Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
CASIMIR
Raindrops hit my windshield faster than the wipers can push the water away. Peering through the glass, I navigate the delivery van through the streets of Old City. The cobblestones and smooth black asphalt are shiny with rain and lit from the glow of streetlights.
With the rain and the cold, and the late hour, the roads aren't crowded, and only a handful of people hurry along the sidewalks.
Doing deliveries isn't a normal part of my job, but we were short staffed tonight, so I stepped in. I'm usually tucked away in the kitchen, happily baking and coming up with new flavor combinations, and dealing with the rest of the duties that come with running my cookie business.
It's been an interesting few hours of driving around Philadelphia, interacting with customers, and enjoying the happiness deliveries of sugary goodness brings, but I'm glad this next delivery is the final one of the night. I'm tired, and hungry, and so ready to climb under a blanket with a book and some cookies, and shut out the busyness and muchness of the world for a while.
Following the maps app, I turn onto Columbus Boulevard. On my right, I pass Penn's Landing, and beyond it, is the Delaware River. I've walked around this area several times since I moved to Philly two years ago, but I've never been here so late at night. It's almost one in the morning. A few cars zoom past me, but there isn't anyone walking around. The river appears as black as the night sky, with hints of streetlights hitting its rippling surface.
The green pin of my destination on the map is up ahead. I slow my speed. The four-story condo building juts out into the water. I bet every unit has a magnificent view. The wipers clear the windshield, and the baking gods have smiled on me because there's a parking spot in front of the building.
I grab my phone and the box with the cookies, then double-check the address. Unit 213.
The stinging wind whips into me as I open the van's door. I wish it were cold enough to snow. I love snow and will take it over rain any day.
Fighting through the wind and the raindrops slanting into me, I hurry to the condo's main entry. My sneakers slap into puddles and water soaks into my socks and the hem of my jeans. With every squishy step, I shiver. Getting home and ripping my wet socks and soggy sneakers off can't come soon enough.
The air's chill seeping through my coat and gloves, I stab my finger against the unit's button on the call box.
"Yeah?" A deep voice gravels out of the speaker.
I swipe at the raindrops on my face. "Delivery. Costas Cookies."
"Hold on." A buzzing follows his words, and the door's lock clicks. The door sticks a bit, but I yank it open and step into the warmth of the hallway.
My sneakers squeak across the tiled floor. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror beside the elevator. Hair disheveled from the wind and rain. Cheeks red from the cold. Not the best face forward for representing my company. The doors open and I step inside the car, smoothing my hair during the brief journey to the second floor.
The doors open with a soft ping. I step into the hallway. Units line it in both directions. A few doors I pass have hearts and other Valentine's decorations. The holiday is only ten days away. I've been swamped with orders, and this year, I'm partnering with my friend Seth, selling cookies to accompany the floral arrangements his shop is crafting for the holiday.
I stop in front of the door marked 213 and knock.
It opens, revealing a tall, tall guy with a shock of dark hair, eyes the color of chocolate chips, olive skin, and the most handsome face I've ever seen. He's dressed in a black tee, dark jeans, and combat boots. And I almost swallow my tongue.
Leaning on the door, he smiles and his gaze journeys over me from head to toe and back again. "Yeah?"
"Delivery." I hold up the box. "Costas Cookies."
That grin grows wider, and the right side of his smile tips up the tiniest bit higher than the left. The spark in his eyes glints brighter. "Thank you."
My breath catches in my chest. I press the box forward and hope my smile is professional and not gooey. "You're welcome. Enjoy."
He takes the box, and instead of looking at it, his gaze stays on me and turns sultry. "Oh, I will."
Heat expands from my chest, radiating out to my limbs. I wish I were better at flirting. And peopling in general. I shift my stance and my sneakers squeak. And the soggy state of myself flies to the forefront of my mind. "Right. Good. Well, um, goodnight."
He dips his head in a nod. "Goodnight."
I thrust my empty hands into my coat pockets and hurry down the hall, squeaking all the way. In the elevator, I bang my head against the wall, and sigh, and mark the delivery as completed in our system.
