“Where are you?”
A quiet chime breaks through the phone. “The bakery.”
“Good.”
I move through the room and take to the stairs, walking across the empty studio. After unlocking the door, I jog across the street between traffic. Brooke says something, a greeting directed at Dylan, I assume. It sounds muted as if she’s moved her mouth away from the phone.
“Hey, Mason. I need to get off here.”
“All right,” I reply, ending the call and stepping inside the bakery.
“We’re not open yet,” a voice, not Brooke, yells from the back.
I move across the room and stop in the doorway opening up to the kitchen, leaning my shoulder against the frame.
Dylan notices me first, a coy smile twisting across her mouth. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”
Brooke raises her head from the large mixing bowl she’s staring down into.
She looks beautiful. Her hair is down, a tiny braid gathering some of it back and out of her round hazel eyes.
With parted red lips, she looks at the phone sitting on the large wood surface, then pins her gaze to me again.
“What are you doing, stalker?” she asks, her voice lifting sweetly. She shakes her head slowly through a tight lipped grin.
“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.