Chapter 10
While Saint is grabbing food—how fucking embarrassing of my stomach to grumble like that again—I check the weather. According to the National Weather Service, the rain is supposed to stop in an hour.
I let out a breath of relief that I won’t have to call in tomorrow and—
My phone buzzes, and Merv’s contact flashes on my screen. “Hello?” I don’t expect an answer because Merv is a frequent butt-dialer.
“Mikey, tell me you and your baker are safely in Cupid’s Cove,” Merv grunts.
“Yes. We got here about twenty minutes ago, why?”
“Just got a weather alert. The pass isn’t safe to drive through because of the rain, and I forbid you from driving home when the roads are wet and it’s dark. Looks like you’re trapped there for the night, girlie. I’ll see ya Monday. Enjoy your weekend!” Before I can respond, the line goes dead.
Sure enough, a weather alert pops up on my phone. Well… I guess I should have listened to Merv. Maybe he’s not as crazy as I thought if he was able to predict this.
I have spare coveralls and a change of clothes in case of an emergency at work, but I don’t have toiletries or even spare underwear. I could fork out the money for a room at the motel we passed. What was it called? Sweetheart something.
I look up lodging around Cupid’s Cove and frown when every place says there’s no availability.
“All right, Mikey, here’s your—what’s wrong?” Saint’s voice pulls my attention from my phone, and the aroma of whatever he’s brought makes my stomach rumble again.
He slides into the booth on the opposite side and sets a plate in front of me. My mouth waters when I see what’s probably going to be the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten.
I blink up at Saint. “Merv just called me. The storm’s really bad, and they’re advising no one drives through the pass until it’s clear? I’m not sure exactly how long it’s supposed to last, but I know I won’t be getting back home tonight. I was just looking for a motel but…”
“Every place is full because of the festival tomorrow,” he finishes for me, scratching his cheek. “I can talk to Ruby and ask if you can sleep at her place, but she lives above the shop and only has a queen bed. I’m sure I can find a blow up mattress or something…”
“I barely know your sister, I'm not going to encroach on her space.” I shake my head. “No, I’ll just sleep in my truck. I’ll be fine.
“You’re not sleeping in your damn truck, Mikey. You’ll freeze or hurt your neck or something.”
“Well I’m not imposing on your sister.”
“You can stay with me,” he blurts out.
“What? No. I’m not imposing on you, either.”
“You wouldn’t even be in this situation if not for me, so please, let me be hospitable. You’re sleeping in my guest room. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Now,” he taps the plate, “eat.”
When did he get so bossy?
And why do I not hate it?
“Fine.” I grab half of the sandwich and take a bite.
My tastebuds do a little dance at the textures and flavors blessing my mouth.
The bread is soft and fluffy while the chicken is tender but crispy on the outside.
It balances nicely with the lettuce, and the salty prosciutto pairs well with the tang from the dressing.
Fuck, this is good. “This is delicious. What is it?”
“Caesar salad with a chicken cutlet and crispy prosciutto on garlic butter bread.”
“Why isn’t this on the menu? You’d be millionaires.” I take another bite and try not to moan. The desire to shove this whole thing in my mouth is strong, but I want to savor it at the same time.
“Ruby wanted something special just for us. She used to make this for our mom before she lost her appetite to the medications.”
“It’s really sweet of you to share it with me, thank you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He raises his own sandwich and takes a bite.
My heart rate picks up, and my stomach flutters every time he calls me “sweetheart.” I don’t know why he calls me that or when we stepped into nickname territory, but I don’t hate it. In fact, the word sends a spark of need through my veins.
As he takes another bite, a bit of dressing gets caught on his upper lip, and my gaze tracks the path of his tongue as he swipes it off.
Get it together, Mikey.
We finish our sandwiches in silence, listening to the low chatter from other patrons and the pitter patter of rain on the window.
Ruby comes to the front to take orders when new customers come in, and sometimes we make eye contact.
She gives me a beaming smile each time, and it feels so warm and welcoming, I can’t help but return it.
I’ve never really had girl friends. I was never popular in school, and the few friendships I had didn’t survive summer vacation.
I would bounce around from friend group to friend group in middle school, but when I reached high school, I finally found my place in auto shop class.
The only problem was, it was only boys in the class.
Ruby seems so sweet, and I think I’d like to be her friend. If she’s as sweet as her brother, it wouldn’t be difficult.
I don’t know what’s supposed to happen now that we’re done eating. Am I supposed to hang out here while he finishes up whatever work he needs to do? Am I supposed to leave? My plan was to go home. I hate feeling like I’ve thrown a wrench into his day.
“Do you want to be my guinea pig again? I have a dessert I’ve never made before, and I could really use your feedback,” Saint says as he gathers our napkins and empty plates.
“Sure. What is it?”
He stands and motions towards the kitchen. “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”
I feel like a puppy, following Saint to the kitchen so he can feed me treats. All that’s left is for him to pet my head and call me a good girl.
Fuck, that would be hot.
I shake off the vivid image popping into my head. Jesus Christ.
I need to get laid.
