Mom抯 usual easygoing smile fades into a firm arc of her lips.
She shakes her head severely.
揘o.?
揝ee? That抯 exactly why I can抰 give you a grandkid right now. You抣l just be disappointed for the rest of your life because nothing else will ever measure up. You have to wait for the right moment so you抮e not disappointed.?I fan the slightest breeze on her hopes, hoping to end this as I take another bite of buttery roast. 揑 can抰 have my mother disappointed.?I grin at her. 揃esides, I抳e gotten far enough to launch such a lucrative line because I keep business and life totally separate.?
Technically, that抯 true. I don抰 have a personal life.
Not unless you count Regis roll runs for Wyatt and the odd charity event outside work, which is good enough for me.
揟hey don抰 mix at all. Period and end of story,?I say.
揕incoln, your story hasn抰 even started,?she says, getting up to put on tea like she always does when she抯 flustered.
I wish I could say my mother knows best.
I wish I could be the good son and not disappoint her.
I wish I could pry open my heart and give someone a second chance to poison me from the inside out.
But after seeing what a heart-hacking bastard serial killer cupid can be, I抣l settle for being the rich and respected bachelor son.
A few days later, I raid Sweeter Grind for Wyatt抯 roll.
Bright and early this time.
I can抰 risk coming too late and finding them sold out again. Wyatt lives on his sugar high and that抯 how it抣l stay until he either snaps the hell out of it or forces my hand into dragging him off to treatment.
The barista makes a drink, hands it to the person in front of me, and rings them up.
揅an I help you??she asks.
The bell above the entrance dings. I glance over.
A slender blond in a black dress that hugs her body in all the right places walks in. If it weren抰 for the hair, shimmering like faded spun gold in the morning light, she抎 be the portrait of a human raven. There抯 something about her movements, graceful and birdlike, but with patience and sharp eyes that could be imposing if she settled long enough to stare at you.
Alert. Elegant. An old-world charm in her unfussy dress that licks her skin.
Something innocent and mysterious about her face, her emerald eyes, holds my gaze hostage.
Then she meets my stare, scrunches her nose, and rolls her eyes with all the disdain they can muster.
Bullshit.
It can抰 be.
With her face twisted into a scowl, I recognize her.
Goddamn if she isn抰 even more gorgeous scrunched into that dress than she was in jeans.
When she comes closer, I can抰 help smirking.
揝o you抳e come dressed like a bandit while you抮e robbing away delicious pastries today? You look like an undertaker,?I grind out.
Her mouth drops momentarily, then she tries to shake it off like she抯 only insulted. The hellcat narrows her eyes at me.
揑 have an interview, and no, Captain Dipshit, I wouldn抰 dirty my hands with you. I抎 let someone else scrape you off the ground like roadkill.?
Captain Dipshit? Roadkill?
How charming.
That green-eyed little mouth needs someone to bend her over their knee and teach her to talk nicely to strangers.
In another life, maybe that someone would be me, but I抦 remembering just how draining an encounter with this woman can be.
揘o plans to join any dead raccoons today. Sorry to disappoint you. However, I believe I will deprive you of your pre-interview sugar rush. No pastry ever made rivals sweet revenge,?I tell her.
She gives back this jarring laugh, tossing her bright hair before she looks at me like an angry lioness.
揜evenge for what? Because I beat you here last time and bought the last cinnamon roll? How petty are you??
Excellent question.
She抯 about to find out.
I flash a vicious smile at the barista. 揑抎 like every Regis roll you have, please.?
揈very梐ll of them? Every single one??The poor barista blinks.
揅orrect.?
揢mm梩here are three梐lmost four dozen today if we抮e counting what抯 in the back. Are you sure you棓
揂ll four dozen, then. A nice easy number.?
揥hoa. You and your people must really love them, huh??
I nod like I have a human soul.
In fact, the damn things are too sweet for me by far. After I drop off a few for Wyatt, I抣l put the rest out for my senior staff. They all adore these overhyped cinnamon rolls as much as everyone else in this easily impressed city.
My own satisfaction ends with the roll witch behind me, deprived of her cherished fix today.
I turn slowly, casting a heavy look over my shoulder at her.
揥ould you look at that? Some raging asshole just bought the last Regis roll. Maybe he抣l share if you offer him an insane amount of money for one梠r, better, how about an apology? Or maybe he抣l just bite into it and lick his fingers like a cat walking away from a milk truck spill.?
She smiles so sweetly, but her eyes are blazing green daggers.
揘ah. I don抰 hand out exorbitant sums for cinnamon rolls or apologies to jerkwads I never wronged. I make financial decisions with my brain, not my stomach. You should try it sometime,?she snarls. 揂lso, I抦 happy for the asshole who got the cinnamon rolls. He clearly must be missing something in his shriveled little ego and needs to overcompensate.?
Damn her.
Damn her again for making that little sliver of space between her thumb and forefinger.
Oh, baby girl, if only you knew. No woman ever calls me little.
揑抣l have you know, I woke up with a mad craving for a bear claw this morning,?she continues, batting her lashes. 揑抎 hate to think my friends at Sweeter Grind put all that work into Regis rolls that went to waste.?
For a second, I want to walk up to her, stare her into the ground, and tell her what抯 at stake.
How these rolls are the only way to keep a homeless man alive while he抯 in his funk.
Deprive him, fuck me over for a laugh, and you抮e single-handedly responsible for starving a veteran. I hope that helps you sleep at night.
Of course, I say none of those things.
This girl may have a taste for tormenting me, and she could be legit crazy. There抯 no upside to letting her know anything about me or my real need for these rolls.
揘ice cope, lady. You can抰 prefer a bear claw over a Regis roll. No one does,?I growl.
What am I saying? I don抰 even like these stupid pastries.
I have no earthly idea why everyone hyperventilates over them ever since this little Montana cafe opened in Seattle. I just know that they do.
A voice in the back of my mind whispers, You know it抯 not her fault that Wyatt didn抰 eat. Wyatt had debilitating problems long before you couldn抰 buy him his daily cinnamon roll.
揥hatever, entitled douchebag,?she huffs out.
For a second, I stop and glare.
揓ust what makes you think I抦 entitled? Because I offered you a car payment for your cinnamon roll??
揘ope. You were pissed because I got the last cinnamon roll in spite of my being here before you, and then you didn抰 just offer to buy it. You offered me more than some people make in a week for it. Like I said, I make financial decisions with my brain. No one who works for their money would have offered five hundred bucks for a freaking roll that would be available again the next day. You need your own hashtag. #BornRich.?
What the fuck is she talking about?
揥atch your step. You might have no idea who you抮e talking to,?I warn.
揙h, I have a pretty good idea. Someone who doesn抰 get how much money that is.?
揧ou don抰 think I know it抯 a lot? Obviously, if someone is willing to pay five hundred dollars for a damn roll, it抯 important to them. Any sane person would抳e snapped up the offer.?
I hate how good she is at hooking her little claws under my skin.
I can feel my blood boiling.