Chapter 16
sixteen
. . .
Health Code Violations and Emotional Progress
WARREN
The bakery is quiet after closing.
The front lights are dimmed as the sun sets outside. The pastry case is clean, and three boxes are stacked neatly on the counter with leftover pastries for me, Marley, and Oliver. Halston ate hers while standing over the sink.
The chalkboard still says,
VANILLA PROOF
BANANA-VANILLA CREAM, LAMINATED PASTRY, TOASTED SUGAR
PLAYFUL IS STILL EXCELLENT
Below it, in Dev’s handwriting:
COCONUT BLOOM LATTE
AS ENJOYED BY ANONYMOUS BLACK COFFEE LIARS
I’m going to erase that one before I leave.
Halston stands behind the counter, counting the till with her hair twisted into a messy knot, a pencil tucked behind one ear. Her sweater has slipped off of one shoulder, and there’s blue glaze on her wrist and a streak of flour across her cheek. She’s tired, but not in the way she’s been.
She’s satisfied. Worn out. Still standing after being given a few pieces of herself back.
The menu response has been amazing.
The Vanilla Proof sold out before two. The Coconut Bloom sold out twice because Halston underestimated demand and then pretended she had not.
Three local food accounts posted photos of the specials, and two vendors called about bulk orders.
Mrs. Alvarez told a woman in line that Barrett Whitaker would “not know joy unless it bit his tasteful ass,” which made Halston laugh so hard she had to lean on the counter for support.
Halston closes the register drawer and looks up. “You’re still here.” As if this isn’t more interesting than my extended-stay hotel room.
“Yeah.”
“Doing what?”
I hold up the clipboard, and she rolls her eyes.
“We need to make sure we have double the coconut syrup tomorrow.”
She leans her hip against the counter. “Because people loved it?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you loved it?”
I look at her.
Her eyes are tired and playful and far too aware.
“I said people.”
“You’re people.”
“Technically.” I pick up the empty bank bag from the counter and hand it to her. “You should take that upstairs.”
Her smile fades a little. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah.”
She taps her fingers against the counter. “I’m not drunk,” she says suddenly.
Everything in me stops.
The bakery hums around us. The pipes, the refrigerators, Agatha’s faint metal sigh.
I look at her.
“I’m not spiraling because of Grant,” she says. “I’m not trying to prove something to Barrett. I’m not in the middle of a flare. I’m not confusing you being kind to me with something else.”
My hand tightens at my side.
“I know who you are.” Her eyes move over my face, down my shoulders, and then back up. “You know who I am. Marley knows just enough to know it’s highly unlikely we’re just friends who make suspicious eye contact.”
“Halston,” I plead.
“No.” She lifts one hand. “Let me finish.”
I close my mouth.
She walks toward me slowly, her eyes clear, looking more dangerous than she did that night at the bar. Tonight, there’s no anonymity between us. We’re not strangers.
She stops three feet away.
“I’m not asking you to stay in Maryland forever,” she says. “I’m not asking you to promise me something you can’t promise. I’m not asking you to fix me or the review or my bakery or my schedule or anything.”
My heart beats out of my chest.
“I’m asking if you want me,” she whispers.
My answer is immediate. “Yes. Yes, Halston, I want you.”
She swallows.
“Then stop acting like wanting me is something that will kill you.”
The words hit me like a bullet to the chest. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know.”
I run my hand over my head. “I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Wanting something I should be careful with.”
Her eyes linger on mine for a moment before drifting to my mouth. “I’m not careful either.”
“I know.”
“I want this.”
“I know.”
She bites her lip. “So ask me,” she says, her voice low.
Heat moves through me so fast I don’t know where it started. “Ask you what?”
Her pupils widen, a faint flush climbing her throat. She takes a step closer. “Ask me if I want you to lock the door.”
My pulse thunders.
“Do you want me to lock the door?”
“Yes.”
I turn away before I can touch her, because if I touch her now, I won’t be checking a damn thing.
I lock the front door first, turn the deadbolt, and pull once to confirm.
Then I move to the front, checking the lights, pulling down the blinds over all the front windows.
I check the pastry case, the register, and chuck the bank bag into the safe for now.
I step into the kitchen and check Agatha quickly to make sure she’s off, and then lock the back door, adding the deadbolt for a second layer of protection against Oliver, who went home early today.
Halston waits near the counter.
When I get back to her, she’s taken the pencil from her hair. It hangs loose, falling around her shoulders and over the side of her blouse.
My hand flexes.
“I want you to kiss me,” she says.
I don’t hesitate.
