by Sara Whitney
Except her head was quiet. Erik had shown her what calmness meant, and he’d shown her she was capable of not giving in to each wild impulse. But right now all it really left her with was sadness.
Still, tradition was tradition. “You wanna get out of here, go someplace a little more quiet?” she asked indifferently.
“Sure. Let’s do it.” He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arm along the back.
Even though it was the first time he’d ever agreed to her jokey come-ons, she just sighed and rested her chin on her hand. “Nah. Thanks though.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jake shook his head. “Man, that baker really did a number on you.”
She considered denying it, but what was the point? “Yeah. He did.”
His thick brows pulled together in a scowl. “Do Tom and I need to beat the shit out of him?”
“As if you could,” she said hotly, coming to life for the first time all night and slamming her glass on the table.
“Tom!” Jake called over her head, forcing the other man to quit nibbling on Finn’s ear. “We could take Josie’s baker in a fight, right?”
“Absolutely not,” Tom shouted cheerfully over the EDM nightmare blaring through the speakers. “That guy’s a tank, and I want no part of whatever you’re planning.”
“Nobody’s beating up anybody!” Josie yelled, but Tom had already returned to exploring Finn’s neck with his tongue. “And he’s not my baker,” she shouted at Jake.
But he was though. He was hers, as much as she was his, no matter how improbable a couple they might be. Unfortunately, she might be the only one of them who felt that way. Just as another wave of grief threatened to carry her away, she noticed two club kids strutting past their table with a cupcake in each hand. Weird. This place was known for high-end martinis, not baked goods. In fact, she didn’t think it even had a food-service license.
She leaned around Jake for a better view of the other tables and noticed several patrons noshing on cupcakes. And not just any cupcakes, but exceptionally beautiful ones.
“Hey,” she called to a goateed man who was about to take his first bite of what looked quite a bit like a key lime creation. “Where’d you get that?”
He paused with the treat halfway to his mouth. “Some guy’s giving ’em away from a van parked outside.”
Buzzing. In her head. But the excited kind, not the destructive one. She shoved Jake’s muscly shoulder and ordered, “Move it.”
As soon as he complied, she slid across the bench and darted for the exit. She had no idea if her friends were following her, nor did she care. She needed to find out for herself whether she’d let her imagination run away with her. On her way through the crowd, she saw a raspberry cupcake and another that looked like a chocolate ganache, and her heart started to beat harder. Those were the flavors Erik had planned to serve at the grand opening.
She finally made her way to the door and burst onto the sidewalk. And there it was, double-parked on the street directly across from the bar: a white van with a huge caricature of the man she loved affixed to the side. And there was the man himself, standing at the back next to… Richard? Handing out cupcakes to an enthusiastic crowd alongside Byron and Gina?
As if he sensed her presence, Erik’s head snapped up, and his eyes sought hers out. He immediately handed off his tray to Byron so that by the time she made it across the street, her best, favorite person in the world was standing in front of the magnetic logo, waiting for her.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “Is this legal?”
“Not even a little.” His beautiful mouth twisted in amusement. “But I had to do something to get the attention of a woman inside that bar.”
“Oh yeah?” She shifted closer to him. “Did it work?”
He leaned a shoulder against the van and crossed one ankle over the other. “So far, so good.”
She was so overwhelmingly happy to see him that the tears she’d struggled to hold back all night started to leak out of the corner of her eyes. “Erik, I’m so sorry about everything. The logo, the TV thing, all of it. I swear I’m not a fame-obsessed monster. I’ll never push you again.”
She drank up the heat in his eyes when he said, “Keep pushing. It’s good for me. And I’ll be better about saying no when I need to.”
He wanted her to keep pushing? Did that mean he wanted her?
As if he’d seen the question float through her mind, he said, “Since you asked, you need to know that when I said I didn’t want to want you, what I meant was that I wasn’t prepared for you. I never thought someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”
She stiffened and wrapped her arms around her midsection, braced for the insult, the dismissal, the gentle letdown. But instead, he gripped her arms and rubbed his thumbs above her elbows. “All this energy, this life.” He reached up and ran a hand along her hair. “How would I even know what to do with you?”
She took a leap of faith and whispered, “You could love me.” Hope pulsed through her body with every beat of her heart as she waited for his answer.
His smile bloomed, that perfect smile he kept only for her. “I do. It turns out what I thought I wanted doesn’t matter. You’re what I need.”
He’d pulled her into his arms and leaned down, a hairbreadth from kissing her, when a voice intruded on their moment.
“You da ones widda cupcakes?”
Josie whipped around to confront the source of the thick Chicago accent. “Does it look like we have cupcakes?” she snapped. “God! Read the room!”
“Step around the back,” Erik calmly told the ruddy-faced man in the Bears shirt. “My folks’ll take care of you.”
Once the interloper was gone, he chucked her under the chin. “Looks like I’ll be spending the rest of my life finishing the fights my girl starts.” Then he pulled back, his brow creased. “Assuming that’s what you want too?”
