Page 106 of Sweet Surrender

“Baker’s hours,” I tease.

“Seems fitting.” He hisses as his coffee burns his tongue. “Dinner at home tonight? Together?”

I falter in taking a sip. That’s the first time he’s asked something like that. “You’re not meeting up with the guys to write?”

“Are you telling me you don’t want to have dinner with me, Cookie? I mean, I’m a man. I can take it if so, but my ego’s going to be a little bruised.”

“No. That’s not . . . I just figured that’s who you’re normally with. Since you’re writing new material.” I try and talk my way out of sounding like a jilted lover jealous of his bandmates. That wasn’t my intention. My comment was more reflexive at his surprising request.

“True, but tonight I want to eat with you. I’ll even cook.”

I level him with a dubious look. “You? Cook?”

His grin is lightning quick. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“I’m well aware.”

We stare at each other across the distance. Our smiles are wide but the look we exchange holds a quiet acceptance that we’re slipping into different territory? That this has gone from a contract to friendship? That we enjoy each other’s company outside of the twisted sheets?

I don’t know but it’s doing funny things to my insides and catching me off guard.

“Yes. I’d like to have dinner with you. I don’t know how late I’ll be though.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.” He raps his knuckles on the counter. “Have a good day at work.”

I take my first sip of coffee as my head spins from the whirlwind that is Jase Gizmodo.

“Oh, and Cookie?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” I look after his very fine ass walking down the hallway.

“You look sexy as hell in my shirt. Make sure to have that on later when we get home.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Gizmo

My daily check-in with Sammy told me she was going to be exhausted when she finally got home.

An endless line of customers. Some media trying to sneak its way in the bakery and score an interview with her. Fangirls hanging out in the alley hoping for who knows what with her.

I swear she’d rather walk barefoot over broken glass than ask for help. That’s going to change, starting with tonight.

With me doing this for her. Because my world she’s stepped into is a lot for anyone to handle, especially for someone not used to this life like I am. So when she walks in the door in a bit—her shoulders tight with tension, her usual fire dulled by the weight and stress of the day—I know tonight’ll be just what the doctor ordered.

Relaxation without any strings attached.

And yeah, maybe that comes in the form of me ordering her favorite takeout, but still, the effort is there.

As are the ideas I have in mind to keep this growth sustainable for her once I’m out of the picture. The uptick in customers is great for her now, but how does she sustain this when all is said and done? What will make her stand out from the other cookie bakeries in town?

I’m working on it. I have thoughts about it. I just need to figure out how to put them in motion.

Her headlights hitting the windows tells me she’s home and draws me away from my wandering thoughts and back into the conversation happening against my ear.

“Hey, I have to go, Hendrix is home.”

“Okay.” Nathaniel draws the word out, curiosity tingeing its edges, but doesn’t ask anything more. “Like I said, things are looking good. Judge Watkins likes what he’s seeing and is buying the ruse. Keep it up and he’ll feel more comfortable lifting the travel restriction.”