Chapter Twenty-Three
He’d seemed so happy to see her outside the café.
After the shock wore off, at least. He definitely got nervous around her, shooting her cautious looks and pretending to examine the baking when she caught him looking.
There was still that voice in the back of her head, reciting the Friends with Benefits rules, reminding her that he knew what he was agreeing to and wouldn’t want any more than that.
Reminding her that it was Nick Wicker, who had never been in a long-term relationship and had been all too happy to agree to her terms.
But it was hard to listen to that part of her when he was grinning at her over hot chocolate, when Emma dropped by to thank Nick for taking over yet another quiz night, and when Heath gave him a pointed nod as he dropped off some bakery pamphlets.
It made Vi’s heart flutter. Maybe he was doing it for himself, but god, it felt like he was doing it for her.
Nick gave Emma a wink and then turned back to Vi. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was just talking about how passionate people get when arguing about which café on Main Street is the best one,” Vi replied.
“I think Creature Comforts’ hot chocolate is better,” Nick said in a stage whisper, then glanced over his shoulder like he was watching for offended townsfolk.
And Emma, of course. She was behind the counter, cleaning a mug while she talked to Arthur, but she stopped doing both to shoot Nick a withering glare.
Arthur moved in front of her, interrupting her line of sight and giving Nick a warning look before turning back and distracting his girlfriend before she could march over and tell him to go over to Creature Comforts if they were so great.
“Oh shit,” Nick whispered. “She’s going to spit in my hot chocolate next time.”
“No, she won’t,” Arthur called, combing his claws through his lush mane. “I won’t let her! You’re safe!”
“Not safe from the customers,” Emma said over him, leaning around him to glare. “They have taste!”
Nick looked around to see several locals giving him dirty looks. “Shit, now I’ve done it. Next quiz night is gonna get fierce.”
“How is that going, by the way? I thought you were backing away from that stuff. Too busy.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Nick shrugged, scratching his jaw. “Guess I’m into it now. It’s kind of rewarding, you know?”
Vi knew exactly. “Well, the food bank is always looking for more volunteers. If you ever want to come down on a Saturday.”
“Huh? The food bank? Yeah, I think I remember Heath saying something about that. I’ll keep that in mind,” Nick said, too loud. He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers against the table. “There was a bar fight last year over which cosmetic store has the best fang polish.”
“Oh?”
“I was in it.”
“You were not.”
“I was!” Nick leaned forward on his elbows, and Vi took the opportunity to watch him up close.
She hadn’t had the chance when he’d come in earlier to sticker books.
His soft shirt was unbuttoned at the top, showing a glimpse of green clavicle.
Vi had licked it last week, all the way up to his wonky jawline.
“I was talking to somebody when this guy stumbles into me,” Nick continued, oblivious to Vi’s clavicle-licking fantasies.
“Suddenly, I’m in the middle of these two guys who are yelling about shine and .
. . texture? I don’t know. Anyway, one of them almost broke my jaw.
And I still don’t know which fang polish won. ”
He shifted his hot chocolate from hand to hand, waiting for her response. Not like a performer waiting for applause, like he used to. Now he just looked like he wanted to hear what she would say.
“They almost broke your jaw,” Vi repeated.
He nodded, twisting his head toward her. “Right here. Had a bruise for weeks.”
Vi touched the hinge of his jaw. He’d shaved recently, but he had the tiniest patch of stubble on his chin. Vi thought about digging her fingers into it. Leaving a mark.
She dropped her hand to the table. “I can never tell if you’re lying. I hate it. You can always tell when I’m faking.”
Nick let out a strange, hiccupy laugh she’d never heard before. “Not always! And never say never. You’ve called me out on a bunch of shit.”
“Yeah, on the wrong stuff. At the start, I was calling you out over everything, and you weren’t even lying about it.”
Nick popped his complimentary Prickles chocolate into his mouth. “Lying is a harsh word,” he said, muffled. “I don’t lie. I embellish. Make things sound better. Who doesn’t do that? You do it. With your, Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
Vi swatted his shoulder. “It’s true sometimes! I started saying it years ago, and I can’t stop. Like that’s never happened to you.”
“I guess.” Nick rubbed the spot she’d hit, surprised but not displeased. “That’s why I do finger guns. Started doing it ironically, and now I can’t stop.”
He shot her an over-the-top pair of finger guns, grinning like a loon.
Not long ago, it would’ve made Vi grind her teeth behind her close-lipped smile. Now she had to bite her cheek to stop the smile from getting out of control.