The vulnerability in his voice melted the last of her doubts, and she twined her arms around his waist. “I want that. So much.” Her words chased the last of the doubts from his face, and he pulled her close and pinned her to the side of the van, kissing her until the whistles and cheers of the people in the cupcake line penetrated their little bubble.
Once their breathing had slowed a tick, Josie realized he’d pressed her against the logo magnet. And yeah, it was a little weird to be kissing the real man when she was plastered against the cartoon one. “Please don’t keep using this for my sake! I know how much it bothers you.”
“Honestly, it’s grown on me.” And then he shocked the hell out of her by moving directly in front of the huge caricature and striking an identical pose.
The easy way he joked about it was the last proof she needed that this was real. “You love it.” She lifted her chin and shot him a triumphant grin.
“Damn right I do.” His lips sought out hers again, and this time no amount of cheering from the cupcake line could get them to stop.
Epilogue
Six Months Later
“Want company?”
Josie’s red curls peeked around the shower curtain before the rest of her followed.
“Always.” He shifted away from the spray to let her step under the hot water and to give himself a better view of her soon-to-be wet body.
“Everything set for today?” She brushed against him as she reached for her body wash, and his hands automatically dropped to her waist and tugged so her back was pressed against his front in all kinds of interesting ways. It thoroughly chased the subject he needed to discuss with her from his head, but he was happy to let it go for now.
“Yep.”
“I see we’re having a talkative morning.” She tilted her head back and looked up at him with a grin, and he seized the opportunity to pluck the bottle from her hand with a grunt.
A sharp citrus scent filled the shower as he slicked the gel over her skin, and as always, he experienced a mild state of awe that he was the man allowed to put his hand
s on her in the shower every morning. Just one of the perks of cohabitation with the woman he loved.
She purred in appreciation as he stroked his fingers under her breasts, then sighed. “I still can’t believe Finn and Tom planned their engagement party for my birthday weekend.”
“It’s not all about you.” He spun her so she could rinse under the spray.
“It’s a little about me,” she said matter-of-factly. “Turn, please.”
He did as instructed and stood still as her fingers invaded his hair, the pads massaging shampoo along his scalp in languid strokes that he felt along each nerve ending.
“Is your mother going to make it?” he asked as she worked.
“No.” Her answer was short but more rueful than bitter. “It’s okay. We had coffee last week, and I only got shouty once. You’ve mellowed me.”
“Or social justice has mellowed her.”
Although Pamela hadn’t gotten the Art Institute residency she’d been angling for, she’d secured a grant to work with an organization collecting stories and photos of Chicago’s homeless population. By some miracle, the project was making her marginally better at basic human decency when it came to her daughter.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s me.” She stroked conditioner through his hair now, taking her time to work it in the ends before sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his back. “How did I end up with an Iowa farm boy who has more haircare products than I do?”
He turned in her embrace. “That’s what happens when you pick fights on public transportation.”
She laughed and then she kissed him, and then they communicated in nothing but sighs and caresses for a time.
Afterward, they managed to get dried, dressed, and downstairs with an hour to spare before the first guests arrived at the shop for the low-key friends-and-family celebration of love. As Josie filled a tray with mocha espresso cupcakes, Erik fetched the centerpiece cake from the fridge and debated how to bring up a potentially touchy subject.
“So uh,” he began, and she groaned.
“I know that tone. What is it? Gina’s not coming after all, is she?” She gestured impatiently at the cupcake in her hand. “She and Christine got stuck in Iowa, so you made these gluten-free for nothing.”
“No, they’re still coming. And Jake’s bringing his girlfriend, last I heard.” Hey, just look at that personal growth: nothing but happiness that the guy in the suit had found his own happiness. Of course, it helped that it was with someone other than Josie.
Josie, who was looking at him with curiosity all over her face. Time to jump in.
“So I got a call from your TV friend Yousef this week.”
Her hands stilled over the outer circle of cupcakes, and he rushed to banish the apprehension creeping across her features. “He asked about doing a monthly segment on baking techniques”—deep breath, push it out—“and I told him yes.”
The only sign that Josie had heard him was the slight flicker of her eyelids, so he continued as if she was absorbing the news like normal. “I guess the station manager liked that god-awful first appearance I did. It was popular with viewers.”
More silence. Even her eye twitch had fallen still.
“Oh no. I’ve broken you.” He bent down to her eye level, a flicker of concern growing. “If you hate it, I’ll tell him no. But I thought—”
“You don’t have to do this for me,” she blurted. Now that she was talking again, she burst into motion, wringing her hands, biting her lip, and all but crumpling with pink-cheeked anxiety.
“No, I… I want to try it. People still mention that segment sometimes when they come in. Let’s grow the business. We’ve got that second location to pay for after all.”
A slow-growing smile replaced the apprehension on her face. “That we do.” Then, like the sun coming out from under a cloud, she threw back her head and hooted. “You hear that, Deplorable Dora? You ‘retire early,’ we swoop in and buy your building, and my man’s about to be a TV star!”
“Okay, let’s not get carried away,” he cautioned her. He might be bolder with risks, but he was still, well, himself.
