Chapter 3
chapter
three
Addison
If love had a scent, it would smell like cinnamon rolls.
In particular, my sister Kelsie’s cinnamon rolls.
A couple of years ago, she and her two besties, Gracie and Caroline, opened up a bakery in downtown Saddle Creek.
Sugar Bakers is now wildly popular, and everyone in town knows how good my sister’s rolls are.
That sounded way dirtier than I intended.
See? Even my double entendres are accidental. Because the truth is, cinnamon rolls smell like love to me, because I don't know anything about actual love. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never even had a toe-curling kiss.
This partially explains why I am struggling to write my current story. Okay, technically, my lack of experience of the carnal variety explains all of it.
How am I supposed to write believable romance without experiencing at least one of those?
By mid-morning, the whole bakery feels like a cloud of sugar and butter. Of course, Saturdays are the busiest days at the bakery. There’s a little bit of a lull in the customer crowd, so Kelsie wanders out of the kitchen. She’s wearing a bright pink apron that declares: My Buns are Sticky!
Kelsie has always made life look so effortless.
She moves through the world as if she’s never had a self-doubt her entire life.
I’m sure that’s not accurate, but in truth, I’ve never been brave enough to ask.
I used to try to emulate her easy smile and casual way she interacts with other people, but it only ended up making me more anxious.
Her red hair is piled into a messy bun that looks artful and intentional instead of actually messy. She’s got the coffee pot in one hand, and a plate in the other as she strides to my table.
As soon as they opened this morning, I parked myself at one of the tables towards the back wall. My laptop is surrounded by my water bottle, a mug of lukewarm tea, a second mug that’s empty, and an alarming number of sticky notes.
“You’ve been here since seven,” she says, setting a plate down. “You haven’t had a cinnamon roll yet.” She sits in the other chair at my table, sets the coffee pot on the empty table behind her.
“I wanted to get some work done before your sugar-laden roll lulled me into a nap.”
“Now you know why bakeries close early. It’s because we all need afternoon naps.”
I nod. “Makes sense to me. Think they’d let me nap in my office at the brewery?”
“I think they’ll let you do whatever you want if you can do for them what you did for our bakery. Not to mention that chain of boutique hotels.”
I roll my eyes. “Mom got me connected for that, and I truly think they would have been successful without me.”
“Don’t give yourself so little credit.” She nods at my cinnamon roll. “Eat. Do you want coffee now?”
I dutifully take a bite, and my eyes roll back into my head. “Surely this is better than sex,” I say.
She laughs. “It’s better than some sex, that’s for sure.” After pouring coffee into my empty mug, she taps a finger on my graveyard of sticky notes. “What is happening here?”
“Just notes to myself.” I gather them all and shove them inside my notebook.
“How’s the writing going?” she asks.
I blow out a breath that makes my sensible bangs flutter against my forehead.
“That good, huh? Eat your better-than-sex cinnamon roll and see if it doesn’t inspire you.”
“I definitely need some inspiration,” I mutter.
“Well, you could always watch porn.”
I wince and drop my head into my hands. “I should never have told you about that.”
“Of course you should have. I’m your big sister and therefore hold all rights to give you shit about these things.”
“Seriously, Kels, I basically told a room full of professionals that I watch porn.”
“Technically, you told them you weren’t watching it.”
“Not helpful. I mean, really, who says things like that?”
“Apparently you.”
“You suck,” I tell her.
The bell above the door to the bakery chimes, and Kelsie stands. “I gotta get back to it.”
I glance up and there striding into the bakery is none other than Thorne Cumberland. Of course, it’s him. In jeans and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, tie nowhere in sight. He looks less like a lawyer and more like sin personified.
“I think the universe hates me.”
Kelsie glances back at me. “Oh shit, that’s him, isn’t it? The hot, tall ginger.”
“Quiet,” I hiss. I scowl at her, but it’s useless; she’s immune to my dramatics.
She snorts. “You could always offer him a lick of your sweet roll.”
“Oh my God, please stop talking.”
He glances around the bakery, then spots me. That faint half-smile curls his mouth, polite, unreadable, lethal.
I try to play it cool. “Good morning, Mr. Cumberland.”
“Miss Blankenship.” He nods once, voice smooth as melted butter. “I keep hearing good things about this place. Today seemed as good a day as any to try it out.”
“My sister is one of the owners.” I nod to the counter. “That’s her over there. The nosy redhead who’s staring.” I shoot her a glare.
He chuckles. His gaze moves over to my sister, and I mentally brace myself for him to linger.
For his blue eyes to catalogue all of her lovely features.
My sister is beautiful and people—men—have always noticed it.
With her red hair and coppery-brown eyes, she’s a stunner.
But Thorne glances at her, then he looks back at me. My skin warms under his perusal.
Kelsie takes that opportunity to walk over. She wipes her hands on her apron. “Hi there. Can I get you something?”
“Coffee, please. Black.”
“Absolutely. Are you one of my sister’s colleagues?”
He nods. “I am.”
“I heard she made quite the impression yesterday.”
“Why are you like this?” I ask Kelsie.
“Older sister prerogative,” she says, undeterred.
Thorne glances at me. “A lot of people would have wilted in such a situation. She handled it admirably.”
“I’ll add it to my résumé: Professional Mortifier of Self.”
Kelsie laughs. “I’ll grab that coffee, but don’t think you’re going to get out of here without having at least one pastry.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Gah, that accent. It’s unfair how all-together yummy he is. Oof, those thoughts should come with warning lights or something. I frantically shove my papers into my bag. “I should, uh, get back to work. I’ve got a meeting.”
“It’s your day off,” Kelsie says, Thorne’s coffee cup in hand.
“Still. Meeting. Very important.”
I stand too quickly, knocking over my water bottle. Thorne rights it with one large hand, his fingers brushing mine.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“I fear this water bottle is too dangerous for you.” He says, eyes glinting.
I manage a laugh that sounds only slightly strangled, then escape out the door, dignity trailing behind me like toilet paper on a shoe.