Chapter 3 Cydney
cydney
If I thought yesterday’s run-in with Oliver was a fluke, I was totally wrong.
Today’s suit is light gray with a black shirt underneath that makes him look like he’s the world’s sexiest spy. When he turns slightly to hold the door open for an older woman, I spot the way his fitted pants hug his perfect rear end and almost swallow my tongue.
“Morning, Cydney,” he greets me, causing my hussy girly bits to wake up.
“Back for more?” I manage to mutter.
He leans on the counter, brows slightly raised. “Thought I’d try your pumpkin scones today. Unless you think there’s something more dangerous on the menu.”
“The scones are definitely dangerous…” I toss back, holding his gaze, and I swear he’s undressing me with his brain while I love every freaking second of it.
I pop his scone in the microwave, and the second I hit Start, Oliver leans in close.
The heat from the machine is nothing compared to the way he’s looking at me.
I swear, if he ever turned those eyes up to full power, I’d be the world’s first human puddle.
I take a sip of my iced coffee, hoping to cool my jets a little.
“So, tell me,” he rumbles, folding those arms over his chest. “Where’d you get the name Gobble Me Up?”
I almost snort coffee out of my nose. The truth is, it wasn’t exactly a committee of geniuses.
“Let’s just say, Tessa and I weren’t marketing masterminds. After college, we knew we wanted a bakery, but every name we came up with was terrible. Like, genuinely horrifying. So, we bribed our families with cinnamon rolls to help us. We threw everyone’s suggestions in a hat and pulled one out.”
I place his warm scone into a box, grinning. “Tessa’s little brother’s idea won out. He was six, and honestly, the rest of us were just desperate for caffeine and sugar at that point.”
Oliver’s mouth tips into a full-blown smirk. “Gobble Me Up. I’m guessing you get a lot of interesting comments.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” I slide the box across to him, careful to brush his fingers with mine. Is it sad that this qualifies as the highlight of my entire week? Don’t care. “One time, a guy asked if we did private events. I think he was hoping for something a little spicier than cinnamon rolls.”
Oliver’s eyes darken like he’s imagining exactly what kind of private event I’m up for. “I bet you keep things interesting in here.”
I lean in, elbows on the counter. “Depends on what you’re hoping for, Mr. Burkhardt. I can be very accommodating.” It comes out way dirtier than I meant it, judging by the way his eyes darken.
His jaw tics. “Accommodating, huh?” That voice drops another octave. “You keep talking like that, and one of these days, I’m going to see just how far you’re willing to go, Cydney.”
Holy. Shit.
My tongue goes dry while every nerve ending lights up like a Christmas tree.
I might be the reigning queen of small-town sass, but there’s zero chance I’ll survive if he actually calls my bluff.
He’s not grinning, either. He’s looking at me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he’s plotting to devour me for breakfast and lunch and dinner, too.
I can’t decide if I want to faint or throw him down and climb his body like a jungle gym. Maybe both.
I force out some kind of sound, which, shocker, comes out like a whimper. “Well… good thing you’re not afraid of a challenge.” My voice is so breathy it barely counts as real speech, but the man just grins like I’ve handed him a winning lottery ticket and he can’t wait to cash it in.
His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth, lingering long enough that I forget how to swallow. “I never back down from a challenge, Cydney.” He’s so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. His thumb brushes the lid of his coffee cup, slow and deliberate, and my brain short-circuits.
I’m not sure if I want to faint or melt into a puddle of goo right here in front of the entire population of Worthington Hills.
“Good to know.” I somehow manage to keep my voice steady, but my knees are straight-up knocking together under the counter. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m planning something seriously sinful.”
Oliver just gives me that look. I mean, THE LOOK. The kind that makes my breath catch and my girly bits sing.
“Counting on it.” His voice is so deep, I swear the glass in the pastry case almost vibrates. “I’m always game to see what you’ll come up with next.”
Holy mother of carbs and caffeine.
I’m standing here, trying to look composed, but what I really want to do is crawl over the register and see how much work it is to peel that suit off his muscular bod.
Instead, I lean in, dropping my voice so it’s full, smoky, and maybe a little bit filthy.
“Careful, Oliver. If you keep showing up, I might just start thinking you’re obsessed with me. ”
He doesn’t even hesitate. He tips his head, dark hazel eyes glinting like he wants to devour me whole. “Maybe I am.” His eyes flick down to my lips, and I swear, my knees actually buckle. Oh. My. God.
His lips curl in a wicked, knowing grin, and then he winks at me. Not just a casual wink, either—a full-force, panty-destroying, alpha-male-who-knows-exactly-what-he’s-doing wink. My brain fries on the spot.
I’m still clinging to the countertop, sweating through my blouse, when Oliver turns and walks out the door.
The suit, the swagger, the air of total control—the whole package should come with a warning label.
My ovaries short-circuit, and my girly bits throw a parade in his honor, confetti and everything.
Holy shit. Get a grip, Cydney.
I fan myself, seriously debating whether to dump ice cubes down my bra. My cheeks are on fire. My pulse is doing Olympic-level gymnastics.
The glass door barely clicks shut before I’m sagging behind the register, grinning like an idiot. God help me, I think I might actually be obsessed.
