken and brown rice when the hockey season is about to start? I’m shocked. Scandalized, even.”

He winks—the bastard winks, and it’s enough to melt my panties—while he grabs the door and holds it open for me. “For my wife’s baking, I’ll make an exception.”

“That’s not exactly the only reason I came,” he says while I step behind the counter to fill his order.

Maybe he came to fill me up in another way, the less restrained part of my brain whispers. But the more restrained part of my brain keeps me from imagining getting bent over one of the surfaces in here. Unfortunately, this is one marriage that’s better left unconsummated. It’ll be a lot simpler that way.

“Oh?” I ask.

“Can you come to an event with me? It’s a charity banquet thing the team owner is throwing. He invited us, and I kind of think it would look weird if I declined. It’s not going to be a regular thing or anything.”

The thought of spending a fancy evening with my fake husband makes me a little too excited. “Sure, that’s fine. I mean, we should probably be seen in public together a little bit, right?”

“Exactly,” Nash agrees. “Maybe next week we should do a regular night out, too. Just dinner at a popular restaurant where a lot of people will see us. Two high-profile public sightings should give us cover to lay low for a while after that.”

Nash nods as he looks into the display case. A thoughtful expression settles over him, but something tells me it’s not from pondering over what to order.

“Has he tried to see you?” Nash asks.

“Crew, you mean?”