“How can you tell?” she asked. “That I’m doing my . . . polite shtick. Nobody else can. Even my sister, most of the time.”
“I don’t know,” Nick admitted. He straightened in his seat. “I . . . thought it was obvious? Thought I was going crazy when everyone said you didn’t hate me.”
“I didn’t hate you,” Vi scoffed.
Nick gave her a knowing look.
“Well,” Vi said. “I don’t hate you now. There. Am I doing my polite shtick?”
“No,” he said, surprisingly quiet. “That was real.”
Vi’s heart skipped a beat. Electricity zinged up her spine.
Nobody else had made her feel like this just from looking at her.
She glanced around to see if there were any werewolves or vampires or any other monsters with super hearing around.
None that she could see. And no one was looking toward their little corner table, not even Emma, who was busy flirting with Arthur while he frothed a coffee with surprising skill.
“So,” Vi started, “you’ve been hiding something from me.”
Nick startled. His voice went high and squeaky, smile struggling to stay intact. “I have? Since when?”
Vi grinned. “Do you have anything to tell me, Nick?”
“No,” he said, too fast. “Why? What . . . What do you think I’m hiding?”
Vi leaned in closer, watching sweat bead on his hairline. The way his breath caught. She leaned in close enough to kiss, then whispered: “You’re the Baked Goods Bandit.”
Nick stared at her. “What?”
Vi giggled, leaning back. She wasn’t about to call him on everything else, but this? This, she could run with.
“The only real books you own are cookbooks,” she said, the words spilling out of her excitedly as she went over the evidence that had been piling up for weeks.
“And you suddenly know how to re-ice a cake. And nobody knows where you could possibly be getting those mysterious out-of-town treats you bring to book club. And that red velvet cake you brought a few weeks ago tasted very familiar. That was the first thing the Baked Goods Bandit put out. I didn’t realize until my sister said something, but it’s so obvious now! It’s always been you!”
Nick deflated, head thumping onto the table. “Oh god,” he groaned. His shoulders shook with laughter. “You got me. You got me! Take me away, Officer!”
He held out his wrists.
Vi batted them away, pulling his chin up from the table. “Are you going to prove it?”
His smile twisted. “You come at me with all this evidence, force me into a confession, and now you don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you,” she said sweetly. “I’m just asking you to prove it because I need a bribe. If you don’t make me something sweet right now, I’m going to tell all of Claw Haven your big secret. I’ll hire a dragon to skywrite it.”
“Now?” Nick checked his watch. “It’s almost your bedtime!”
“Right now,” Vi repeated. She stood, chair screeching back in her haste. Her cheeks were hot. She felt like she’d just run a mile and could run a hundred more.
Nick stared up at her, smiling so softly that her heart twisted with wild hope.
Then he ducked his head in a way that, if she didn’t know him, she might call shy, and he said:
“You got it.”
* * *
Nick was a surprisingly neat baker.
Vi watched him slice peaches, then push butter and sugar and flour together in a bowl.
His hands were quick and sure in a way that made her want to watch him fix up that motorcycle.
His sleeves were pushed up, rolled neatly at the ends where Vi had insisted on folding them.
He’d stood still the whole time she did it, patient and strangely silent.
When she’d looked up, he’d been watching her with an unreadable expression.
She leaned up, pushing her chin into his shoulder. “Doesn’t look like enough butter to me.”
“Don’t be a back-seat baker,” he told her, flicking flour into her face.
Vi spluttered. “Hey!”
“You can’t help,” he reminded her as she wiped flour out of her hair. “Or it doesn’t count. I have to prove it’s me, remember? I gotta—”
Vi swiped a handful of flour out of the bowl and threw it in his face.
“Jesus,” he said, strained. He bent over, coughing.
“Oh!” Vi hovered beside him, the glee of vengeance fading fast. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
Nick lurched up, smearing a handful of flour right into her face.
Vi shrieked. She flailed out blindly, aiming for the cackling laughter.
“You’re such a baby,” she yelled. She found her way to the counter, where Nick was bent over in laughter. Then she jumped up and dumped the bowl over his head.
The kitchen was silent.
Nick raised a hand to his head, pulling the bowl of buttery, sugary flour off. It cascaded down his hair, rolling down his shirt and pants and onto the kitchen floor.
He stared at her, mouth slack. For a second, Vi thought she’d messed up. Then he grinned, opening his arms wide.
“Come here,” he crooned.
She backed away, shrieking. “No! Ew! Get away!”
“Come onnn,” he continued, stalking toward her with all that mess smeared down his front.