Chapter Fifteen #2
She turns now and steps into me, wraps her arms around my middle. “Cash, I’m so sorry.”
“I stayed inside for months. Pretended online that everything was fine. Smiled for the camera.” My laugh comes out rough and wrong. “Meanwhile, she killed my dog.”
“I can’t imagine.” Her hands slide around my neck. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s why I acted weird when you showed up in my room.”
“Understandably.”
“I was trying not to spook you. Trying not to panic. Trying not to think it was happening again.”
“I understand.”
I blow out a deep breath that shakes in the way out. “I’ve never told anyone. Not like this.”
“It stays with me.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her softly. “I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
Her fingers thread into the hair at the back of my neck. “I’m glad you told me.”
I draw her closer. “Thanks. Really. Just, thanks for letting me say it.”
“You don’t have to be strong with me.”
And I can’t.
I wrap my arms around her and hold on. My face presses into her hair. Vanilla. Warm skin.
I breathe until my lungs stop burning.
No cameras. No audience. No whispers.
Little by little, my shoulders drop, and my heartbeat slows.
She leans back, smiling. “So... what now? Sneak back upstairs? To our room? Or rooms?”
I arch a brow. “Rooms? Are you trying to escape me already? Should I be offended?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “No. I just didn’t want to assume or crowd you.”
“You’re not crowding me. I want to be right here. With you.”
Her smile widens. “Me too.”
She brushes a loose lock from my forehead. Her voice drops, teasing and intimate.
“You know, you’re not just a sexy baker man with a tragic past. You’re actually kind of fun.”
I chuckle. “Kind of?”
“Kind of.” She smirks. “Maybe more. Definitely kind of.”
The air shifts—lighter now, warm, the past fading until it’s just us and the hum of the room.
I close the tiny gap between us, and my mouth skims her lips.
Heat sparks low and fast. Her hands move to my chest, and I lean, deepening it. The kiss intensifies until we’re breathless.
She licks her lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, I might forget I’m bad at baking and croquet.”
“Until you burn rice.”
She laughs and playfully slaps me. “Rude.”
“We could practice until you’re perfect at all three.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Have you seen me bake?”
I laugh. “Fair. Two out of three ain’t bad.” I lean in, brushing my mouth near her ear. “How about we focus on not letting you wreck the fake grass?”
She snorts, easing away and grabbing her mallet. “Careful. I’m good at this game.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Then I guess I’d better step in before there’s property damage.”
I circle behind her as she lines up her shot. “And for the record, I’m excellent at distracting my opponent.”
She laughs. “You’re supposed to help me, remember?”
“Alright.” I step back, surprised by how easy my chest feels now. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She lines up her shot.
“Nice form.” I cross my arms, watching the way she squares her shoulders and bites her lip in concentration.
We trade shots and playful jabs. Laughter bounces off the walls.
Every brush of her hand, every grin, snaps the air tighter between us.
“Best two out of three?” She props her palm on the mallet.
I shake my head. “Baby girl, that was two out of three. Three times.”
She plants her hands on her hips in the most adorable way. “I demand a recount.”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Congratulations on being the reigning croquet champion.”
I take a bow.
She laughs. “Your prize is a—” Her eyes scan the room. “A drink.”
“A drink?” I could think of a better prize.
I’m looking at it right now.
“You are a professional baker, and I am a pro at making a drink.”
I tilt my head. “A pro?”
She shrugs. “You’ll have to find out.” She sashays to a soda counter dividing the dining room and the kitchen.
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I slide onto one of the chrome stools.
“I’m a professional cook too.” The stool hisses as I swivel. “I realize we’ve only baked together, but tomorrow it’s breakfast, lunch, and supper, and Cash Can Cook will be making an appearance.”
“So you’re annoyingly good at both?”
I rest one arm on the polished metal. Crazy, we’ve only known each other for a day. Feels like longer.
“I am.”
She snorts. “And modest too.” She checks the mini fridge, ducking behind the counter, rattling bottles and cans. “You know it is tomorrow. The sunburst clock says so.”
I glance at the wooden face of the clock, and the metal spokes confirm it is past one in the morning. Closer to two.
The base of a fluted soda glass clinks on the counter as she sets it down, drawing my attention back.
“Only one glass?”
Her playful smile is sin dressed as innocence. “I’ll share.”
I bet she will.
The tub of ice cream she fetches from the freezer has frost clinging to the rim.
“Interesting choice for a drink.”
With a cute grin, she scoops ice cream into rounded mounds and plops them in the glass.
I rest both arms on the counter and lace my fingers together. “I’m excited to see what’s next.”
She doesn’t fetch vodka or gin but instead a can of root beer and—
“I’m sorry.” She winces, setting a can of whipped cream on the counter. “It’s all we have down here.”
“I’ll forgive you. This time.”
Her thumb hooks the tab, and the aluminum can flexes before it snaps open.
“Ingredient two.” The fizz fills the space around the ice cream.
She shakes the can, snaps off the lid, and crowns the float with a white spiral. A cherry and two straws finish it off.
“Voila.” She slides the drink across the counter. “A classic root beer float for our time capsule experience.”
“I was expecting whiskey.”
She laughs as she rounds the bar and sits on the stool beside me. The stools squeal as they spin together.
Our knees knock.
Our legs rub.
“Whiskey will never be as delicious as a root beer float.” She leans in, and the straw slips between her lips as she takes a sip.
I watch every moment.
Watch her fingers curl around the fronted glass.
Watch her lips wrap around the straw.
Watch her eyes flutter shut for half a second.
When she straightens, she dabs her bottom lip with her thumb and smears a little foam.
“Are you going to try it?” She slides the glass closer to me. “It’s edible. I promise.”
“I was just enjoying watching you enjoy it.” I take the second straw, not that I’d mind sharing a straw with her.
Root beer and vanilla flood my tongue. Sweet, cold, and pure nostalgia.
She leans toward the other straw. “Not terrible, right?”
“It’s better than not terrible.”
“You can admit it, it’s delicious.” She sips.
“It’s delicious.”
“Even the whipped cream?”
I smirk. “Don’t push it.”
We sip at the same time like we’re in some retro movie.
When we finish, I catch her hand. “You know what I’m hungry for now?”
“Tell me.”
One hand slides to the side of her jaw. My thumb brushes the soft place under her cheekbone.
I kiss her, tasting the leftover vanilla ice cream sweetness on her lips. She leans in, and the stool swivels beneath her. Her hand grabs my forearm, but my other arm is already around her waist, steadying her.
The kiss deepens, hot and heavy. She slides off the stool and into my knee, grinding against my leg, her knee rubbing my cock under my jeans. My fingers thread into her hair, cupping the back of her head.
It’s fucking perfect.
“I think we should tour the rest of this time machine.” In one smooth motion, I scoop her up off the stool.
She gasps, arms wrapping instinctively around my neck.
“A tour?” Her legs tighten around my middle.
So damn perfect.
I carry her to a short hallway lined with old movie posters. “Starting with whatever retro bedroom is tucked back here. Seems like the right place to continue this.”