14. Chapter 14
fourteen
Despite how exhausted I was, I tossed and turned until my alarm went off way too soon. Even with our efforts last night before the fire department rescued us, Quincy couldn’t get to the bakery until the tail end of the breakfast rush. I was going to have a long, painful shift ahead of me.
After dragging myself through my morning routine, I hesitated in front of my bedroom wall, the one that butted up against his own. I felt ridiculous, but true to my word, I knocked. Two short, crisp raps.
Almost immediately, the faint but unmistakable sound of two identical knocks replied from his side of the wall.
I grinned, even if I had no idea why he’d wanted me to knock in the first place. Just knowing he was awake and thinking of me in any way made my one good foot step lighter as I hobbled to my door.
I’d just pulled out my phone to order an Uber when two short knocks sounded on my door. I pulled it open, a mixture of bewilderment and excitement playing tug of war with my face.
Sure enough, Max stood on the other side, looking delectable in a white T-shirt and black jeans, his dazzling smile firmly in place despite the bags under his eyes. He held a to-go cup in one hand, which he offered to me. “Morning, Chef.”
“Morning, Max.” I took the cup as if in a dreamlike trance, the delicious mix of coffee and hazelnut wafting through its little sippy hole. He brought me coffee?
“Ready to go?” He brandished his keys and nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. “Your chariot awaits.”
“My… what?” I wasn’t still dreaming, right? I half expected the demon donkey to go waltzing past him, since that would make as much sense as him offering to cart me away with— successful —lures of coffee and quality time. “You’re not wearing workout clothes.”
Yet another point for it being a dream.
“Correct.” He held his arms out, as if waiting for a hug.
Honestly, that was the least strange turn of events in this dream, so I didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it. I lurched toward him, wrapping my arms around his warm, deliciously firm torso before he could get any more words out.
He hesitated for a moment before reciprocating the hug, which was a little odd for someone who’d asked for it in the first place. But whatever.
“This is nice,” I sighed, not caring how wistful I sounded.
And, boy howdy, nice didn’t even begin to cover it.
Hearing his heartbeat, strong and steady against his chest, while sucking his warmth into me like an iron-deficient leech was a bliss I hadn’t felt since tasting German chocolate cake for the first time.
And his scent . Spicy and clean and everything candle companies should be trying to replicate all in one.
Hugging him was a haven, really. One I never wanted to leave.
Best. Dream. Ever.
Max spoke, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my cheek. “I was going to ask if I could carry you to the car, but, yeah. This is nice.”
Wait. He hadn’t been asking for a hug?
The reality of my situation sunk in as delicately as a blue whale flopping into the ocean. This wasn’t a dream after all. He was about to offer to carry me—a platonic, chivalrous offer out of the kindness of his heart—and I’d suctioned myself to him instead.
Wait, was his heartbeat speeding up ?
He pulled away, and I backed up as quickly as my ankle would allow, verbally backpedaling three times faster. “ You’re nice. All of you is nice. Wait—no—that’s not what I meant. This is very nice of you. That’s what I meant. The hug was a… thank you. For being so nice.”
Sweet salami and peas , that was about as smooth as turbinado sugar. Yikes.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I gestured in the general direction of the parking lot, cutting off whatever he might have said in response to my criminal abuse of the word nice . “Sling me over your shoulder like a bag of rice if you want.”
Anything to keep me from having to make eye contact after all this.
He laughed. “I don’t want to accidentally hit your head against door frames, so I think I’d prefer the bridal carry, if that’s okay with you?”
Honestly, at least bonking my head would give me an excuse for my lack of charisma. But I digress.
I settled on a nod, hoping my flaming cheeks weren’t as strawberry-red as they felt. He scooped me up with ease, and away we went.
As it turns out, Max had a flaw after all.
He was an insane driver.
He didn’t technically break any laws as he drove the four blocks to the bakery, but he’d used the line between “legal” and “not” as a jump rope.
But, hey, we made it there in record time and mostly alive, too.
