Chapter 18
KAIRO
Morning in the Miller household is hectic, made all the worse by a frantic phone call from Devon’s dad, who rushed to the bakery painfully early in the morning due to the snow, only to find out that the power is completely dead.
With the fridges and freezers out of commission, even the cold outside isn’t enough to stop the ice cream cakes from starting to melt and all other fragile desserts from rapidly approaching the end of their edible cycle.
With a microwave-warmed croissant in one hand and a stunningly hot cup of coffee in the other, Martin races Devon and me to the bakery just in time.
I’m brushing crumbs from my fingers as we walk inside and Hank shoves a white box into my hand.
“Take that across the street!” he barks at me. “The cafe is letting us use their freezer.”
“On it.” I turn one-eighty and head across the thickly snow-covered street to the small cafe where an older woman wrapped under ten layers of sweaters and scarves stamps her feet and slaps her hands together.
“Wow,” she chuckles throatily as I pass. “I knew they hired more staff but I’ve never seen someone like you before!”
“It’s the hair, right?” I smirk at her over the top of the box.
“It’s a shame to hide a butt like that behind pants like those.” She chuckles. “If I were thirty years younger.”
“If only.” I snort with laughter. “Where can I put this?”
“The freezers are in the back just past the coffee machines.” She guides me with a brief wave of her hands then stuffs them both back into her pockets, resting her back against the door to keep it open. “What a beautiful storm.”
After depositing the cake in the freezer, I’m joined by Martin, who’s following the same instructions, and together, we spend an hour carting all perishables from the bakery to the cafe, much to the delight of the owner, Margaret.
She’s a sly thing for her old age, but given how much help she’s being to Devon, I let it slide.
Especially since every time I return to the bakery, Devon flashes me a grateful smile that reminds me of that sweet, brief kiss last night.
It was so sudden but so welcomed, and I kick myself for ruining it by touching her cheek.
I shouldn’t have passed that boundary but as soon as her soft lips collided with mine, I was wrestling every overwhelming urge to sweep her up in my arms and kiss her until we were both panting and aching.
Just one kiss was enough to give me a raging hard-on that took hours to fade, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
Her soft lips, the sweet way she could only reach my lower lip from her angle, and the burning, searing contact of her hand on my arm that I never wanted to end.
And she was right.
That kiss, as brief and sudden as it was, immediately soothed the rawness from my confession and I knew I’d done the right thing.
Regardless of what happens between us, sharing my pain with her was freeing.
I’m holding onto that feeling for the rest of my life.
“Sorry, Margaret.” I grin as we set the last cake down in the freezer. “I hate to break things off with you so soon, but we both knew this couldn’t last.”
“A gal can dream.” She croaks with laughter. “I expect you here when I reopen as payment for my freezer space.”
“If that’s all it costs then as soon as the snow thaws enough for you to reopen, I will be here.”
“It’s a date!” She cackles as she closes the door, and I hurry back across the snow-turned-slushy street to the bakery.
“Are we good?” I ask once inside, stomping snow from my shoes.
“We only lost two cakes,” Devon says, leaning over the counter and rapidly scribbling on a clipboard in front of her.
“There’s no telling when the power will be back on, though, so in a pinch, I’ll have to remake yesterday’s compote and we’re going to need so much fresh butter…
” She trails off into a mumble as she makes notes, talking mostly to herself.
Martin lingers by a display case blowing on his hands to warm them up against the chill that’s swept into the bakery with no heating to keep it at bay.
“We’ve got another problem.” Hank stumbles through from the kitchen. “The Harrison wedding is still going ahead today and they just called demanding that the cake make it there on time.”
Devon looks up at her father. “Did you tell them about the blizzard?"
“Mmhmm.”
“And?”
“Mrs. Harrison to be said there was no snow on her side of the city so we should have no problem delivering the cake or the pastries for the Mr. and Mrs. display.”
“You’re joking.” Stress tightens Devon’s brow and she massages her temple. “That cake is five tiers. Even if we tried, there’s no way we’d be able to dig our way out of the town in time to deliver that cake or the pastries.”