I try to act chill, but I spend all Thursday morning staring at the door like a lovesick doofus. Seven-thirty comes and goes. Eight. Nine. Nine-thirty. Nothing. I pretend not to care, but my traitorous heart keeps skipping every time someone in a suit walks by.
At ten-thirty, right when I’m about to declare myself officially ghosted, the bell dings, and there he is. Looking unfairly hot in a navy suit, like he just conquered Wall Street and is now here to conquer me. My knees instantly go weak.
“Hey, stranger.” I try to sound breezy, but I’m practically vibrating. “I thought you were gonna leave me hanging today.”
He leans in, all slow confidence. “Had an early meeting. But I would never miss this.” His eyes lock on mine, and holy hell, my insides turn to mush.
Shop’s dead, so I grab two fresh pumpkin muffins and a pair of lattes, because this is a Big Mood situation and a girl needs backup. I toss them onto a plate, add a drizzle of cinnamon glaze, and walk around the counter like I’m on a goddamn mission.
Oliver’s standing there, hands in his pockets, just watching me with that look that should be illegal in most states. I swear I’m about to spontaneously combust right here on the bakery floor.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I blurt, which, okay, is not my most seductive line, but my ovaries are basically jumping on a trampoline. “I made these fresh. You get first dibs.”
He gives me a slow, up-and-down stare that makes my skin go hot. He leans in, and his voice drops, low and dirty. “I like a woman who knows how to take control.”
Good lord. The way Oliver looks at me right now? If the FDA knew about it, they’d slap a warning label on his sexy, hungry gaze and outlaw it for public safety reasons. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of my body, and my brain is just static and the word YES.
I do this thing where I try to act cool, so I cross my arms and lean against the counter, pretending I’m not seconds from climbing him like a tree. “Well. Somebody’s gotta keep you on your toes, Mr. Burkhardt. Wouldn’t want you getting bored.”
He leans in, voice so low it’s practically a sin. “Trust me, Cydney. You are the farthest thing from boring I’ve ever met.”
Holy hell. The way he says my name. It’s a whole damn problem.
I try to keep my hand steady as I push a hot latte his way. “Do you have time to sit with me for a little bit?” I need to slow things down before I end up getting in trouble. Who am I kidding? I’m already in so much trouble.
“I always have time for you.” There’s that look in his eyes again.
We end up in the corner booth, tucked away from the street-facing glass and the prying eyes of Worthington Hills’ nosiest pastry addicts.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m worried Oliver will hear it, but he just folds himself into the tiny seat like he owns the whole damn place.
The man radiates alpha energy in a way that makes my brain short-circuit.
I try to act chill, but it’s a lost cause.
“So,” I blurt, because, apparently, my filter is on lunch break, “what do you actually do all day in your fancy suits?”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Investment banking. Mostly private equity these days. I help companies grow, then sell them for a profit. Boring boardroom stuff, really.”
Boring? On him, it sounds illegal. “So, you’re basically a shark in a suit?”
He grins, slow and devastating. “Only when I have to be.” The look comes out again, and I know I’m toast. I’m basically a human marshmallow at this point. Melting all over the damn table.
Oliver leans in, close enough that our knees brush under the table. “What about you, Cydney? Tell me something real.” His voice is so low and rough, it’s basically illegal.
I swallow, heat rushing up my neck as I blurt out the abbreviated version of my life.
“Not much to tell. I’m an only child with much older parents.
Like, retirement-age-when-I-was-in-high-school older.
They travel a lot now.” Jesus, why am I rambling?
“Most of the year, they’re off in an RV somewhere.
I get a postcard every time they see something weird.
Last month? The world’s largest ball of twine. ”
He grins, reading me like a book. “You miss them?”
I shrug, a little too honest. “Sometimes. But I kind of like being on my own. I get to make it up as I go.” Like, say, falling for someone I should probably be terrified of.
Like maybe the world’s hottest alpha male with a jawline that could cut glass and a voice that should come with a fire hazard warning.
My cheeks heat so fast it’s a miracle I don’t just burst into flames right there in the booth.
Oliver’s smile is slow, predatory. It’s not even fair. “I like the sound of that. You’re making up the rules… you’re going after what you want.”
His knee nudges between mine under the table, deliberate and just this side of indecent.
My breath stutters in my chest. “I guess I’m impulsive sometimes,” I mutter, which is hilarious because my hands are shaking, and my brain is currently buffering like a dollar-store Wi-Fi router. “But it’s worked out so far.”
He stares at me, eyes dark and hungry. “Impulse is underrated,” Oliver rumbles, voice rough as gravel. “Sometimes you just know when something’s right.”
I take a deep breath, needing to cool things down a little. “Tell me about your family.”
That really chills the conversation. He sits back and shrugs.
“My mom died when I was in high school, and I’m not really close with my dad.
” He looks away, jaw flexing under that perfectly scruffy stubble, and for a second, I swear he’s somewhere else entirely.
Like he’s replaying every bad memory all at once.
My heart does this weird lurch, and suddenly, I want to reach across the tiny table and just… hold his hand.
“Sorry,” I manage, trying not to totally annihilate the mood. “Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
He gives a half shrug, but this time it’s a little raw around the edges. “It’s fine. Part of the territory.” He lifts his latte, gaze locked on mine. “I decided a long time ago that I’d rather build my own family than worry about the one I was born into.”
Holy hell. If my ovaries weren’t already planning a ticker-tape parade, they definitely are now.