“I came to apologize, and to see if I can possibly take you to lunch today, instead of breakfast.” I straighten in the doorway and take a step closer, halting before I take another. “Is it okay that I’m back here?” I ask Dylan.
I’ve never stepped foot inside a professional kitchen before. I have no idea what the rules are for commoners here.
Dylan nods, her eyes shifting curiously between Brooke and myself. She smiles. “It’s fine.”
Brooke focuses on the containers of baking supplies in front of her as I loom closer. “I only get thirty minutes for lunch. That’s not enough time to go out anywhere. Sorry.”
“You can have an hour today.”
I grin at Dylan. “Brilliant.”
Brooke’s head snaps up. She looks astonished, maybe a bit annoyed. Her one hand closes into a fist against the wood while the other moves to her hip. “Are you kidding me right now? How many times have I asked you for an extended lunch, and never once were you keen on the idea. Just last week I wanted an additional fifteen minutes and you refused to budge.”
“So?” Dylan dumps some flour into a bowl and brushes her hands off. She stares evenly at Brooke. “This is my bakery, my fucking name is on it, and I don’t have to explain to you why I’m allowing this today.”
“Oh, I know exactly why you’re allowing it.” Brooke points a finger at my face. “That mouth right there. It makes people stupid.”
I keep my laugh muffled as I bring my arms across my chest, looking between the two of them.
Dylan removes her apron and lays it on the stool. “I’ll give you two a minute.” She hits me with a smile before moving across the room and climbing the stairs.
A door closes.
Stepping behind Brooke, I drop my head and kiss her shoulder. Her hands relax against the wood, while mine snake around her trim waist and pull her back against my chest.
“Think she’ll notice if I duck under this table and stay between your legs the rest of the day?” I ask, running my nose along her skin.
“Probably. Dylan doesn’t miss much.”
I smile. “Shame. I know I’d feel a lot better about fucking up this morning if I spend the next eight hours getting you off.”
“Mason.” Brooke spins around and tilts her head to look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her before she can get another word out, my hands gently squeezing her hips as I fight the urge to inch closer and kiss my way through this.
She stares at me, silently absorbing my apology. Her shoulders drop with a quiet sigh, her eyes lowering to a spot on my shirt, and that, fuck, that right there is the reason why I’m here and not relying on her casual brush-off.
She isn’t fine. She’s disappointed, or hurt, or something. Definitely not fine.
“Now would be the perfect time to call me a wanker, Brooke. Or a tosser. I know how much you like slipping those words into our conversations. Feel free to let me have it.”
Her eyes flick to mine. She narrows them, draws her fingers into a fist, then knocks it gently against my chest. “What the fuck, dude?” she whispers, repeating her words from earlier, fighting back a smile as she stands on her toes to get closer. “You forgot? How could you forget?”
“It was that hot as fuck phone call last night. I think I lost some brain cells with that emission.”
“Aw, are you dumb and pretty now?” she chuckles, lifting a hand to my cheek. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I’ll still play with you. Do you like shiny things? Here. Let me get my keys.”
I grab her waist when she tries to dart away.
Fuck, I love her playful like this. Completely unaware of how open she is to me. It’s beautiful, her unguarded heart. I like to imagine it’s untouched as well.
She laughs against my neck, her hands sliding under my shirt.
“So,” she whispers, her lips pressing to my skin.
“So.”
“Last night was fun.”
I kiss her hair. “Mm. Maybe I’ll bring two tents with us this weekend and we can reenact it in the wilderness. I think your moans will sound lovely in an open field.”
She leans back to look at me. “Two tents? You’re delusional if you think I’m separating from you at any point during this absurd camp-out. I told you I didn’t want to do this. Now you’re trying to suggest we sleep apart? Fuck that. Haven’t you ever seen Deliverance? I know that wasn’t set in Chicago, but there are freaks everywhere. You’re stuck with me. One tent. One sleeping bag. Get ready for stage-five clinger status, buddy. I’m going to be on you like a hobo on a muffin.”
My mouth stretches into a smile. I grab her face, bending for a kiss. “I like the sound of that.”
“Of course you do.” Her hands circle my wrists. She bites at my lip. “The stalker becomes the stalkee.”
“Exactly,” I say quietly, opening my eyes to watch hers slowly flutter open.
She stares at my mouth like she wants another taste, but she isn’t asking, or moving in for it. I think I’ll leave her like this.
Waiting. Wanting.
“What time do you want to do lunch?” I ask, letting my hands fall away and moving beside her.