“There has to be something we can do,” Hank mutters. “We could take the road to the highway and then double back.”
“There’s no time!” Devon throws her hands up. “Even without the snow, there wouldn’t be time for that. Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot about it…”
“Let me help.” An idea springs to mind as they discuss the difficulties of safely leaving the town with the cake. “I can get the cake there.”
“How?” Devon squints at me. “Even with Martin’s driving, your car will have to go slowly for at least five miles just to get out of town. After that, you have to get all the way to New York and then over to the other side. I’m not doubting your skills,” she says with a glance at Martin.
“Oh, I am,” Martin scoffs softly.
“But it’s impossible. And we have a truck for these deliveries, which is way more suited for snow than Martin’s car.”
“We don’t need to drive,” I say as I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. “Is there a park or a field nearby?”
“There’s the school grounds,” Hank says, visibly confused. “That’s the closest you’ll get to a field.”
“What are you doing?” Devon pushes off the counter and walks toward me, clipboard in hand as I lift the phone to my ear.
“I have a helicopter.”
“What?” She gapes at me. “You’re not serious!”
“Course I am. I need to get back to the city anyway, and this way, I can ensure your cakes get delivered in such style that when they leave their review, ‘above and beyond’ won’t be good enough.”
“That’s utterly ridiculous!” She’s torn between laughter and shock while glancing between me and her father who mutters something about money while chuckling.
“Ridiculous, yes. But doable.”
“Kairo…” She shakes her head and pink flushes across her apple cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Putting my riches to good use, don’t you think?
” I wink at her, and my pilot answers on the forth ring and with Devon’s help, I direct them to the school field for pick up.
Then we have twenty minutes to prepare the cake and all pastries for transport and deliver them to the field before the helicopter arrives.
Devon watches on in utter awe as we stand in the parking lot watching the sleek, grey Sycamore family helicopter whip up its own blizzard as it lands in the soccer field.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening.” Devon laughs, carrying one small box in her good arm as we trudge through the disturbed snow to the helicopter.
“Remember this the next time you want to talk bad about my clothes or something,” I tease as we reach the vehicle.
Hank spends ten minutes securing the massive cake, which becomes Martin’s baby with how protective he is over ensuring it remains safe for the flight.
Devon and I load up all the other pastries, then she passes me a slip of paper with the venue on it.
“Thank you for doing this. You’ve no idea how much you’re saving us. One bad review can tank a business.”
“Damn. Silver Canopy really took the wrong approach to shutting you down.”
“Hey!” She elbows me playfully and her cheeks flush once more, adding pink hues to the red from the cold. “Will you let me know how it goes?”
“Of course. Thank you for last night.”
Devon suddenly can’t meet my eyes and she shrugs softly. “Anytime,” she says quietly, then she hurries away with her father.
I keep my eyes on her as the helicopter takes off and I stare until she grows as small as an ant, getting swallowed up by the clouds.
Martin catches my eyes and smirks as we fly toward the city, and his voice crackles through my headset. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”
I don’t reply, but the answer sits heavily in my chest.
I really do.
Three days later, I’m back in the bakery.
The power is on and Devon stands next to me poring over the document I brought with me.
It has every detail of our ‘engagement’ agreement laid out for her, and she’s taking her time reading through it all while her mom darts around behind us baking and a warm hum of noise rises from the front of the shop.
My heart races as anticipation builds. If there’s anything she doesn’t like the sound of, or anything she wants to add, then I’ll change it in a heartbeat, but I think I covered everything.
Our marriage will be free from restrictions and she will have immediate access to my accounts through which she can use whatever means available to her to fight for the land rights to the bakery.
A formal bid will most likely go in her favor, given how long they’ve been here, and when she’s successful, she’ll have all she needs to secure this building and her family’s future.
In return, she’ll pose as my wife and attend one or two formal engagements to keep up the ruse until we part amicably with minimal disruption to either of our reputations.
Her mom, Lindsey, eventually leaves us alone as she vanishes to the front of the shop and Devon flicks to the last page.
