Chapter Eighteen-Bella
I was fast asleep on something hard and warm when my phone started ringing.
At first, I thought maybe I’d passed out on a sack of flour again—hey, it had happened before, don’t judge—but no.
Flour didn’t usually have a steady heartbeat or smell like pine needles, sunshine, and trouble.
I cracked one eye open, peeking at the situation.
Not my pink Egyptian cotton sheets with the ludicrously high thread count.
Nope. It was him.
Ermagerd.
Conrad Boman.
Bagged.
Tagged.
And sleeping in my bed like he owned the place.
Oh my Goddess. Did that really happen?
Judging from my slightly sore and profoundly happy girly bits, the answer was a resounding hell yes.
Yes, it did.
Usually, this was the part where I freaked out. Where I did the emotional equivalent of rolling myself into a cinnamon bun and hiding in the corner until the problem went away.
Happy afterglow or not, my track record with relationships was about as successful as a Gremlin running a water park.
Sure, I blamed society for giving curvy women a bad rap and making us feel like love came with a size restriction. But that wasn’t the whole truth.
I’d been burned before.
Case in point: the last time I’d felt even a spark with a guy—that turd Jameson.
The man had a knack for making compliments feel like paper cuts.
"Go on a diet, Bella. Twenty pounds and you’d be so pretty."
"I’d love to take you to the carnival, but can you fit on that ride?"
"Instead of starting work at 4:30, can you make it 5:30? I hate it when you wake me up."
Yeah. Prince Charming material, right?
And because I was a younger, dumber version of myself back then, I’d let him chip away at me like I was a block of cheap marble, and he thought he was Michelangelo.
So I built walls.
Big ones.
With barbed wire.
And a moat.
And possibly a fire-breathing guard dragon.
But Conrad?
Conrad was different.
Even sleeping, the man was a walking advertisement for bad decisions wrapped in a good idea.
The way his big, warm body was curled around mine—like I was something precious, something worth keeping—made it almost impossible to remember why I’d sworn off “forever” in the first place.
And that was terrifying.
Because the last thing I wanted was to hand my heart to someone who could break it.
The phone rang again, but Conrad slept through it like a professional cuddler who was paid by the hour.
His entire body was coiled around mine in a way that made me question both physics and human anatomy.
Arms locked holding me in place.
Legs tangled with mine.
Chest to my back.
And somehow his chin was hooked over my shoulder, all without cutting off my oxygen supply.
The man had Python skills even when he wasn’t in scales.
Seriously, he was the best snuggler ever.
I flipping loved it.
So did certain parts of my anatomy, if the warm, tingly hum between my thighs meant anything.
The phone rang again.
Conrad didn’t even twitch.
Whoever was calling was persistent, though.
Wiggling my booty (purely for the sake of escaping, not because I liked the friction, probably), I slithered across the big sexy beastie and snagged the phone.
“Hello?” I whispered.
“My Witchy, you must come. There was small fire—”
“Petyr! Oh no!”
My heart lurched.
Images of charred ovens and scorched lemon bars flashed in my head.
Blasted arsonist jerk wad.
Why was someone so intent on messing with me and my bakery?
“Hey, give me the phone, Love,” Conrad murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something darker.
He plucked it from my frozen fingers like I was a toddler who couldn’t be trusted with the good silverware.
“Petyr? Yeah, it’s me. The boys are on their way. Is anyone hurt? Good. Got it. Yep, I have her.”
Those last three words—I have her—hit me right in the sternum.
And in the gut.
And somewhere lower.
He had me.
Not just in the wrapped around me like a human anaconda way.
Not just physically.
No.
He had already managed to wedge himself into my heart when I wasn’t looking.
Panic tried to creep in.
Before it could take root, I bolted out of bed—literally.
My legs got tangled in the sheets, and I gracelessly face-planted on the rug.
Conrad was there in a heartbeat, sliding down beside me, his expression somewhere between concerned boyfriend and man trying not to laugh his ass off.
His fingers brushed my hair back from my face before he cupped my cheeks, his touch warm and grounding.
“Don’t borrow trouble, Bella,” he murmured, that deep rumble settling right into my bones.
“We’ll figure everything out. Right now, clothes.
We’ll go to the bakery together. I’ve already alerted the boys.
They replied that the fire was set in the dumpster this time.
See? The bad guys couldn’t get past your security. ”
Then he stood.
Naked.
My brain immediately supplied one word in neon letters,
MEGLADONG.
And because I am a mature, sophisticated woman, I stared.
Stared. Unblinkingly. For a very long time.
His semi-stiff trouser snake twitched under my gaze, as if it knew.
“Sssugar, if you don’t stop looking at me like that,” he growl-hissed, a sound that made my knees weak.
I shook my head like I could rattle my brain back into place.
“Right. Later. Clothes. Now. Let’s get dressed.”
“Right, we should hurry,” he said, already grabbing my spare toothbrush and lining up next to me at the sink like we’d been doing this for years.
I had a his-and-hers vanity.
The his side was basically storage for my hair products.
But watching him brush his teeth there, I had a thought.
Maybe I could make room.
If I was very careful.
If I didn’t let him see how much the idea warmed me.
Please, pretty please with cannoli cream on top, Goddess, do not let this man break my heart.
“I don’t think the Goddess will mind,” I muttered, and flicked my fingers, using a burst of pink-and-white sparkles to magic us both clean, dressed, and ready.
“Thanks, sweet Witch,” Conrad grinned at his reflection.
I dressed him in jeans and a black t-shirt, both fresh and pressed. His skin was clean and healthy, and his hair shiny.
Even his boots gleamed like they’d just been polished.
“You look scrumptious,” he said, then stole a quick, warm kiss before scooping me over his shoulder like I was nothing more than a bag of flour.
I squealed, but secretly?
Yeah, I liked it.
By the time we pulled up at the bakery in his pickup truck, the firetruck and the Sheriff’s cruiser were already there.
Jaxson was questioning Petyr like he was a suspect on Law & Order: Supernatural Unit.
Gryn and Ivan were hovering nearby, their little magical auras bristling.
I barely noticed Conrad holding the door for me until he murmured, “Bella?”
Before I could answer, I was mobbed.
“Thank the Goddess you’re alright!” Donny and Evie chorused, tackling me in a two-pronged bestie hug.
“Yes, I’m fine!” I squeaked, muffled in Witch boobage. “What are you two even doing here?”
Evie pulled back with a guilty grin. “Well, I almost didn’t come. I heard dumpster fire and thought maybe it was a metaphor for your love life.”
“Ha ha,” I said flatly, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.
Donny raised a brow and glanced at Conrad, then back at me.
“Judging by the way your hair’s mussed and your lipstick’s MIA, I’d say it’s not a total disaster.”
“Shut. Up.” I hissed.
But yeah, maybe they weren’t wrong.