12. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Steven
Scarlett in my arms is the only thing that’s felt right today.
And when she nuzzles closer, the tightness gripping my muscles loosens as her vanilla and cherry lip balm scent envelops me.
She’s right, I’ve been here before. With Dec, and on a new team. None of this is a mistake.
Just like the woman in my arms.
This is where she’s supposed to be.
Every day.
She turns her head so her chin is resting on my chest and I can feel her gazing up at me. “You can do this, Bennett. You know you can.”
My mouth ticks up, a sudden rush of warmth hitting my chest.
“But more importantly.” My smile widens. “I know you can.”
Glancing down, her gaze holds mine; there’s a softness in it that tugs at my gut. Pushing some loose hair behind her ear, I lean in and press my lips against her forehead. Her arms tighten just like they did the night I came home.
“Thanks, Scar,” I murmur. “I needed the reminder.”
Her arms loosen, and she takes the tiniest step away from me. My hand strains to pull her back, to never let her go. But instead I drop my arm and allow her to move away.
“So, Bennett.” She hands me the broom. “Do you think we can get this finished? I’d like to get home sometime before dawn.”
“I thought I was wiping the tables?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You were supposed to wipe the tables and sweep the floor. But someone is not up to their best cleaning performance at the moment.”
The corner of my mouth curves. “I guess you're not the slacker today.”
She giggles, and just for the moment I watch her as she grabs the bucket and brings it to the tables still not wiped down. But at her question I nearly throw the broom, mid-sweep, across the room. “What do you think of Millie?”
She’s not looking at me, so I’m sure she’s completely unaware that my mouth is hanging to the floor. Snapping it shut, I ask. “Are we talking about Mom’s employee, Millie, again?”
“Yeah, that Millie.” She picks up the bucket and moves toward the front of the bakery.
Gripping the back of my neck, I mutter, “I don’t really know her. I’ve only talked with her a few times since she’s been working at the coffee shop.”
“But she’s cute right?”
“Wait a second.” I lean on the broom, brows furrowed. “Are you meddling in my love life again?”
“She filled out a questionnaire today, and I think maybe you could be—”
“No.” She turns toward me with wide eyes.
“But Steven—”
“How many times have I said that I don’t want you meddling in my dating life?” I make my way to the supply cabinet and put the broom away, then turn back to face her.
“I don’t meddle.” The corners of her mouth pull down as she says it, and I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning.
“You totally meddle, Scarlett Ava James.” She rolls her eyes at me, and this time I don’t try to hold the laugh in. “You even have a matchmaking service and podcast, ‘Emma’.”
She crosses her arms and pushes her lips out. Scarlett is ridiculously cute when she’s trying to get her way. I can’t help myself. I beam at her, which causes her to scowl, making her eyes glitter. I love it. “Are you going to stomp your foot too?”
“Bennett!” Frustration sharpens every syllable she utters as she pins me with a look. For a split second, her usual sparkle dims. The raw need in her gaze hits me clear in the chest, stealing my breath. “I need you to work with me here.”
When I just stare at her, leaning against the display case with my arms crossed, her face softens. “Please?”
She bats her eyelashes at me from across the room. “Pretty please?”
I snort.
She comes closer and rests a hand on my arm. “With sugar on top?”
“You’re impossible,” I shake my head, my lips curving.
“And yet you still love me.” The gleam in her eyes makes the green specs in her hazel eyes pop. If I just put a finger under her chin, I could pull her forward a tiny smidge and change the entire trajectory of this conversation.
And put that four-letter word in its correct context.
“You know you’re adorable.” Her smile widens, and her excitement is palpable. “As hard as it is for me to say no to you…” Her eyes widen, like she knows she’s going to win. “No, it is.”
She scoffs and spins away before throwing over her shoulder. “Fine then. I guess I’ll just have to set her up with the guy she put on her form.”
“But you said you don’t do that,” I tease, gently pushing her shoulder.
“No.” She turns to face me again, and backs up to the next table, pinning me with her gaze. “I said Emma doesn’t do that. I can do whatever I want.”
“Sounds good to me.” I shrug.
“Will you at least give me some character traits of what you want in a girlfriend?”
I blink.
Is she serious right now?
“Yes. I’m serious. What type of girl are you interested in?”
Scrubbing my face, I groan. “I’m too tired for this.”
“So you don’t know off-hand what you want your girlfriend to be like?”
A huff of laughter escapes. Of course I know. She’s right in front of me. “Oh, I know. I just don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“You never want to talk about it,” she mumbles.
“What was that, Scarlett?” I know exactly what she said; I just want her to say it again.
And she’s dead wrong. I want to talk about it now. Just not in the framework she’s asking me to. This dance with her is exhausting, and yet I have no one to blame but myself.
“Nothing!” She stomps her foot, and I snort.
When she turns to glare at me, I see a streak of desperation in her eyes. And even though I don’t know why setting me up is important, I know it is important to her.
“Scarlett?” I walk over to the table and take the rag from her hand. We’re never going to get out of here if we don’t finish wiping down the tables. “Why does this matter so much to you?”
“Because I made a promise.” Her eyes are so earnest, sincere, that it pulls at something deep inside. “And I can’t keep it without your help.”
I don’t move or say anything, just move the rag back and forth between my hands.
Is this ‘promise’ the reason she always pulls away?
“Please Steven.” Scarlett is in front of me, eyes pleading. “Let me do this?”
The last time she looked at me like that, I kissed her senseless. But she’s not asking me to save her from some guy. She’s asking me to let her find me a girlfriend, so she can keep a promise.
I grind my teeth together. Wanting to murder whoever it was that would do something this dumb. Seriously, who would think that asking my best friend to play matchmaker for me was wise?
Especially when the only woman I want is her.
But she’s looking at me like she might cry, and since anything she does contradicts what she’s saying, I’m still uncertain if she feels the same about me.
And I’m not feeling brave enough to tell her outright she’s the only one I want.
Coward.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I grumble. “Fine.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She launches herself at me, arms around my neck. I snake an arm around her waist, holding her close. She exhales, and the skin on my neck pops with goosebumps. “I promise—”
“No promises, please.” I put her on the floor, grab the bucket, bring it in the back, and empty it. Before putting it in the closet with the broom. “I think one affecting both of our lives is enough.”
She follows. The excitement that was just all over her face is gone, replaced by something impossible for me to read. “Are you free tomorrow? We can go to Moretti’s and have a chat over dinner.”
I hate myself for saying yes to this. I hate that I can’t just have a straightforward conversation with her about how I feel.
And now there’s this promise. If I ever find out who it was, I’m going to —
“Steven?”
“Sorry.” I shove my hands in my pockets and walk back to the front of the bakery. “Yeah, dinner at Moretti’s tomorrow sounds like a plan.”
It will be the second time this week food won’t hold any appeal.