Colt is early. I pull up to the bakery at three fifty-five to find him waiting for me by the door. My headlights sweep over him where he leans against the building. A tall, white coffee cup is between his hands, one ankle crossed casually over the over. He’s dressed in jeans and a black V-neck pullover, the collar popped against the early morning chill. He smiles when he sees me, crooked and cocky, and every tired piece of me wakes up instantly like I’ve had a shot of caffeine straight to the vein.
I could get used to this, to seeing him. To that smile and those eyes. Those lips.
“What’s up, Beautiful?” he calls when I open my door. He’s there fast as lightning, his hand on my elbow as I slide down to the ground, his lips on my cheek kissing me chastely in greeting.
“Whoa, you are charming as shit this morning, aren’t you?” I chuckle.
He smiles brilliantly. “I’m in a good mood.”
“Are you ever not in a good mood?”
“Only when we lose a game. You don’t want to be around me at the tail end of a loss.” He holds out the coffee to me. “I brought you this.”
“Thanks. You didn’t get one?”
“I already drank it on the way over.”
I gratefully take it from his hands, immediately thrilling at the warmth of the cup. But when I take a sip I almost spit it back out.
“How much sweetener is in here?” I gasp.
Colt shrugs. “A lot.”
“Holy dammit. That is not coffee. That’s… that’s something else. That’s what they feed to hummingbirds.”
“You don’t want it?”
“Will you be offended if I say it’s undrinkable?”
“Nope.” He plucks the cup from my hands, taking a big swig and smacking his lips happily. “More for me.”
“Thank you for the thought.”
“Thanks for being honest about hating it. I’ve given that same drink to other people and they’ve sworn up and down that they love it.”
“You didn’t believe them?”
He laughs, shaking his head, dipping his free hand into his pocket. “No. They looked disgusted the whole time, but people don’t want to offend you when you’re, uh… recognizable.”
I grin. “Are you trying to avoid using the word ‘famous’?”
He lifts his cup to his lips, his eyes watching me over the rim. “Maybe.”
“You can say it.”
“You don’t like it.”
I step past him toward the store. “I don’t like the way you take your coffee either, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”
I open the store, locking the door behind him when he follows me in.
“So you like me now?” he clarifies happily. “We’ve upgraded from thinking about it to actually doing it?”
I flush, embarrassed by his point blank approach to everything. “You say ‘we’ a lot.”
“I like the way it feels with you. Don’t you?”
So, so, so much, I think zealously.
I grin calmly at him. “Yeah. I like it.”
“And me,” he drives home. “You like me.”
“Yes. I like you. A lot.”
“Good.”
He leans down fast as lightning, his sugar coated lips finding mine. They linger just long enough to send my brain and body into overdrive, frying half my circuits. He pulls away only slightly, a lazy smile on his face.
“I’ve thought about that nonstop since last night,” he rumbles deep and low.
I blink rapidly, clearly the smoke from my mind. “So have I.”
“Were you mad I woke you up yesterday?”
“No. I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.”
We talked for two hours. I was in and out a couple times, dozing off when the conversation lulled, but Colt always pulled me back, his voice quiet and deep in my ear in a way that sent shivers down my spine. Right around the time my phone started begging for the charger he fell silent. I whispered his name once. Twice. His only reply was steady breathing and a slight snore. It felt intimate being in bed listening to him sleep, like he was there with me. Like I was being granted access to this vulnerable part of him that the masses would never see. It gave me hope that maybe there is some part of him that he keeps separate from the world.
That maybe I actually could be something he keeps for himself. That his interest in me could be real.
It’s a heady thought, an exhilarating idea that makes me lean into him for another kiss. Another taste of sweetness from his smiling lips to mine.
His kiss is my new favorite dessert.
His kiss is raindrops on my decks.
Colt runs his fingers through my hair, dancing them lightly over my shoulder and down my back. “Did you decide what we’re baking today?”
“No, but I have an idea. One I think you’re gonna like.”
I lead him back through the kitchen where I flip the ovens on to preheat them before we head to the office. It’s a cramped space, barely bigger than a closet. It’s stuffed to bursting with a desk, a filing cabinet, two chairs, and a Kodiak practically twice my size.