Chapter Twenty-Five
I do so love a deadline.
Will
It’s a madhouse in here.
Ruby, Elodie, and I are at my massive dining room table surrounded by enough craft supplies to stock an entire warehouse, eating apple tarts from various platters scattered about. Each tart is a slightly different iteration of a recipe Roman spent all morning trying to perfect in my massive kitchen.
If you ask me – or Ruby or Elodie – the recipe was perfected about five versions ago.
Roman has not asked us.
I reach across apple tart number two to grab the light pink glitter glue, then go to town with it, lining the edges of my Valentine box – a beautiful cardboard creation meant to sit on my desk and act as a mailbox for Valentine-specific mail.
Much like my office door, my box looks something like what I imagine it would if I took the holiday and simply splatted it onto cardboard. It’s a total abomination.
It’s gorgeous.
Besides the glitter glue, it’s covered in silver, purple, red, and pink sequins. Mirrored hearts line the sides, and spinning pink plastic windmills stick out from the top, surrounding a large hole for Valentines and candies to make their way into.
This sucker reflects light better than the moon, making it the perfect beacon for Ruby, enticing her to leave me as many love notes as she can churn out.
Ruby’s box, in comparison, has a couple of haphazardly glued construction paper hearts on it, one of which half-covers the hole in the top. She refused help, stating that we’d “do too much” and that “it’s a freaking box , people.”
We left her to it.
She worked on her box for approximately two minutes, declared it done, and has spent the last two hours sitting with Elodie and me, gabbing while we work on our own crafts.
Elodie isn’t making a box, because her work is a sad, desolate place that doesn’t require fun and festive holiday activities. Instead, agreeing with me about the sadness, she’s dedicated herself to creating the perfect decorations for Sweet & Salty’s Downtown location.
“If ever a place needed a decorating committee, it’s that one. And what, you think Sol is going to take up that job? Not likely,” she’d said, shaking her head. “No, it’s gonna be me. Besides, after my stint as a voluntary art teacher at that psych ward last year, I’m definitely the most qualified. Anything that doesn’t require scissors, string, or glue? I’m your girl.”
And true enough, she managed to make a whole slew of rustic hearts out of construction paper, ripping them just so until the edges looked cool and artsy, not like a preschool project. Then, she layered them, different sizes creating depth and dimension until she had a whole stack of them ready to be dispersed around the café.
“I think I’m going to make some little signs for the case,” she mutters now. “Ours are cute enough, but they have a distinct lack of romance to them. A heart or two wouldn’t hurt.”
“The food labels don’t need hearts on them,” Roman grumbles from the kitchen. “People need to be able to read them. Anything else is just going to clutter up the signs and cause confusion.”
“Why don’t you worry about your location, Salty, and I’ll worry about mine,” she suggests, smiling viciously.
His eyes narrow on her. “Are you implying you’re Sweet?”
Her lashes flutter. “If the shoe fits.”
I press my lips together, glancing at Ruby to find a smile playing at the edge of her own lips. I bend toward her, resting one arm over the top of her chair as I do. My other arm goes under the table, my hand landing on the thigh furthest from me. She freezes, eyes widening.
“What do you think,” I whisper, leaning in close to her ear. “Better entertainment than our fairy movie or no?”
“What are you doing?” she hisses while Roman and Elodie bicker, ignoring us.
“Flirting,” I answer.
“You’re touching me.” Her brows furrow. “Why are you touching me?”
“I touch you all the time,” I say, twisting my head just enough to feel her marigold waves against my nose. I inhale, and butterflies take off in my belly at the scent of her – fresh, clean cherries. All Ruby.
“You’re touching my thigh,” she points out. “Since when do you touch my thigh?”
I shrug, moving my nose from her hair to the soft skin behind her ear, delight ripping through me when she shivers.
“Since now,” I answer, hand squeezing. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“What was your question?” she asks. Her words come out breathy, and she shudders as my nose ghosts down an inch, then back up.
“Roman and Elodie,” I remind her. “We’re rating their entertainment value.” I let my lips graze her skin. “Better than our fairy movie? Worse?” I hum, considering. “The same, maybe?”
“Oh,” she whispers. “Um… uh… can you… can you back up?”
I grin. “I’m pretty comfortable here.”
“Will.” I think she means it to be a warning, but it comes out sounding more like a plea to my ears.
“Yes, Rubble?”
“What are you doing?”
“I told you,” I reply, nuzzling. “I’m flirting.”
“Right,” she breathes. “You said that. It’s just… why?”
I chuckle. “I always flirt with you.”
“Uh-”
“Okay!” Roman proclaims. “This is the one. I can feel it.”