What a gorgeous guy. Most of my customers are college students craving sugar during study sessions. Though, the base has expanded to people buying them for special occasions. Mr. Gorgeous in unit 213 looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. I wonder if he ordered them for himself, or if he has a special occasion or a special someone in his life.
My phone chimes as I reach the building's front doors.
It's a text from the customer, asking to amend the order I just delivered. The reason: I entered my unit number incorrectly. I'm in 312, not 213.
"What?" My word echoes through the empty space.
Why would the guy in 213 accept a cookie delivery he didn't place? I check through the orders and there aren't any others for this building.
Frustration spiking, I rush back to the elevator and slap the button. Normally, I'd leave the wrongly delivered box with whoever received it, and send out a new order to the correct address, but since I dropped the box off one minute ago, I'll take the chance of trying to get it back. As the car rises, I do a mental inventory of the remaining cookies I have back at the bakery.
Squeaking accompanies every step I take along the quiet hallway. The feel of wet wool clinging to my toes is not comfortable at all . The faster I fix this order, the sooner I'll be rid of these socks and have my feet tucked into my cozy slippers. My heartbeat picking up speed, I knock on 213's door.
The clicking of two locks precedes the door opening. Mr. Gorgeous stands before me with a half-eaten sugar cookie laden with colorful sprinkles in his hand. His brows draw together for a split second before he smiles at me. "You're back."
Shock spikes through my chest at the sight of the devoured treat, squelching the pleasant surprise that he's pleased to see me again.
"You're eating the cookies? Already?" Gaping at him, I point to the crescent in his hand.
His gaze falls to the cookie. "Yeah? So?"
"But you didn't order them. Why didn't you say anything when I delivered them?"
He raises his gaze, and his puzzled expression tugs at me. I can't paint him as a cookie thief any longer, not with the genuine regret overtaking his posture. "The cookies were for someone else?"
"Yeah. One floor up. Unit 312. They put in the wrong address." My phone buzzes in my pocket. I yank it out and find a text from Ramon, the other driver tonight.
Ramon: Just got back to the shop. Saw the amended order. Need me to handle it? I can deliver them on my way home.
Relief sweeps over me as fast as the heat pumping from this guy's condo. I type: Yes please. Thanks. Come in half an hour late tomorrow to make up for the extra time.
Ramon: I'll take you up on that. Night boss.
I lower my phone, and stuff it and my gloves into my coat pockets. "Crisis averted."
The corners of his eyes and mouth turn down. "I don't steal people's deliveries. My birthday is in two days and I thought the cookies were a gift."
"Oh." That makes sense. They were the celebration collection, after all. I offer him a smile and my most reassuring tone. "It's fine. Mistakes and miscommunications happen."
He lifts one muscular shoulder in a half-shrug. "I guess. Still, I feel bad."
"Don't. They're getting their cookies."
"I'll pay for the ones I took." He eats the last bite of the cookie, then pats his back pocket like he's feeling for his wallet.
It's such a sweet thing to suggest. Not everyone would do that. I shake my head. "Can't let you do that. Consider it a birthday gift."
"Thanks." He extends his hand. "I'm Blaze."
"Casimir." I slide my hand against his and get a rush of tingles and heat. He's warm and his hands are tougher than mine. Bigger too. Stronger. Just like the rest of him.
"It's good to meet you. I haven't had the chance to try your cookies before."
His deep voice and the way his tone lowered on try your cookies , have my cock hardening. "What did you think of the sugar cookie?"
"Sweet and soft." His gaze tracks over my face. Looking at me like I'm the something he wants to devour next. "Just the way I like them."
Oh my… I'm attracted and overheating, and I may melt into a puddle right here. "I hope the rest are just as satisfactory."
His tongue smooths along the gentle slopes of his upper lips, then trails over the fleshy bottom, swiping a rogue sprinkle. "You could come in. Taste test with me."
"Oh. I…" Want to. So much. But I haven't dated anyone, or hooked up, since I moved here, and feel horribly out of practice. "I'm kind of a soggy mess." I point to my hair, coat, jeans, and sneakers.
