Chapter 11 #2
Asshole had pushed the cake board holding my castle off the counter and another one of the walls had shattered, so the floor was littered with chunks of gingerbread.
The half-rolled fondant we’d abandoned was covered in smudged paw prints, and there were places where it looked like she’d licked it.
I was pretty sure I saw the imprint of her ass in the center.
The cat was nowhere to be seen, which was standard operating procedure for Asshole.
She came, she saw, she broke shit—and then she vanished.
Finn took in the carnage and let out a low whistle. He picked up the cake board and set it on the counter. “Maybe we can save it,” he said doubtfully—right before another side wall caved in, leaving nothing but a crumbling mess.
“I guess I’m spending the day starting over,” I said and waited for the disappointment I’d normally feel over a catastrophe like this to hit.
But it didn’t.
Maybe it was because Finn chose that moment to wrap his arms around me from behind, and I was reminded that I had more interesting things than cake decorating to think about.
“So, hear me out,” he murmured, resting his chin on my collarbone. “Instead of spending the day working on a new entry, you enter this as it is and call it something poetic like Shattered Dreams, and we go back to bed and fool around some more while we wait for the snowplow.”
I hummed, pretending to weigh up my options, but really, the choice was an easy one. “If that’s your advice as a professional baker, who am I to argue?”
Finn grinned, and together we cleaned up the kitchen, put the remains of the castle back into the pantry, and went back to bed, where I spent the afternoon getting thoroughly plowed.
Afterward we fell into a satisfied sleep, still tangled up in each other, and when I woke, the soft, faded light of late afternoon filled the room. From outside, Asshole yowled and scratched at the bedroom door.
I sighed and propped myself up on my elbows as the cat’s meowing got louder and more demanding. “I guess we’re getting up,” I said, throwing the quilt aside and getting out of bed.
Finn let out a soft groan and sat up, and then he got up as well. I saw him smirk when I moved carefully as I tugged on my sweats. He had every right to be smug—he’d wrecked me in the best possible way.
Once we were both dressed, I opened the bedroom door. Asshole stalked into the room, paused, sniffed the air, and stalked right back out. I followed her to the laundry where she stared at me, at her empty food bowl, and then at me again. I took the hint and fed her.
The cat wasn’t the only one who was hungry. I’d worked up one heck of an appetite and Finn probably had too. When I went back out to the living area, he was making coffee, so I opened the walk-in and started pulling out ingredients. “You like pasta?” I asked over my shoulder.
“I love pasta,” Finn said.
“Good, because we’re having fettucine Alfredo,” I informed him, carrying what I needed over to the counter and hip-checking him out of the way. “Go sit down.”
Finn gave my ass a playful pat as he went, and it was such a boyfriend thing to do that I had to stop and catch my breath when it hit me anew that we were dating now.
Was this what winning the lottery felt like? Because Finn Kelly being my boyfriend honestly felt too good to be true.
Maybe it was.
I put the pasta on to cook and started to prepare the Alfredo, melting the butter, adding the garlic, cheese, and heavy cream, then mixing in the seasonings. And as the saucepans simmered and bubbled, so did my thoughts.
I’d asked Finn if we were dating and he’d said yes.
Simple, right?
But what if like me, he’d been floating in a haze of just-fuckedness when he’d answered? What if he hadn’t really meant it?
But before my insecurities could take hold, two arms wrapped around me and Finn leaned against my back, letting out a pleased sigh. “That smells amazing, babe.”
A shiver ran through me at the pet name, and Finn placed featherlight kisses on the side of my neck, making me squirm.
“I told you to sit down. I’m busy,” I huffed. But I was grinning as I said it.
Finn didn’t get out of the kitchen, though. Instead he found which cabinet the bowls lived in, and by the time I was draining the fettuccine, he’d found the cutlery and set the table.
I stared at the place settings, and something loosened in my chest, a tightness I hadn’t even known was there. Sure, it was just a little thing, but in the year we’d been together, Andrew hadn’t set the table once.
Finn, though? He thought I was worth the effort.
I filled the bowls, grinning stupidly the entire time, and we sat down to eat. Finn groaned appreciatively around his first bite, and my smile widened. He caught me watching him. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said. “You’re just so easily impressed.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? This is incredible. You’re incredible.”