Her brow has been knit since she started reading and she occasionally chews on her lower lip.
Warmth prickles at the back of my neck, so I adjust my shirt collar and undo one button, then loosen my tie.
It’s either the heat in here or my nerves, but something is making my body temperature climb.
It might be my proximity to Devon.
“Formal engagements,” she says softly. “What are those?”
“My mother is about appearances, and as much as I would like to keep this quiet, people will find out. So you will need to show face at a charity gala or something just so everyone can meet you.”
She grimaces slightly, then nods. “Worth it, under the circumstances.”
“I’ve also sent a copy to your email.”
Devon flashes me a quick smile. “Thanks. Well… I’m not a lawyer, but it all looks good to me. My lawyer called last night and said everything looks good to him, so it’s really up to me now.” She straightens up from the table and looks at me. “Would you be mad if I said no?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Hmm. Just checking.” With a smile, she pulls a pen from the back pocket of her jeans and quickly scribbles her signature down on both documents right next to my name. Then she slides one of them toward me while keeping the other. “It’s a pleasure. I can’t wait to be married.”
Then Devon offers me her hand.
My heart skips a beat.
In all the time I’ve known her, other than our drunken fling at the bar, which can only be explained by the copious amounts of alcohol we both consumed, Devon has never openly offered me her touch to be reciprocated like this.
She’s briefly touched me in this past week or so, but that’s all been her own choice and never a touch that required anything from me.
Except for that all too brief kiss in her home.
However, even that was delivered in such a way that my reaction was unnecessary.
But this?
She’s reaching out to me and her smile is open. Gentle. She actually wants me to touch her. In a quiet, polite way, she’s asking and giving me permission all at the same time, and there’s no way I can resist.
Our hands slot together perfectly. Her palm is warm and her fingers soft as she firmly takes my hand with her smile widening.
It’s unlike any other handshake I’ve ever had before.
Most are firm and brief, but this touch lingers.
Her thumb slides into the crevice of my own and strokes once across my forefinger, then her hand flexes and she tightens her grip.
“Thank you, Kairo,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving mine.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me.
And not just to me, but to my family too.
I know you have your own reasons for doing this, but I just…
” She shakes her head, and her pinned hair briefly threatens to come loose.
“In case you had any doubt, I really want you to come to Thanksgiving so we can thank you properly.”
Every muscle in my body tightens with restraint as her hand in mine continues and the contact starts to burn. It’s not unpleasant. In fact, it’s the opposite.
I want this moment to last forever. I want her eyes on me, her hand in mine, and for that smile to be only for me.
I want to draw her in, wrap my arm around her waist, and return the kiss she gave to me.
I want to lay her down and spread her apart until she’s trembling and shaking and begging me for more.
I want my name on her lips like a prayer and her hands in my hair as I drive her to the edge again and again.
I don’t know what this is, or if this contact means the same to me as it does to her, but I will do everything I can to nurture this until this yearning ache inside me finds its home in her heart.
“I am looking forward to it more than I can say,” I reply softly. “And you are so welcome. Please, call me if you need anything.”
Her hand tightens around mine and my stomach drowns in flutters. “Do I have to need something to call you?” she asks softly.
“No,” I reply as confidently as I can. “You don’t need any reason at all.”
“Good.” Her smile widens and then she pulls away, but my hand remains hot, throbbing in time to my heartbeat.
That’s the longest she’s let me touch her, and I’m left craving infinitely more.
Flushed and giddy like a teenager, I say goodbye and hurry from the bakery where even the cold November air isn’t enough to soothe the warmth burning in my cheeks. Martin gives me a knowing look as I climb into the car.
“Geez, what happened? You look like a love confession just happened.”
Curling my hand into a light fist, I chase the lingering sensation of her touch. “No. Something much more important.”
That lingering warmth stays with me on the drive back to the city until we leave the motorway and my phone lights up with three text messages and then a phone call before I can even read them.
It’s Ryan, my CFO, demanding an emergency meeting.
And he’s pissed.