One arm resting on the doorframe, showing his bulging biceps, he tilts his head to the side and studies me, his smile playful. "I have towels. And brews. And cookies."
The playfulness pleases me. I need more of that in my life. Something about him draws me in, calls to me, and if I walk away now, I know I'll regret it. "I never say no to cookies."
"Good." He swings the door open wide. "Come in."
I wipe my sneakers on the mat inside the door and unzip my coat. Blaze takes it from me and hangs it on the coat tree beside a leather jacket. Pushing up my sweater sleeves, I take in his space. It's a corner unit with lots of windows, and furnishings in shades of gray. "Nice place."
"I like it. Close to work too." He opens a door that leads to a bedroom and steps inside.
"That's what I like about mine." I resist the urge to toe off my sneakers. "I'm close enough to walk if I want. Usually I drive, but I'm thinking about getting a bike for warmer months."
He returns holding two towels. "Here. Bike, as in a motorcycle?"
"Thanks. A regular bicycle." I place one over the couch cushion, just in case, though I think my jeans from the knees up are fine. Then sit and rub the other towel over my hair. "I've ridden on a motorcycle a few times. One of my friends back home had a sportster."
"I have a touring bike."
"That doesn't surprise me." The words are out, and flustered heat blankets me that I uttered aloud what I'd been thinking. I sling the towel over my shoulders and gesture to him standing with his legs splayed. He has a confidence and swagger that suggests he's not afraid to take up space, or, in fact, afraid of anything at all. "You look like you'd be very comfortable straddling a motorcycle. Just something about you."
Blaze gazes at me like I'm the tastiest thing in this room. I know I'm not, because I taste test all my cookies. Though, I'd like to sample him. He leans against a tall bookshelf filled with hardbacks and paperbacks stacked every which way, accented with a few small metal sculptures. "And what about you?"
Adding myself to that image, I'd be wrapped around him, happily holding on tight. Heat flushes into my body and creeps into my neck, cheeks, and ears. "I'm happy being a passenger."
He dips his head and his focus falls to my hands, then travels to my torso. I wonder if he's picturing me hugging him as we take hairpin turns, our bodies shifting as one. "If you ever want to go for a ride… say the word."
The air between us feels like it's crackling with electricity. My body likes the idea of multiple types of rides with Blaze. I drag my attention to the box of cookies on the coffee table. There are several birthday cards there, too. "So, a taste test?"
"I'll grab some drinks." He strides into the kitchen.
I can't believe I'm sitting here, in a stranger's apartment. I don't do things like this. Taking the leap and moving to Philly was one thing. Opening my own business was another. But I've never put myself in a situation one-on-one with so many unknowns. Maybe I should fetch my phone and share my location with Seth, just in case.
Blaze returns holding four bottles. He places them on the coffee table, then sits beside me and points to the first one. "This one is a double cream stout."
All the bottles have Rebel Yell Brewery's logo on them. And it matches the logo on Blaze's shirt, covering his left pec. "My friends Seth and Devonte go to Rebel Yell a lot. I know it's owned by someone on Devonte's rugby team. You work there?"
His left brow wings up. "I'm the owner. Seth and Devonte are great guys."
Relaxing into the softness of the cushions, I feel more settled, knowing that he's friends with my friends. "Wow. Small world."
"It is." He breaks the triple chocolate chip cookie in half and gives me the larger piece.
A sip of the stout gives me notes of chocolate. Then I bite into the cookie, and get rich cocoa, chocolate chips, and mocha in the frosting. "I like the stout with this. They pair well together."
Blaze eats half of his piece in one bite, moans as he chews, then takes a long pull from the bottle of stout. "They do. Damn, these are good."
With a grin, I give him half of the strawberry shortcake cookie. "What should we try with this?"
"The pilsner, I think." He pushes the second bottle toward me. "That's our newest creation."
I take a sip. Then a bite of the cookie. Then another sip. He knows how to pair things, because that combination is another win.
