The Accidental Honeymoon (Wildflower Lane #1)

Chapter 29

twenty-nine

CALLA

Outside my shop window, the snow that’s falling gently on the town square looks like powdered sugar, the kind I dust over our scones. It’s piling up on the windowsill and creeping in when customers come through the front door. I can almost taste its cold sweetness.

Erica and I have been working like maniacs to finish all the bakery orders. Fruit-flavored macarons, chocolate and vanilla cupcakes, and the chocolate éclairs all need to be finished today.

My favorite, though, are the mini king cakes. It’s Mardi Gras next week, so I’ve made individually-sized pastry wreaths, stuffed them with a sumptuous cream cheese filling, drizzled the tops with royal icing, and decorated them in purple, green, and gold sugar.

Yum . I put the finished trays of decorated king cakes aside. These are definitely going in the display window at the front of the shop.

“Calla, do you want me to start on the eclairs?” Erica asks. She’s got a streak of pink frosting in her blonde hair. I’m not saying it makes her look like a human cupcake, but I wouldn’t want her around if I had a craving for sweets.

I glance at the clock. “You can take off. The roads are getting bad.”

She hesitates. “Are you sure? We still have a ton to do.”

“I’ll finish the eclairs. Go on. I don’t want your mom yelling at me again.”

Erica shrugs, but I can see the relief in her eyes. She’s a good kid. But she’s also new to the driving game. I don’t want her to hit a patch of Atlanta’s infamous black ice and drive her car straight off the road.

“Thanks, Calla. See you Monday!”

I watch her bundle up and trot out into the storm with gritted teeth. She’s going to slip, I just know it, and then her mom will really yell at me. But she somehow makes it to her car intact. Whew! I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

The bakery is quiet now. Only the hum of the refrigerators and the occasional pop from the old radiator break the silence. I like it this way. Peaceful. I’m definitely in my happy place, creating sweet desserts that will make other people feel loved.

Humming, I pick up a piping bag and finish decorating the last donut. It’s gaudier than the rest, a true testament to my love of tacky holiday sweets.

Why am I in such a good mood? I should be exhausted and stressed.

Maybe it’s all the hot sex I’ve been having , I giggle to myself. Who even am I right now? This isn’t me. At least, not the me I thought I was. I don’t do giddy, romantic moods. But here I am, smiling like an idiot because of a guy.

A guy who’s turning out to be way more than I ever expected .

I set the donuts aside and start on the eclairs. The dough is tricky and requires concentration. But I like the challenge. It keeps my hands busy.

Once I get the dough wrangled, I can let my mind wander. It’s been wandering a lot lately, usually in the direction of Jay.

I used to think his life was perfect, the kind of perfection you see in beautiful lifestyle TikToks. Curated and catalog-friendly. But now that I’ve seen behind the curtain, I realize his life is just as messy as mine. Maybe messier.

But he has a way nicer house than anyone I know. So there’s that.

The eclairs are finally in the oven and I start cleaning up. Flour and sugar coat the countertops like the snow on the ground in the town square. I swipe at it with a dishrag and watch it billow into the air.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jay: “Made it home safe. Where are you?”

I bite my lip. I type: “Glad you’re safe. I should be home in half an hour.”

He replies with a winking emoji, and I can almost see his smirk. A little flutter rises in my chest. It’s like he knows exactly how to get past my defenses without even trying. I don’t know whether to be comforted or terrified.

I’m having the best time faking this marriage. That’s the problem. When it’s time to call it quits, I’ll be more than sad.

I’ll be heartbroken.

When the éclairs are done baking, I stack the trays together on a rolling cart and let them cool. They should be ready for the morning. By the time I look out the window again, the weather has changed pretty drastically.

The storm outside has graduated from powdered sugar to a full-on frosting frenzy, coating cars and sidewalks in thick, unmanageable drifts. I pull on my coat and grab my keys, then trudge to the back door. Am I going to be able to walk? Hopefully the sidewalks haven’t gotten icy just yet.

The alley is a whiteout. It’s the kind of scene that makes you want to curl up with hot cocoa and a sappy movie.

“Damn it,” I mutter. There’s no way I can walk anywhere. It’s not like I have cold weather footwear just lying around. I’m frigging snowed in!

Disconsolate, I head back into the warmth and peel off my coat. I was really excited to see Jay when I got home. With a heavy sigh, I take the stairs up to my apartment. The building is old and full of character, with creaky floorboards and a clawfoot tub. My place is basically a studio apartment with a small divider wall to partially shield the bedroom. I love it, even if it’s a bit drafty in the winter.

I turn up the thermostat and set my things on the kitchen counter. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Jay, responding to the text I’d just sent him about not being able to see him.

“Stuck?” he writes. “Are you sure? That sucks.”

I miss him more than I should. This thing between us is getting dangerously real. “I’ll just have to think dirty thoughts about you to keep warm,”I reply, adding a selfie of me pouting while perched on my bed.