I pull back from Ruby slightly, leaving my arm around her and my hand on her thigh, but giving her a bit of breathing space, which she promptly makes use of, inhaling sharply.
Her hand lands on mine on her thigh, nails digging in as she tries to move it. I let her, sliding it as far as her other thigh before resisting, settling my grip there.
She grunts, hand moving to my wrist to push me off.
“Shh, Roman’s presenting,” I mumble. “We don’t want to ruin his big moment.”
She scowls, crossing her arms.
I turn my face toward the table, gaze catching on Elodie’s. She raises her eyebrows, eyes flicking between her friend and me. I wink.
Her eyes widen, then Roman is there, plonking a plate full of apple tarts in front of us. He must really believe these are it, because he pulls out a chair, joining the group.
“If these aren’t perfect, I’m throwing myself off a cliff,” he says. “I never want to look at another apple again.”
I snort. Yeah, right. If these aren’t perfect he’ll be back in my kitchen, spending the rest of the day cycling through dirtying and cleaning it until his tarts are the best ones any person has ever eaten.
“It’ll be hard to stock them at the shop if you’ve gone the way of the cliff,” I note.
Wow. If looks could kill…
“Just try one,” he grunts, sliding the plate through paper scraps and pom-poms to reach me.
I drag my hand off of Ruby’s lap, letting my other arm fall down onto her shoulders. She huffs, trying to wiggle me off. I hook my arm around her neck and tug until she’s set against my side, nearly falling out of her chair. Then, I grab a tart.
“Open up,” I murmur.
She does, likely to curse me, but I pop a corner of tart between her distracting lips. Her eyes narrow as she chomps , ripping more than biting.
I pull the tart away and take my own bite, directly over hers.
I nearly forget where I am.
Sweet apples. Buttery pastry. What might be heroin, I don’t know.
I groan. Then, for good measure, I moan.
“I take it you like it,” Roman remarks.
I tear my attention from the heaven in my hands, and my gaze locks on his. I consider bowing down.
“Roman Cameron Vann,” I say, leaning over the table toward him, dragging Ruby with me. “Will you marry me?” I ask.
Roman grins. “Yeah? It’s good?”
Absolutely yes. He’s magic, creating ambrosia in my kitchen. We should marry so that I can keep him in there barefoot for the rest of his days. It’s a foolproof plan.
“Marry me?” I beg. “I promise I’ll be a good husband. You can spend your days making these, and I can spend mine spoiling you.”
His eyes crinkle, then shoot to his sister, wrapped in my arm.
“I think you’re forgetting that you’re already married,” he comments.
I turn to Ruby. Get lost in the amused annoyance flirting at the edge of her lips.
“Right,” I mutter. “Never mind.”
Ruby’s eyes roll to the sound of Roman’s laughter. Elodie’s tinkling giggle joins his, and Ruby snorts.
I hold the tart up to her mouth.
“Here, my darling dear. Take a bite of this. Forget I ever forsook you.”
She huffs, then takes a bite. “You’re ridiculous,” she mutters around what is surely the best thing she’s ever tasted.
For now, anyway.
Hm.
If I kissed her right now, she’d taste like ambrosia and Ruby.
“If you kiss my sister for the first time right in front of me, I’m kicking you out,” Roman says from across the table.
My eyes stay locked on Ruby’s mouth.
“It’s my house,” I tell him. “I’ll kiss her wherever I want to.”
“This feels like an excellent time to mention that Will and I are not married, and I do not wish to be kissed at all, particularly not by him,” Ruby mentions.
“I’ll have to work on that,” I mumble. “Deadline next week.”
Her brows draw together.
“I think I’d like my suite to be east-facing. I love a good sunset.”
“What suite?” Elodie asks.
“At their destination beachfront wedding,” he answers.
She gasps. “How come Roman gets a suite?” she complains. “I want a suite!”
“Everybody can have a suite,” I assure them.
“No suites!” Ruby snaps at them. She turns to me. “And no kissing!”
Hm.
“We’ll see,” I answer while Roman and Elodie argue about whose suite will be closer to the sunset. “Eat some more ambrosia.”
She opens her mouth to make what is sure to be a very silly argument against our impending marriage, and I shove the tart right in.
“Would you stop doing that!” she grumbles, her words muffled around the treat.
“Sure,” I answer. “I’ve got a much more enjoyable option for keeping you quiet, if you’d prefer that?”
She snatches the tart, forcing another bite of it into her mouth, and I laugh.
That’s what I thought.
That’s okay, though. We have time to warm her up to the idea.
My deadline isn’t until next week.