Next, we try a blond ale that goes well with the lemon cookie. Our last drink, a Belgian quad, is rich and sweet. It complements the chocolate chip cookie and brings out the vanilla in the iced sugar cookie. My attention keeps drawing to Blaze's lips and how kissable they might be. And his eyes. He may exude toughness, but he has the kindest eyes.
He lounges against the couch's back cushion, with his legs kicked out in front of him. "Which drink was your favorite?"
"I liked them all, but probably the pilsner."
"You should come to the brewery sometime. I'll have one waiting for you."
I nod. My curiosity about this man piqued. Our time together tonight isn't nearly enough. "I'll do that."
From where I'm sitting, the clock on the microwave is in view. It's close to two AM. "I should get going."
His gaze flicks to the clock, then returns to me. "Tonight was fun. Thanks for the cookies."
"Happy early birthday." I glance at the colorful cards stacked on the opposite end as I stand. "You said it's in two days?"
"Well, one day now. My birthday is on Saturday." He stands too, then carries the bottles to the kitchen. I follow, carrying the cookie box. The kitchen has stainless steel appliances and a single cup coffee maker with a large black mug in place for his next brew. He leaves the bottles in the sink. "My mom put my birthday on the wrong date in the family calendar one time, years ago. Ever since, half of my family thinks the wrong date is my actual birthday, so I get calls and gifts on both days."
I set the empty cookie box on the counter. "You get double the celebration."
He smirks. "That's one way to look at it. I guess I do. Though I don't take it as far as my friend Greer. He doesn't just celebrate his birthday on that one date, he takes the entire month and calls it, 'The Month of Me'."
Laughing, I walk with him into the living room. This place is so warm that staying longer, even with wet socks, is preferable to heading back into the rain and cold. "Something about that sounds familiar. Seth and Devonte have mentioned a friend like that. Wait… I'm pretty sure that friend's name is Greer."
With care, he takes my coat from the tree and hands it to me. "It's a little odd that we know the same people, but haven't run into each other. Then again, I've spent a lot of time getting the brewery up and running, so I haven't been as social as I'd like."
After slipping on my coat, I dig my gloves and keys from the pockets. "Same here. I spent a lot of time working when I first moved here. Still do." I don't want to get into being an introvert or the fact that I haven't made more friends besides the few that I have right now. "Seth and I met because I moved into a house at the end of his street and gave cookies to all my new neighbors."
With one thumb hooked through his front belt loop, he shifts closer to me, his gaze glinting with arousal and affection. "I'd like to have a neighbor like you."
Wrestling with my coat's zipper, which is caught on the fabric, I smile and wonder if it's possible to become buzzed off of someone's presence. I feel like I am, thanks to Blaze. "Well, now that we know each other, I can hook you up anytime you need a cookie fix."
"May I?" He leans in, and when I nod, he takes hold of the zipper and my coat.
My breath catches at his nearness and his spicy scent fills my lungs. A line forms between his brows as he works the fabric free.
Then he drags the zipper up, over my torso, and stops once his fingers brush my chin. I suck in a breath. The contact of skin on skin and the smolder in his eyes holds me captive. Every beat of my heart is so strong, I wouldn't be surprised if he could hear it. "Thank you."
My voice is as soft as a whisper.
He leans down and brushes his thumb along my jaw. "I'll see you soon."
Angling my head into his touch, I nod. "Yes. Please. Definitely."
His smile as soft as his caress, he raises his head. "Good night, Casimir."
I like the way he says my name. And the way he smiles at me. And everything about him.
"Blaze." I say his name because I want to hear it falling from my lips. Want him to hear it too. The mere word warms me like a crackling fire. I'm reminded of the fairy tales I read as a kid, holed up in my bedroom while my cousins were running around wreaking havoc, and how there's a power in knowing someone's name. I don't know about Blaze, but he definitely has me under his spell.
I touch the back of his hand, keeping him close to me for a moment more. Then step back and open the door. We smile at each other again, then I make myself turn and walk away.
He's right about one thing; we will see each other soon. Because I've just thought of the best idea. And I can't wait to make it happen.