I wait for a reply, but there is none. Mr. Terminally Attached to His Phone has something better to do than respond to my vaguely horny texts? We’ll see about that. I’m about to text him another, more risqué selfie, when the lights flicker and die.

Great.

I fumble in my kitchen drawer for matches and make my way to the living area, where an old, wood-burning stove sits in the corner. It was one of the reasons I rented this place. There’s something romantic about a real fire. Well, that and the fact that it came free with the downstairs’ rent.

I strike a match and coax the kindling to life, then hold my hands out to the growing flames.

Downstairs, I hear the pipes groan. Without electricity, the hot water won’t last long. I dash to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, letting steam fill the room. A bath sounds perfect.

If I’m going to be stuck here in the dark, I might as well enjoy it.It’s too bad that light creeping in through the windows is too dim for me to snap more pics to torture my husband with.

My husband. I need to remember the fakeness of this whole deal. I may have said I love you, but that doesn’t make my situation less temporary.

The tub is nearly full, so I sink into the water with a sigh, letting the heat envelop me. I close my eyes and let my mind wander. It doesn’t have far to go. Jay is there, waiting. I imagine his hands on me, his lips tracing the lines of my body. A soft moan escapes my mouth as I touch my own breasts, wishing my hands were his.

When I slide my hand between my thighs and find my clit, it feels good. I touch myself and think about Jay touching me, Jay sucking my clit.

My eyes flutter open. Though I’m loathe to admit it, Jay is better at touching my pussy than I am. I could probably grab a towel and get out to find a toy. But it wouldn’t be the same.

I miss him.

Giving up, I submerge myself in the water until it cools and I start to shiver. Reluctantly, I pull myself from the tub and pat my skin with a towel .

The fire in the stove casts a warm glow through the apartment. Damn . I feel a pang of loneliness. This is the kind of night made for cuddling.

I wrap myself in a thick robe and pad to the living room. The flames dance in the stove, creating shadows that flicker and sway.

My phone is on the coffee table. I reach for it, then stop. If I call him, I’ll just make things harder.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

A knock at the door downstairs jolts me from my hazy daydream. I rush downstairs and peer through the frosted glass. My heart does a ridiculous little flip. I fling the door open. “Are you crazy?”

Jay is bundled in a parka, his hair dusted with snowflakes, and he's shivering. He shrugs, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I missed you."

I throw my arms around him, squeezing tight. The cold from his body seeps through my robe, but I don't care.

He's here. He's really here.

"Come in, you're freezing," I say, pulling him inside. He stomps the snow from his boots. I grab his hand, tugging him toward the stairs. "Come on, let's get you warmed up."

"I didn't think the roads were that bad," he says, unzipping his parka as I lead him upstairs. "Then I walked here. It’s only two blocks!"

"Jay, you didn't have to?—"

"I wanted to."

That shuts me up. I take his coat and hang it on the rack at the top of the stairs before guiding him into the apartment and steering him straight to the wood-burning stove.

He holds his hands out to the flames. I stand behind him, unsure what to do with this rush of emotion. Gratitude? Affection? Something deeper?

I notice the quiet strength in his shoulders. The way he just does things that will make me happy without needing to make a production of it. My walls, the ones I’ve so carefully constructed, start to crumble.

I hug his back. "Thank you," I say softly.

He turns, and before I can react, he pulls me into an embrace. The robe slips from one of my shoulders, and his touch sends a shiver down my spine.

Not the cold kind of shiver, either.

"I'm warm now," he says. His breath tickles my ear.

I look up at him. Our faces are just inches apart. "Are you sure?"

He nods. “I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. Slowly, letting it build. His hands explore my back, then shape my hips. I press into him, needing to feel his heat through the thin fabric of my robe.

"I touched myself," I whisper. "Thinking about you."

He lets out a low growl and lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries me to the futon, where we collapse in a tangle of limbs and hurried kisses.

The robe falls away. His clothes follow. The urgency we both feel is almost overpowering.

The futon is too small for him. His legs dangle over the edge and we have to shift every few moments to keep from rolling off. It's awkward and hilarious. More than once, we burst into fits of giggles. But we don't care. We're in a blissful, happy bubble.

When it's over, we lie tangled together, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. “Hey Calla?”

“Shhhhh.” I put a finger to his lips. “Let’s enjoy the silence for a while.”

“I just want to say one thing. Then I’ll shut up. ”

My lips curl up. “Go ahead, husband.”

He waits for several beats. I look up at his face.

"I feel something for you. I… have feelings. For you," he stammers. “God, I’m fucking this up.”

I smooth my hand over his heart. My own is pounding out of control. “I feel the same.” It’s sort of lame, not really the declaration of love that I wanted. But it still feels good to say something.

Anything is better than the weirdness that we’ve been wading through for a week.

Jay pulls me close, kissing my head and pressing my face against his chest. I manage to grab the comforter and wrangle it over our bodies.

This is great. Too great. I wonder why we would even get the annulment.