When he’d set me down inside, he didn’t return to his car like I’d assumed he would. Instead, he took one of the pink aprons hanging on the wall and tied it around himself. And by Java beans , he still looked hot as sin.
“Alright, Chef” —he flashed one of his wicked grins in my direction— “tell me what to do.”
“You’re helping me?” I asked, my throat tight with emotion. “You don’t have to do that, Max. I—”
I caught myself before explaining how I could’ve handled things myself, the lie too much for even my delusional self to believe this time.
I couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t have walked home last night without his help.
It had been my stubborn independence that had gotten me into this whole sprained ankle mess in the first place, and turning down his help now would only make things worse.
No matter how wrong it felt to take advantage of it.
Try as I might, I was finding all sorts of things I couldn’t do by myself whenever I was around Max. It terrified me.
“You would’ve done the same for your friends.” He shrugged and set to wheeling a speedrack out of the walk-in fridge. “I assume these will go in the oven? I thought you mentioned something about taking things out first, and this makes the most sense.”
I nodded dumbly and limped over to preheat the ovens. “What makes you think I’d do the same, though? This is above and beyond, Max.”
He fixed me with a flat look. “You went out past your bedtime—something you hold sacred—just to pick up something heavy and awkward for a friend, all while knowing you’d have to walk there and back, which you were prepared to do all by yourself in the dark.
If that isn’t going above and beyond for your friends, I don’t know what is. ”
I looked away, uncomfortable with the praise. “I think it was more impulsive than selfless.”
Impulsive . The girls had pointed that out about me, too.
“It can be both, you know.” He threw a knee-weakening wink at me. “Now what do I do?”
It took a few minutes to adjust to having him be my legs, so to speak, bringing me the necessary ingredients, popping things in and out of the oven, moving cinnamon rolls and croissants and donuts to cool, and all the minutiae of my routine I’d taken for granted when I’d had two functional ankles.
But we settled into a rhythm easier than I expected.
Max was a fast learner, observant, and had enough energy to power a tank.
When the front of house staff arrived to start prepping the cafe, I leaned over from where I was mixing new muffin batter and said, “If anyone asks, you have a food handler’s permit, okay?”
Max’s eyes twinkled, framed by the happy crinkles in his skin as he distributed the cupcake liners in the muffin tins. “Breaking the law, Dekker? I’m shocked.”
My jaw dropped. Clearly, he was teasing, since he’d been complicit in this the whole time, but it still struck a raw nerve after the Besserman disaster. “No, I—that’s not—and if I was , I have connections. The charges wouldn’t stick.”
I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was talking about, but it seemed like an incoherent version of what people on detective shows have said, so I went with it.
“Good point. You seem like the type to have a mafia don owe you a favor.”
I swatted at him, missing him by a mile. “The bingo mafia, maybe. I don’t stay up late enough for any other kind.”
“So that’s the real reason you needed the donkey suit, eh? To leave the head in someone’s bed?”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes good-naturedly. “Keep it up and you’ll find out.”
His laughter filled the kitchen, and I found myself smiling wider because of it. If I wrote a list of my favorite sounds, Max’s laughter would easily take first.
The door to the front of house opened, and the two baristas Britt and Catie popped their heads in. Their eyes flicked between Max and me before doing a double take at him. Which was fair.
Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.
Britt was still in high school, so she wasn’t a threat in the dating department, but Catie was cuter than a cucumber.
Shiny blonde hair that never seemed to escape its ponytail, blue siren eyes, and curves in all the right places.
Based on our few interactions, I was convinced over half our male clientele came solely to flirt with her, which she readily returned.
And, hey, the tips reflected that, so good for her.
Normally .
Now, I wanted to poke those siren eyes of hers with a fork.
Not hard , obviously. Just enough to wipe the unveiled interest off her face, that’s all.
The door closed as they retreated, but their giggling carried through the air, nonetheless. I scooped the batter into the first cupcake liner with more gusto than necessary. If my suspicions were correct, Catie wasn’t done with Max yet. Not even close.