He nods, pushing to his feet. “I think so. That shit sucked. I haven’t thrown up since I was little.” I follow him over to the sink, watching as he splashes some cold water onto his face. He grabs his tooth brush and slicks some toothpaste on it, connecting with my eyes in the mirror. I see his rake down my body. “How was your run?”
“Difficult. I had cupcakes yesterday and paid for it greatly.” I begin stripping out of my sweaty clothes while Reese continues brushing his teeth. “Are you going into work today?”
“No. I took a sick day. I need to go get my car and then I thought maybe I’d watch you bake.” He spits into the sink and rinses off his tooth brush. “If that’s okay with you.”
I smile, tossing my clothes into my hamper. “That’s definitely okay with me. You haven’t watched me bake in a while.” I reach into the shower and turn it on, testing the temperature. “But you’ll have to disappear when I start working on our wedding cake. That is off-limits.”
He steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my body and pulling me against him. His hands splay across my lower abdomen, protectively caressing it. Like he knows without a doubt there’s something in there worth protecting. When I look down to watch, I see the sweat pooling between my breasts. Suddenly grossed out, I try to slip away but his grip tightens. “What are you doing?”
“I’m all sweaty.” I continue to squirm in his arms but freeze when his lips touch my neck.
“I like you sweaty.”
“You like me sweaty when you’re the reason for it.”
“Hmm. Let’s explore that.”
I turn in his arms, staring up at him with disbelief. “Don’t you feel like death? How can you even think about sex right now?”
He shoots me a baffled look. “You’re naked and I’m touching you. But honestly, you could be on the other side of the room in a fucking parka and I’d be thinking about it. I’m always thinking about it. Hangover or not.”
I flatten my hands against his chest and push. “Rain check, handsome.”
“With frosting?”
His request has my insides burning as much as my legs were on that run. We haven’t played around with frosting in a few weeks. Usually, the urge to lick it off me hits him in the middle of us fooling around, sending him sprinting into the kitchen for the ready-made tub I keep on hand for such occasions. He’s too impatient to wait for me to whip up a batch, which he proved when he bent me over my worktop and fucked me while the neglected, half-put-together icing went untouched. That happened a few days after we reconciled. And now, you’ll always find a tub of it in both our fridges.
I shoot him a cheeky grin and nod. At my promise, he drops his arms and returns to the sink, allowing me to finally step into the shower.
The loft is empty when I step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me. I slip into a sundress, one that cinches at my waist, and step into my favorite pair of strappy sandals. After applying some tinted moisturizer and mascara, I blow-dry my hair partially and clip half of it back.
Reese is sitting on a stool pulled up to my worktop, dressed in a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt. He lifts his head at the sound of me coming down the stairs, the apple turnover he’s about to bite into stopping inches from his mouth. I grab my apron off the hook by my shelving unit and slip it over my neck. I know he’s still looking at me. Even though I’m pulling out the racks of pastries, muffins, and cupcakes with my back to him, I feel it burning into the back of me, no doubt appreciating my outfit. I glance at him over my shoulder, prompting him to lift his gaze.
“I love you in dresses,” he says before finally taking a bite of his turnover.
“I know,” I reply. “Wait ‘til you see the one I’m marrying you in.”
His eyes lose focus momentarily as he drops his hand to his lap. Clearing his throat, he adjusts himself discreetly and I feel my face heat up as I place the racks on the worktop. I love that the very idea of me in my wedding dress gets that kind of reaction from him, even though he has no idea what the dress looks like.
“Do you need any help?” he asks after regaining his composure.
“Sure.”
He shoves the rest of the turnover into his mouth, standing up and wiping his hands on his shorts. We each carry a rack up front and fill the display case. As Reese meticulously arranges the cupcakes in a way only he would do, the shop door dings open and Joey walks in, followed by Brooke.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” Joey says as he steps up to the counter. I see the side of Reese’s mouth twitch into a smile as he straightens up and greets both of my employees with a tilt of his head.
Brooke places my cup of coffee on the counter. “Sorry, Reese. I would’ve gotten you one if I knew you’d be here this morning.”
He shrugs before grabbing my cup. “That’s okay.” I watch as he takes a sip of my usual order, which is entirely too sugary for his taste. Reese is a black coffee kind of guy, and the look on his face is priceless as he swallows his mouthful. He holds the cup out to me with a frown. “Jesus Christ. That tastes like ice cream.”