My gut squirmed at the unfamiliar praise, and I shied away from it instinctively. “I’m not. I’m the most boring guy on the planet.”
He stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth, his smile fading. “Why would you say something like that?”
I bit my lip and considered lying, but hell, Finn was going to hear about my cheating ex from someone in town.
It might as well be me. “My ex thought I was too dull. At least, that’s what he said when I caught him cheating on me.
” I waited for the familiar rush of shame that always washed over me when I remembered finding Andrew in our bed with someone else, but it didn’t get a chance to take hold because suddenly Finn was straddling my lap and wrapping me in a tight hug.
“That guy was an idiot,” Finn said. “You’re fucking fascinating.”
And the way he said it, I knew he believed it utterly. When he let go of me, he cupped my face in his palms and said, “Wait. Is this why you assumed that when I was flirting, I didn’t mean it?”
Was it? Had I been failing to see what was in front of me because of something my asshole ex had said?
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. “Maybe?”
Finn’s brow creased for a second, and then he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my lips and said, “Well, he was wrong. And I’m glad he ditched you, because you deserve better.”
It took me a second to figure out what he meant, but when I did, warmth flooded me. “You’re right,” I said. “I really do. But my new boyfriend is much better. Just ask him.”
That startled a laugh out of him, and I laughed along with him, light and free and happy, because this was real and Finn really did want to date me. I had pasta and a hot boyfriend to occupy me while I waited for the snowplow, and really, what else did I need in life?
I didn’t even care if Finn was crowned the next gingerbread king.
“I can’t believe you got disqualified,” I said darkly. “That was some bullshit.”
I was still mad on Finn’s behalf. He’d built a whimsical triple-storied cottage that was all angles and fairy-tale architecture and painstakingly decorated to look like it had come straight from the pages of a Dr. Seuss book—and then he’d been disqualified on a technicality because at the last minute he’d added a tiny black and white ceramic cat waiting at the front door.
Finn shrugged. “That was on me. I forgot it had to be completely edible. Besides”—he nodded toward the small stage at the front of the community center where Sherri was holding her Gingerbread Competition trophy over her head with both hands and strutting across the stage like John Cena displaying a WWE belt—“I’m glad she won. ”
Sherri had, against all expectations, produced a perfectly constructed gingerbread cottage, complete with clear windows and a whimsical garden with a dazzling display of flowers, all crafted from fondant.
It was a giant improvement on all of her earlier efforts and had clearly been the best house on display—excluding Finn’s entry.
Wait.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s almost like she had someone with professional experience teaching her. The same someone whose own entry mysteriously became ineligible.”
Finn had the good grace to look vaguely guilty. “What was I supposed to do? She told me her husband said the day she won the contest he’d take her to Vegas, and she’s always wanted to go to Vegas! Of course I was going to help.”
Finn was such a fucking sap. It was one of the things I liked best about him.
I was quickly discovering that I liked pretty much everything about Finn Kelly—maybe even more than liked.
Even though we’d only been dating for a week, I was falling for him hard, and from the looks I’d caught him giving me, I suspected he felt the same way.
It was pretty amazing.
I elbowed him gently. “That was a nice thing you did. Sherri deserved to win.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t win either,” he said.
“Eh. There’s more to life than gingerbread,” I said with a laugh.
There was no way I’d been in the running with my disaster castle, but I’d found I didn’t care.
I had other things to occupy my time—other things being the cute, distractingly sexy redhead next to me.
“Besides, my ‘ruined hopes and dreams’ entry was a statement piece, not a crowd-pleaser.”
“Was the statement ‘my cat is a fucking menace’?” Finn asked, grinning.
“Maybe,” I said, still laughing. I was doing a lot of that lately.
“Oh!” Finn said. “Speaking of Asshole.” He handed me a shopping bag.
I peeked inside and grinned when I found a box with a set of eight coffee mugs. After Asshole’s latest efforts, I was down to only one—and now that Finn was in my life, most mornings I needed two.
“Thanks,” I said and beamed up at him. He pressed a kiss to my temple, and the way his lips lingered told me he had plans for later.
I was on board with that.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I might not have a trophy, but it still feels like I’m winning at life.”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning into his side and soaking up the warmth of him. “That makes two of us.”