Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
It wouldn’t normally be a negative, but I’d much rather act out some fantasies with my sexy little baker than eat potato salad in a hundred-and-three-degree temps.
“Baylor?”
“Yeah?”
She smiles, but the emotion dancing around her irises tells me she knows where I disappeared to. When she crosses the room, I open the oven to set the pan inside, closing it right after. She doesn’t rush away. In fact, she comes closer than she’s been all afternoon and rubs her hand along my side. “I think you were inviting me to stay with you tonight. Or am I making that up?”
Her mom’s voice travels through the crack of the swinging door from the front of the store, where she’s been serving customers while we bake. It’s a reminder that pushes Lauralee to move away from me.
“Not making it up,” I reply in a lowered voice, not wanting her mom to hear us talking. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”
Her smile grows, but she still tries to temper it. “How would we do that?”
“Easy. We just come back together, and you stay.”
Glancing at the door and then back at me, she leans forward. “No, I mean, what would I tell my mom since she knows it’s rented out? That kind of forces me to stay at home.”
I lean forward, wanting to kiss her, but whisper, “You tell her you’re a twenty-nine-year-old woman, and you’re having a sleepover with me tonight.”
“Ironic because every time I’m with you, there’s no sleep involved.”
“You can tell her we’re having sex, if you prefer.”
She bursts out laughing. “Um, no, thank you. That’s not a conversation I’m up for having tonight or any other time, for that matter.”
“Look,” I say, resting down on my forearms, which puts me almost eye level with her standing. “I want to see you and spend time with you. Whether that’s in the bedroom or outside of it, I want that. It’s a busy weekend for you, so I understand that you don’t have a lot of time to give. But if you find yourself with a few spare minutes or want to stay over, I’ll help however I can.”
Her eyes glisten under the fluorescents of the kitchen. No tears, but sincerity shadows them as if they weren’t already the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. She leans on her forearms, bringing her so close that our hands touch. “Okay, since you’re being all charming and everything, you’re going to have to sneak me out, Greene. You up for the task?”
“I’m up for anything that includes time with you.” She stands when the door pushes in just the slightest. Looking to make sure the coast is clear, she turns back to me and says, “If I go to the ranch with you, I still need to frost these before ten a.m. Frosting goes quickly, but five hundred is still a lot.”
“Like I told your mom,” I say, straightening my spine to my full height and swinging my arms out. “Beck and call, baby.”
She briefly eyes the oven behind me and comes around, stopping next to me. Looking up, she whispers, “You’re quite the surprise, Baylor.”
“In a good way?”
“Unfortunately for me, in a terribly charming way.” She moves closer to the oven to spy on the cupcakes through the glass window.
“I wouldn’t call it unfortunate.”
Turning back, she looks at me over her shoulder while slipping oven mitts on her hands. “Me either.” God, I love the way she blushes for me. “After this batch comes out, I can freshen up, and we can head out.”
I nod toward the door. “I can take care of it if you want to go ahead.”
She reaches for the bow at the waist of her apron and tugs the tails. “You sure?”
“Yep. I have it handled.” Checking the timer, I add, “Six minutes and we’re golden.”
“Okay. It’s going to be a late night, though. I really do have to frost some of the cupcakes, and I’ll need to clean this mess.”
“We got it covered.”
“Thanks.” She pushes through the door to the front of the store.
I can hear her and Peaches talking, but it’s muffled, so I don’t know what they're saying. When she returns, though, she’s smiling as she passes through the kitchen to the back door. “My mom is going to close the shop. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll be here.”
As soon as she leaves, the timer goes off. I won’t be responsible for ruining a batch, so I’m quick to pull them out of the oven and put them on the cooling rack. The place is a mess, so I try to do what I can, turning off the ovens, dusting the flour off the counters into the trash, and then finding a rag to wet and wipe them down. It’s not the best job, and probably not one Lauralee would approve of, but I hope she’ll appreciate the effort.