Page 78 of Sweet Surrender

And that makes me even further behind with my order schedule and with trying to figure out how I’m going to bake extra cookies for the store tomorrow because no doubt, the news will spread and more people will come.

It’s not necessarily a bad problem to have. It’s great actually. I just need to look at it as a little bonus to this whole prelude because when we divorce, no doubt I’ll be dubbed as having the worst cookies in town or some juvenile shit like that.

But by closing time, I’m spent. My hands ache, my back is stiff, and my hair—what’s left of it after I stress-yanked my ponytail loose about a hundred times—is coated in a fine layer of powdered sugar. Or is that flour?

Who knows?

Who cares?

No doubt there will be some pictures of me hitting the internet today and I’ll be far from glamorous in them. The thought bugs me, but then again, isn’t that part of my appeal to Jase? That I’m normal, everyday-ish?

The best part of the day is when I lock the doors and focus on what I need to do without distraction. Finish the damn dog cookies. And maybe drink a glass of wine while doing it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Hendrix

Jase: Need a ride, wife? I hear today was quite the day.

The irritation bubbling in my chest cracks just enough for a laugh to escape.

Of course, he’d be this smug about it. Of course, he wouldn’t care that the media just plastered our faces everywhere. Or that his wife looks like a hot mess—ponytail falling, makeup faded, expression tired—as she works all day. He’s used to this. The stares. The sense of feeling like a caged animal.

The admiration.

Different from what I was on the receiving end of today because it comes with the territory.

I hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard, when another text comes in.

Jase: I come bearing food. Don’t make me eat alone. What will the media write if they see that? He’s bad in bed? She can’t take it all? I mean . . .

Damn him. I crack a smile and some of the exhaustion eases from my shoulders. I look at the cookies all around me. The empty spaces where they were when I started this morning and now need to be replenished. The eggs sitting in the fridge and the flour in its bins waiting for me to take them out and make more. I know what I’m going to do before I even type.

Me: You’re insufferable.

Jase: And yet, you’re gonna say yes.

I sigh, shaking my head and groaning. This is going to put me back even further and yet . . . how can I say no? How can I—

Beep. Beep.

The horn sounds off in the back alley and echoes through the closed security screen door. Before I can even reach it to see what’s going on, Sammy is there opening it for me and looking around.

I will say it’s definitely nice not to have to worry about leaving here at night. For the most part, the neighborhood I’m in is safe, but between the alley, the shady characters that sometimes loiter in it, and now all of Jase’s curious fans, having Sammy here is a definite bonus.

But the thought vanishes when the car comes into view.

Sleek. Black. Expensive.

The passenger-side window rolls down, and there he is—Jase, one arm slung over the steering wheel, his hair a little mussed, like he’s been dragging his fingers through it. The streetlights catch on the ink lining his forearm, the silver glint of his rings.

How is it possible to have forgotten how gorgeous he is? How is it fathomable that I would have ever looked at him and thought he wasn’t my type?

Perfect case of don’t judge a book by its cover.

And in this case, he’s temporarily mine.

He smirks, like he already knows the kind of day I’ve had.