Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
My fingers freeze on the pastry bag I'm holding, the pressure causing frosting to ooze out the sides. Is he going to scold me for how I spoke with him last night? I almost laugh.
“Welcome to Cyanide & Sugar,” Karian chirps, professional as ever despite the intimidating presence filling our small shop.
Hella's eyes sweep the bakery, passing over me like I'm part of the wallpaper. No recognition. No acknowledgement of having me against the wall just hours ago.
“Nice place,” Beast rumbles, his gaze assessing the display case while I try to regulate my breathing.
I move to the counter, wiping my hands on my apron. “What can I get you?”
Beard Guy peers at our chalkboard menu, brow furrowed. “What the fuck is a 'Nancy and her Bestie Hazel'?”
“Hazelnut chocolate chip cookie sandwich with Nutella filling,” I answer smoothly, as if my heart isn't pounding against my ribs. “Very popular.”
“And 'Carols on the Highway'?” Shaved Head asks, looking genuinely puzzled.
“Rum-soaked fruitcake with bourbon glaze,” I explain. “It'll hit you bad.”
“Already got plenty,” Hella speaks for the first time, his voice hitting me like a physical touch. His eyes finally meet mine, a hint of amusement playing at the corners. “Don't I know you from somewhere?”
Bastard. He knows exactly who I am.
I keep my expression neutral. “I don't think so.”
“You sure?” His lips curl into that same smirk from last night. “You look... familiar.”
Beast interrupts, pointing to the cinnamon rolls I just finished glazing. “Four. And coffee. Black.”
I nod, grateful for the distraction, but knowing this can't be why they're here. “Coming right up.”
As I turn to grab the rolls, I hear Beard Guy mutter, “These names are fucking weird, man.”
“It's a theme,” Hella replies, voice low but clear enough for me to hear. “Place is called 'Cyanide & Sugar,' after all.”
Karian's slides next to me, grabbing cups for coffee.
“You okay?” she whispers.
“Fine,” I mutter back. “Just love having my bakery critiqued by guys who probably think culinary art is opening a beer with their teeth.”
She stifles a laugh. “At least they can't figure out the names. Wait till they try ordering a 'Bonnie without the Clyde.'“
“Or a 'Vera Cupcake,'“ I add, feeling some tension release as we share a quiet laugh.
I arrange the cinnamon rolls in a box, watching Hella from the corner of my eye. He leans against the counter like he belongs there, muscles evident under his tight black t-shirt. The memory of those arms pinning me flashes behind my eyes.
I slide the box across to Beast with my most professional smile. It's probably close to my fuck you smile, but they won't know the difference. “Anything else today?”
Hella's eyes lock on mine but the corner of his lip curls in a smirk that screams you're going to want to punch me. “Maybe something sweet for later?”
The double meaning hangs between us.
“Everything here is sweet,” I reply coolly. “That's kind of the point.”
Beast hands over cash, and I make change without breaking eye contact with Hella. His smirk deepens, knowing exactly what game we're playing.
I'm not giving him the satisfaction.
“Mmm, maybe.” His smirk deepens. “But I bet your number would send me into a sugar coma.”
The cheesy line nearly topples me, but I maintain my composure. “Well,” I gesture toward the neon sign glowing on the wall behind me in that not-quite-pink, not-quite-red hue. “Or an actual coma.”
Hella winks, flipping his cap backwards as the bearded one and shaved head one laugh their way out the door. As soon as they're out of earshot, Beast turns to me.
“When it comes to Yana, Melissa? Stay out of it.”
I stare at him. Blinking. “You're joking.”
He shifts his stance. “Nah, I don't joke. I also don't give a fuck what you think about me, or her, but if you step up to me like that again? I won't be so fucking gentle. You hear?”
“Cool!” I perch my hip, holding his stare. “Is that all?”
Something flashes behind his eyes. Surprise, maybe? Hate? Probably.
The corner of his lip twitches. “Thanks for the subtle little killer cakes.” Was that a smile?
“Wait!”
He stops just shy of the door.
“If you hurt her, because I know you're going to, I don't care how big you are. A point five O will cut right through all that bulky muscle.”
He shakes his head, throwing up deuces. “Bye, Melissa.”
I flash my teeth. “Have a good day!”
As soon as they've gone, I collapse onto one of the textured ivory chairs that completes our minimalistic vibe.
Peter squeezes my shoulders from behind. I tense, then flash him a warm smile from below. “So which one was it?”
My mouth spreads in that guilty way that says I've been up to no good. “The one with the backwards cap and the dimple that has no business being on a face that... hard.” I shrug, swiping my Stanley. “Also, obviously suffers from memory loss.”