Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I just lean back against the counter and watch her work. A lock of cinnamon-red hair falls over her face and she tucks it back impatiently.
“Tell me about it,” I demand.
Junie purses her lips as she skewers the lobsters and lowers them into water. “I hate this part,” she says. “It just feels a little cruel.”
“They’re perfectly dead, woman. I’m not quite the monster you think I am.”
She smiles quietly and I wait for more.
“Sometimes I just wonder if I’m like these lobsters. You know? Struggling along before I’m caught and plunged into boiling water and—” She bites her lip and looks down at the pot.
I shove back the urge to take her in my arms. That isn’t what she needs right now. “You’re talking about the store?”
“I’ve always loved baking, ever since I was a little kid. I used to bake with my mom, and after she died, with Nana. It’s always been in my blood.” She shrugs and turns around, peeling potatoes with stiff shoulders. “I helped out with the store right from the beginning and I fell in love with baking. But now I’m its owner, and…”
“And the water’s boiling,” I finish.
The corner of her mouth tightens. “I’ve never had Nana’s head for business. I try, but there are so many things beyond my control, so much I still don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, the money has helped massively so we don’t sink. But it’s just a lucky windfall. At the end of the day, the store needs to drive business and make money on its own. I may be richer, but I still don’t know where to go, Dex.”
“Hey.” I step forward, running a hand down her back. She doesn’t look up, though her weight shifts so she’s leaning on me. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
“I know.”
“Have another drink.” I kiss her neck, loving the shiver that runs through her. “We’ll talk about it over dinner. I’ve still got that report I made for you. There are a few directions you could go, depending on what you’d prefer.”
She blinks rapidly and her peeler stills. “Thanks, Dex.”
“You haven’t heard my suggestions yet.”
“No, but… It’s just nice, having someone on my side for once. Nana’s amazing, but she always wants to move in and take over if she even thinks I’m stumbling. Sometimes I’m just venting, not asking for advice or for her to come rushing to my rescue.” She sighs. “God, listen to me. Cooking lobster and complaining about owning a business at twenty-four.”
Enough.
I curl both hands around her waist until she’s locked against me.
That insane heat she breathes into my blood roars again, and I do my best to ignore it. “Give yourself some credit, Junie. The point is you’re succeeding.”
“Well, yeah. Maybe for now.” She pauses and doesn’t move again for more than a minute. “Dex…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m trying to concentrate and not flub my first go at lobster.”
Fuck, that reluctant rasp in her voice is so devastating. I could turn her around and take her right here.
But she’s right—we probably should eat sometime tonight, and she deserves a chance to prep her first lobster without making it an overcooked mess, even if all I want to do is forget the damn dinner, bend her over, and—
“Sorry,” I whisper, retreating to the island where my wine waits.
She resumes cooking, her brow adorably knit together as she concentrates.
I work on mincing garlic to take my mind off all the sinful things I could do to her while we’re waiting. As we make the food, we talk about little memories.
Flying kites in the park with my brothers when we were kids.
Junie riding her bike down the street, already delivering cupcakes and other deadly sugar payloads to customers when she was just ten years old.
Summer trips with her grandma and aunts and more extended family than I can remember across the state and then down the Mississippi, all the way to New Orleans.
We don’t touch on our parents and I’m fine with that. Now isn’t the time to dive into heavy shit.
Finally, when the lobster looks succulent and the potatoes are whipped, I refill our glasses as we sit down at the kitchen island. It’s strange how warm the dining room feels with another person when I’m so used to eating alone.
“To your stay at the Chateaux Rory,” I say, holding up my glass. “However long it turns out to be.”
Not nearly fucking long enough, a voice growls in my head.
Smiling, she clinks her glass on mine, then glances down at her plate.
Lobster and garlic butter with whipped potatoes and a Persian Shirazi salad I threw together. It’s a restaurant worthy meal, yet she doesn’t look pleased.
“Something wrong with the grub?”
“Huh?” Her attention snaps back to me. “No, sorry, I was just thinking about… you know, the store. What else?”