Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
She says all that like it’s normal to show up with a box of baked goods after we slept together a month ago. “Breads?” I ask.
Chloe glances down at the box, then back up at me, apologetic, but also…upbeat. Like she has a plan to win me over. “I thought it’d be nice. You know, since we’re both starting something here,” she says, smiling.
Here? What are we starting? What is she even talking about? “You brought me bread.” My voice goes flat as I reach for the box, warily, unsure if I want to touch it but knowing I have to.
“Well, not just for you. Anyone here. It’s just a nice gesture.” She’s floundering. “Unless you’re gluten-free. Are you? Because if so, I should’ve thought of an alternative. But you ate bread that night…”
Holy shit. She remembers everything. The bread. The fries. The stupid speech I gave about avocado toast. It was one night. And she’s held on to all those details and gleaned all sorts of new ones. My full name, my location, and…what else?
Maybe I dodged a bullet by her disappearing act that morning. Except…nope. She didn’t disappear at all. She fucking waited to reappear.
I flick at the box, like it’s a bomb I need to defuse by opening it very slowly. I lift a corner and my blood goes cold. “This is…coconut bread,” I hiss.
“It sounded good,” she says, her voice rising an octave.
“Coconut,” I repeat, like it’s poison. I can’t believe she’s here, with something she knows I like. No, love. This is not how I pictured running into her again. Not one bit. What the hell is happening?
“But you like coconut,” she says, clearly confused.
No shit. I told her everything—and now she’s just showing up with my favorite things? My chest feels tight, like I’m in a straitjacket. My gaze lands on her shirt. Light blue. The color of the dress I bought her. She planned every detail, down to her clothes. This isn’t a morning-after breakfast. This is a sneak attack, weaponized by pastries and color.
“That blue,” I say, like it’s the evidence at a crime scene. “It’s…”
But I can’t even finish. She knows. She dressed in the color I said looked good on her. She brought the food I love. And now she’s…what? Trying to seduce me into another date by showing up at my place of business unannounced?
She blinks, shakes her head, then resets, pasting on a fresh smile, like she keeps a dozen of them in her pocket. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Chloe Rivers, and I’m going to be working in the space I just leased.”
I step back, choking out the words. “You leased the space?”
“Obviously,” she says, frowning.
I drag a hand down my face. Zuri said she’d leased the training nook to someone local. A dog trainer. But this? This is the woman who took a photo of my ID and then…looked me up, tracked me from San Francisco, and rented space in my building. I narrow my eyes. “Is that why you took a photo of my license?”
“What?” Her eyes go wide. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“Is that why you did it? So you could…what? Find out where I was setting up shop? Lease a space in the same building? Be close to me?”
She’s still for a long, quiet beat. The silence is long enough for me to wonder if I’ve gotten this wrong somehow. If I’ve twisted everything in the wrong direction. Confusion, then disappointment, flashes in those pretty hazel eyes. But the flecks of green in them are on fire. In a calm but deadly tone she asks, “Are you serious?”
“You did take a photo of my license,” I point out.
“Yes,” she says, her voice lethal. “Because I was going to a room with a stranger in a hotel, and maybe I wanted to make sure my friends could find you if you turned out to be a murderer!”
The words hit me like a slap. Of course that’s why she did it. “Sure, I know that’s important, but—”
“But,” she continues, cutting me off with a ferocity that’s scarily sexy. “Know this, Mister Biggest Ego I’ve Ever Seen. I deleted it the next day.” She stabs her finger against the counter to make her point. “Didn’t save your name. Didn’t google you. Didn’t stalk you. I don’t even know what your last name is! And before you even think it, mister—I’m not pregnant. So don’t even ask.”
She’s a mind reader. “I didn’t ask,” I say. Thank fuck.
“The fact that you think I actually took a photo of your license just in case you might someday open a dog daycare in my town says more about you than me.”
I swallow uncomfortably as a morsel of shame courses through me. But I dig my heels in. Because…she’s here. I hold my hands out wide. “What else am I supposed to think?”