He holds up his hand. “Just send them tomorrow morning.”
My mouth falls open. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep—”
“Drop it.”
“But—”
“You want me to get angry?” His voice sounds far more agitated now.
“Honestly? Yes.”
“I’m not a total asshole. I know you have a lot going on,” he snaps.
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“Stop being so…understanding. It’s weirding me out.” An irritated Declan I can work with. A nice Declan who doesn’t mind me falling asleep on the job and missing deadlines? That kind of unpredictability gives me crippling anxiety.
His jaw ticks. “Let’s go. I don’t have time for your shit.”
Now that reply makes me smile. “Ahh. There’s the big, grumpy man I know and like.”
“One day that mouth is going to get you in trouble.” His voice lowers.
I’m not sure what’s more dangerous—his unspoken promise or the way something flutters to life in my stomach from the one sentence.
“I’m in heaven.” I sigh before taking in another deep inhale. The different aromas surrounding us have my mouth watering in anticipation.
A bell chimes as Declan enters the dimly lit bakery behind me.
A back door swings open, basking us in bright light as a blonde woman about my age comes out. “Welcome! I’m so happy you actually made it!”
“I’m sorry we’re late.” I wince.
“Oh, please! It’s no problem at all. Why don’t you have a seat over there and I’ll get you some samples?” She gestures toward a small candlelit table for two before disappearing back into the kitchen.
“Isn’t this cozy?” I try to break the awkward silence, only to be cut off by romantic music playing softly through hidden speakers.
Declan pulls out one of the chairs for me. The exchange between us is fluid, practiced hundreds of times. Something I realize I have grossly overlooked over the years.
“Thank you.”
The wooden chair groans under the pressure of his grip. “For?”
“Always doing that. You know—with my chair.” I stumble over the words.
He doesn’t say anything as he takes the seat across from me.
… And now I remember why I stopped saying thank you in the first place when he does something nice.
“Here we go!” The baker brings out a platter covered in mini cakes. “I’ll leave you both to try everything out in private. If you need anything, feel free to give me a shout.” She scurries away again.
My mouth waters as I scan the tray. “Do you have a preference for what kind of cake you want to try first?”
“Whatever you like is fine.” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through emails.
“Seriously? Do you ever take the night off?”
“No.”
“Then why bother coming in the first place?”
More silence. I’m starting to hate how he closes up whenever I ask anything that requires more than a basic one-sentence answer.
Instead of pulling back, I push harder. “You know what I think?”
“I’m sure you plan on telling me regardless of what I say.”
I kick the leg of his chair. While it doesn’t move a centimeter, it does draw his attention back to my face. “I think you didn’t want Cal to come with me tonight because you are jealous.”
He scoffs. “There’s no reason for me to be jealous of my brother.”
“Really? No reason at all?” I raise a brow in a silent taunt as I dangle my missed call notification in his face.
“Nope.” He grabs a mini cake off the tray and stabs it with a spoon.
“Great. Then let me FaceTime Cal and have him weigh in on this debate.
If you wanted to be friends with us, all you needed to do was ask—”
He steals my phone straight from my hand. “I already told you I don’t want to be your friend.” His right eye twitches, giving his nerves away.
“Oh my God. You totally do!”
“Stop talking.”
But I can’t. Not with this precious gem of information at my disposal.
“Cal might be opposed to welcoming you into our duo, but I’m sure he would be willing if—”
My eyes bulge as he shoves a spoon full of cake into my open mouth. “I finally found the perfect way to shut you up.”
I glare at him as I taste the most delicious dessert I’ve ever had.
His gaze remains glued to my lips as he drags the clean spoon past them.
“All I need to do is keep your mouth permanently occupied.”
I graciously proceed to choke.
7
DECLAN
I might have jumped the gun when I announced Iris and I would be getting married in two weeks rather than a month. In retrospect, I wanted to make sure she didn’t find the first opportunity to back out of our engagement.
But now, I have to face the consequences of my actions.
“I expect you to be moved into my home by the end of the weekend.” I walk past Iris’s desk and toward the door of my private office.
She looks up from her computer screen. “What?”
“You can charge the moving company to my card.”
“You want me to move in this weekend?”
“Yes.”
“But tomorrow is Saturday.”
I take a deep breath as I lean against the doorframe. “Your point being?”
She runs her hands down her face and groans. “There’s no moving company that is going to be available at the last minute like that.”
“They will be for a price.”
“But I’d have to break my lease early.”
“I’ll cover the cost.”
“Or I can still keep the place just in case—”
I cut her off. “How do you think it would look to the public if they found out you kept your place ‘just in case’?”
Her bottom lip wobbles. “But I love my apartment.”
“I’m sure there’s a certain charm about living next to active crime scenes, but you’ll get over it.”
“I live in Hyde Park, not a war zone.”
“Lived in Hyde Park. As in you are no longer a resident as of tomorrow.”
Her eyes narrow. “So that’s it? You snap your fingers and I’m supposed to do what you say like some obedient wife, no questions asked?”
“You’ve been practicing for years already, so there shouldn’t be a steep learning curve.”
My comment earns me a stress ball launched at my head and one wheezy laugh that can be heard all the way through my closed office door.
Think about your future. My right eye twitches as Iris hauls another potted plant into my house. At this rate, my home is going to be turned into a plant nursery. Spilled soil marks the hardwood floors to serve as a reminder of how my perfectly organized life is being turned on its head.
I walk around three other plants the size of small trees before reaching my front door. Iris speaks to one of the plants in a hushed voice, stroking one of its leaves while apologizing for uprooting its life. She’s insane. There’s no other way to describe someone who coos at plants like they’re children.
At least she’ll make a decent mother.
I mute my phone so the head of our auditing department doesn’t hear me.
“Is that all? You’re letting all the heat out of the house.” I point at the open front door. On cue, a gust of wind batters against me.
Iris rubs her hands together before blowing on them. “You know, all of this would go a lot faster if you helped me.”