“A star!” she shouted, flinging her arms out. Then she dropped them and cocked her head. “Hey, you’re gonna marry me someday, right?”
His heart stopped, then started up in double time. “What if I crash and burn on-air?”
“Then you’ll have to marry me so I can support us both.”
She tossed her hair, all Josie Ryan sass, but he saw the there-and-gone flash of nervousness in the quiver of her lower lip.
Well, that wouldn’t do. He took her by the shoulders and walked her to the far wall of the kitchen, the one where he’d hung the framed napkin sketch that had started this all. Below it was the small wall safe where he kept cash and other important paperwork. Without a word, he spun the dial, reached inside, and extracted a small velvet box.
He opened and held it out to her. “I’ll marry you tomorrow if that’s what you want.” He’d been waiting for the perfect moment. Why hadn’t he realized that every moment with her was perfect?
“Yes, please,” she whispered. With a tremulous smile up at him, she dashed a stray tear from her velvety brown eyes and ran a finger over the single diamond embedded in the gold band. Then a flash of teeth showed against her lower lip. “But… let’s put it away until then. No sense having dueling engagements tonight. It’s Finn and Tom’s day.”
He raised his brows in surprise, and she sighed. “I guess it actually isn’t always about me.” Then she sobered and said almost to herself, “I can’t believe I’m going to have your big blond babies.”
He laughed and wrapped her in his arms, holding her close. “Yep.” He pulled her against his chest once more. “And?”
“And I love you,” she said, melting against him.
His smile turned wicked, and he bent to nip her earlobe. “Say it.”
His growled command had her shivering. “I love you, Man Bun.”
Maybe, in the end, he was a little bit of a nickname guy after all.
I hope you enjoyed Erik and Josie’s story! If you’re dying to meet the woman who coaxes the elusive Jake Carey to look up from his spreadsheets, keep reading for a preview of the Tempt Me series novel named a 2019 Romance Writers of America© Golden Heart© finalist. Tempting Talk will be available on March 18, 2020, so preorder now!
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If you’re new to my books, you’ll find Finn and Tom’s love story in Tempting Heat, book 1 in the Tempt Me series, and you can catch Lily and Grant’s enemies-to-lovers story in Game On, available at all major book sellers or free if you sign up for my newsletter!
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Now, flip the page to find out how Jake meets Mabel…
Tempting Talk sneak peek
“Enjoying the radio business so far?”
Jake Carey looked up from the spreadsheet he’d been studying and glared at Brandon Lowell’s feet, which were kicked up on the desk perilously close to his file stack. “The coffee’s lousy, the books are a mess, and this janky chair’s trying to kill me.”
“Yep, it’s nonstop glamour,” Brandon said cheerfully, lacing his hands behind his head.
Jake stood to stretch out his spine, sparing a thought for the expensive ergonomic chair sitting unused behind his desk three hours north in Chicago. But no sense in dwelling; after three days in Beaucoeur, Illinois, he was resigned to his fate. For the next few months, he’d be surrounded, not by the glass, chrome, and leather of his high-rise accounting office, but by the low ceilings, wood paneling, and lingering scent of cigarette smoke at WNCB-FM. Was someone at the station in the habit of ignoring the NO SMOKING sign on the wall, or was the smell baked into the ancient carpet from the hedonistic years before it was banned? Either way the scent reminded him of visiting his grandma’s South Side apartment when he was a kid, when she’d ply him with cookies and smoky hugs.
Frankly, he’d kill for either of those creature comforts
at the moment; half a week removed from Chicago and his normal gym-office-home routine left him feeling tense and twitchy. Of course, Brandon wasn’t helping things.
“So why haven’t you made partner yet, Jakehammer? We all thought you’d manage that before you were twenty-five.”
His one-time college roommate flashed a grin that set Jake’s teeth on edge. They may not have seen each other much in the nine years since graduation, but Brandon still knew how to jab a thumb right into Jake’s vulnerable spots, starting with that idiotic nickname he’d been using nonstop since Jake had arrived in Beaucoeur on Wednesday.
Good thing he’d retained the lessons from his years as a scholarship student at the University of Chicago. Fake-it-till-you-make-it generally worked with his wealthier classmates, and since heir-to-the-Lowell-media empire Brandon had been the leader of the privileged brigade, Jake responded with a smirk of his own.
“Don’t worry, I’m planning to dazzle you with my work on this sale and convince you to bring all the accounting activities for Lowell Consolidated to Black, Phelps, and Suarez. You’re my golden ticket, man.”
Brandon just nodded as if he’d predicted what Jake would say. “That’s exactly why I hired your firm. Nobody in our class busted ass more than you. And hey, maybe you’ll be my golden ticket, too. This transition goes smoothly, and my old man might finally retire and let me take over the company. If that happens, I’ll make up new accounts just for you to audit.”
“Deal.” Jake dropped back in his chair, imagining the next few months. Straighten out the books, head home with a fat new contract for a major media conglomerate, and win the partnership he’d been vying for since joining BPS straight out of college. It was the only future he’d ever envisioned for himself, and he wanted it so badly his bones ached with it.