My control fractures cleanly down the center.
I put one hand on her jaw and kiss her. It’s not like the first time. Not like the other night. Not like the alley.
The first time was heat and grief and permission. The other night was anger.
I start with a slow, deep kiss until Halston confirms that she has other ideas.
Gripping the front of my shirt, she pulls, and the kiss turns hard and desperate. Her mouth hums against mine with relief. Like she’s been holding a moan in her body for days and finally found somewhere to put it.
My hand slides from her jaw into her hair, and her fingers dig into my shirt as she pulls me against her.
I walk her back until her hips meet the counter, and she gasps into my mouth.
Her hands immediately slip under my shirt, her palms hot against my skin, nails dragging lightly up my ribs.
I go rigid, and her mouth curves against mine. “You like that.”
She does it again, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me.
I catch her wrist and pin it gently against my stomach, and her eyes lift.
“Are you sure?” I search her eyes.
She nods, her eyes dark and her lips already puffy.
I kiss her again, but this time, I bend into her.
Both of my hands are on the counter behind her, caging her against it.
Her body arches toward mine, her hands immediately tangling in my hair, pulling the tie loose until it falls somewhere on the floor.
My hair slips free around my face, and she makes a low, satisfied sound that goes directly to my cock.
“I want to know what you’re like when you stop being so careful,” she says, her voice soft. “I want the Warren under all of this.”
Her fingers slide down my chest, over the buttons of my shirt, one by one.
“Under the lists.”
She undoes a button.
“The restraint.”
Another.
She looks up at me, her eyes clouded. “The scary bread voice.”
I smirk, and before she can yell at me, I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tilt her face up.
“There it is,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
My control slips another inch.
I kiss the side of her neck. Just once, and then again. I let my teeth scrape lightly over her pulse, loving the feeling of her shivering beneath me.
I pause. “Still yes?”
“Yes.”
I bite her.
Not hard enough to hurt the wrong way, but hard enough that she sucks in a breath and grabs my shoulder like she needs a lifeline.
“Again,” she moans.
The word almost ruins me.
I bite lower, where the mark can stay hidden beneath her shirt if she wants, and her entire body presses into mine.
“Warren.”
I grip the hem of her shirt and stop. She’s breathing hard, her eyes locked on mine.
“Yes,” she says.
“Say it again.”
Her mouth parts, and I watch surprise cross her face. “Yes.”
“What are you saying yes to?”
Her fingers tighten their hold on me. “My shirt.”
“And?”
Her cheeks flush darker. “Warren.”
“No.” My voice drops, and I feel the shiver that moves through her because of it. “You told me to ask. I’m asking.”
“Take it off.”
I pull it up over her head. Her hair lifts with it, falling messily around her face when the shirt hits the floor. Underneath, she wears a pale blue tank, and I can see her hardened nipples strain against the fabric. My brain goes quiet.
My hands find her waist, the bare skin warm and soft.
“Still yes?”
She looks up at me, annoyed, her lips red. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
The words leave my lips before I can stop them.
Her eyes go wide, and for a second, neither of us breathes. Then, her thighs press together.
Fuck.
I feel the reaction before she can hide it. The way her throat moves and her eyes darken. The way one hand grips the edge of the counter like it’s the only stable thing in the room.
“Do you like that?”
She swallows again. “Maybe.”
I smile. “Not maybe.”
Her breathing is shaky. “Yes.”
My hand slides to the back of her neck, and her lashes flutter. Pulling her closer, I whisper near her ear, “Then I’ll use it again when you earn it.”
Her hand flies to my chest. “Warren.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re very different after business hours.”
“No,” I say, brushing my lips along her jaw. “You just keep forcing me to open up more.”
She makes a small sound when I kiss the upper swell of her breast through the fabric. I do it again, lower, letting my mouth linger. Her fingers tighten in my hair.
Everything is in the way.
I slide one strap off her shoulder with my teeth, and she groans my name. I remind myself that I want to take my time tonight.
We could go upstairs, but that would mean stopping, and I’m not sure either of us can bear it.
I’ve seen her before. Touched her. Had her under me, coming apart. But tonight is different.
Her hands shift toward her stomach, but I cover them with mine before she can hide.
Her eyes flick to mine. “Don’t,” I say. “Please.”
She looks down at our hands, then back up. Slowly, she lets me move them aside.
I brush my thumbs along her ribs, under her tank, and she lets out a shaky inhale before pulling my mouth back down to hers.
The kiss is different now. Deeper with less fight and much more need.
I lift her onto the counter, swallowing her laugh and parting her legs to step between them.