Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Smiling, naturally.
It’s the first time we’ve seen him since the wedding. He’s been out of town for business this past week, though he congratulated us online.
Gage unlocks the door and lets him in.
“The Mr. and Mrs.” Felix beams, and the man couldn’t be happier we’re hitched. You’d think he was a matchmaker or something and we were his prize clients. “You must have really wanted to get married.”
“We sure did,” Gage says, upbeat and telling the truth, though leaving out a crucial detail. We have an enemy who wanted to tell you that we’ve been lying to you.
My stomach twists. The fact that Gage and I legit like each other is irrelevant. We lied, bold and bald-faced, to snag this coveted property.
And we’re raking in the business thanks to trendsetters coming here.
“We did,” I echo but I feel hollow. Guilty. Gage squeezes my waist, maybe a sign for me to perk up.
Felix strokes his beard, his eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to add another day. Maybe Sunday?”
I grimace privately, but before we can answer, his phone rings.
“Be right back,” he says.
As Felix steps into the courtyard, I turn to Gage with some hesitation over adding a day.
I’m relieved his expression matches mine.
Uncertainty.
It’s written all over his face.
“I don’t want to take time away from…the girls,” I confess.
“Same here,” he says and I’m so grateful to be on the same page.
“But I have another idea.” It starts as a kernel but quickly, a few minutes later, it’s fully formed.
The next Sunday, we’re in the shop with the girls in their aprons for the Sunday Special Edition: Hot Cocoa and Grandma’s Chocolate Chip Cookies.
And it’s open to families.
33
SOMETHING, SOMEONE
Gage
Over the next few weeks, we fall into a surprisingly easy routine. School, the occasional fall softball practice, taking Amanda to ceramics class and Eliza to karate. The four of us spend Thanksgiving together, eating at Grams’ house and having too much food and too much fun. Amanda is right—the sides are the best part.
So are dinners at our so-called vacation home when I’m not at the bar.
And I’m not always at the bar.
Sticks and Stones is busier than it was before—a lot busier thanks to the word of mouth from Special Edition—but I’m able to hire a couple new servers and an extra bartender, while Zoe and Grams handle managing the place when I’m not around.
Like, when I’m having dinner with the women in my life. My temporary life.
I try not to think about the looming end date too much because this—life as I know it—is too good.
One morning in December, I wake up next to Elodie in the early dawn, the sky still inky dark, the stars still winking. After slipping out of bed early, I head to my room to pull on running shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. Late fall in San Francisco is never too cold. I’m about to pad out of here quietly but something pulls me back to Elodie’s room.
Something.
Please.
More like someone. Someone I’m addicted to. Someone I can’t resist.
Elodie’s curled up under the white duvet looking devilishly angelic with her blonde hair spilled across the pillow, all mussed up from sex last night. I head to her, dropping a kiss to her cheek, murmuring devotions against her skin. “Thanks for taking Eliza to school,” I say.
“I haven’t seen you run since that first night at the shop,” she muses. “When you took off for chocolate.”
“I work out, woman.”
She turns toward me, smiles sleepily, eyes roaming up and down. “I’m aware of that. It’s just usually at the gym.”
There’s a gym right next to the bar, and I try to get in quick workouts before work though sometimes I work out in my brother’s gym. But today I’m taking off for a rare morning run with a friend. I need to meet Monroe in twenty minutes.
“I appreciate you letting me get this time now,” I say sincerely since she’s taking them to school, and that’s how I have time to run with a friend. It’s a gift to have a little help with parenting.
I come in for one more kiss before I go. As I brush my lips to hers, I catch the taste of her breath—minty fresh. “Did you brush your teeth?”
I know what this means. She loves morning sex but hates morning breath.
She just smiles wickedly my way.
“Fuck,” I groan, then glance at the time. Monroe’s house is ten minutes away.
“It’s okay. I have toys,” she says, a teasing note in her voice, and a delicious image lodged in my brain now. Elodie fucking herself with a dildo.
My nostrils flare. “I’m your fucking toy.”
She casts her gaze down to my shorts. “Then use that toy on me.”
In a nanosecond, I shed my clothes, climb into bed, and slide a hand between her thighs. Silky paradise. “Baby, were you playing with yourself when I was getting dressed?”