“Mikey? You good?”
“Hm? Yeah. Super.”
Saint stares at me like he can read my mind, and I simply want to die. Is it possible he can hear the lascivious thoughts passing through my head?
“Do you mind washing your hands?” He nods towards the kitchen sink, and I head in that direction.
I take the moment with my back turned to him to mentally scold myself for thinking dirty thoughts about this man who has been nothing but a gentleman.
I bet he’s even a gentleman in the bedroom, too.
Always making sure his partner is taken care of, giving them lots of orgasms before he makes slow, sweet love to them while peppering their face with gentle kisses.
Boring…
Definitely not something I’d like.
I focus on scrubbing my hands, suddenly feeling entirely out of place with my stained coveralls in this pristine kitchen. I feel like with one wrong move, I'll contaminate the entire place.
After I’ve rinsed off all the suds, I dry my hands with a paper towel and turn to find Saint carefully slicing through a rolled up light pink cake filled with some type of cream.
I watch as he meticulously places sliced strawberries on top of the roll in the shape of a heart. “This is a rosé cake roll with a strawberry filling. It’s my first time baking something with this type of alcohol, so you’ll have to tell me how I did.”
I expect him to hand me a fork and let me take my own bite, but he doesn’t.
No, this man slices a bite for me and holds the fork to my lips.
His eyes lock on mine when I wrap my lips around the tines and pull the fruity goodness off.
When I lick my lips to make sure nothing’s left, his eyes drop to my mouth and track the movement.
Is it hot in here?
The delicate flavor of the strawberry cream pairs nicely with the rosé. The cake is spongy but not too dense, and the cream is light and fluffy.
Damn, is everything he makes so good?
“What do you think?” Saint rasps, his voice deep in a way I haven’t heard from him. Goosebumps spread across my skin, and a dull ache forms between my thighs.
“It’s perfect. Ten out of ten, would eat the whole thing if I could.”
Saint slides the plate with the remaining slice to me. “Eat your heart out, sweetheart.”
“Seriously, though, I think the rosé pairs very nicely with the strawberry. Do you and Ruby ever make things that taste bad?”
Saint covers the rest of the cake with plastic wrap and puts it in one of the fridges. “Sometimes. One time, Ruby convinced me to make a pickle cookie, and it did not turn out great.”
“Pickles in a cookie? Why?”
“One of our regulars was pregnant and brought her own jar of pickles to put on top of our chocolate chip cookies. She said it was the best thing she’s ever tasted. Ruby thought it would be fun, but it was nasty.”
“What was nasty? Oh, no! Don’t tell me the rosé cake didn’t turn out! We need it for tomorrow,” Ruby says, rushing into the kitchen and rummaging around the fridge.
“No, Mikey gives the cake a ten out of ten. I was telling her about the pickle cookie disaster.”
Ruby scrunches her nose. “That’s why I leave the baking to you. At least it wasn’t as bad as the watermelon chicken you insisted I make.”
“Strawberry chicken is delicious, why wouldn’t watermelon work?” Saint argues back.
“Because it dilutes the flavor of the chicken, and it’s too sweet. You have to have the right balance for it, and I’m not going to experiment enough to find it.”
“Well how was I supposed to know that before we tried?”
Ruby shakes her head and gives me a get a load of this guy look. “Leave the cooking experiments to me. You can focus on the baking." She looks at me. “I assume you’re stuck here because of the storm?”
“Yes,” Saint answers for me. “She’s staying in the guest room tonight.”
There’s a moment of tense quiet where Saint and Ruby stare at each other and have an entire conversation with facial expressions.
Ruby tilts her head and raises her eyebrows, Saint crosses his arms with a small frown.
Ruby narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips, Saint shakes his head and widens his eyes.
My eyes volley between them like I’m watching a tennis match. I’m fascinated and a little nervous. I want to know what they’re thinking. Does Ruby not like me? Is she worried about me staying at Saint’s?
Finally, Ruby huffs out a disbelieving laugh and turns to me. “If you don’t want to be stuck with my stinky brother, I have a floor and a perfectly good air mattress. Or my best friend, Stella, has a spare room.”
“Thank you, but I don’t want to impose,” I say at the same time Saint says, “Hey, I’m not stinky!”
“He’s right, he’s not. In fact, his house—and van and clothes—always smell like a bakery. So, if you’re into that…” Ruby trails off with a smirk.
“I… yeah. I’ll be okay.” More than okay. I think he smells delicious.
Apparently, Ruby can already tell.
“Well, time for us to get going, I’m sure Mikey wants to get out of her work clothes and—not like that. Don’t give me that look, Ruby Valentine. We’re leaving. Text me if you need anything.” Saint places a hand on my back and guides me to the door.
I briefly consider asking Ruby if she has any clothes I can borrow, but she’s a good half a foot shorter than me, so I don’t know if they’d even fit. Plus, it would be weird, so I keep my mouth shut.
I can sleep in jeans and the shirt I have in the truck.
Nerves flutter around in my belly as I realize I’m about to sleep at Saint’s house.