“A true hazard.”
“Indeed.”
He walks over to a dark blue sedan at the curb and opens the passenger door. “Come on,” he says. “Dinner. Let’s see if we can’t detoxify you some.”
“Aww, see? Here I am being a jerk while you brought me coffee and you’re driving me to dinner? That’s not fair.”
He grins as I head for the car. “It’s fine. I just have to figure out what makes you squirm.”
Just as I’m about to climb in the car, I get a good look at him and gasp. “Oh my god! You’re dressed like a normal person!”
He looks down at himself. “I...yes?”
I point at him. I can’t not point. “You’re not wearing a suit. I don’t know how to process this.” He’s wearing a pair of worn-in looking jeans, sneakers that have seen a mile or two and a black T-shirt with—oh my damn. “Is that a Firefly shirt? You’re a Browncoat?”
He stares at me. “It’s Saturday.”
I’m genuinely caught off guard by how different he looks. He always looks very handsome in his suits, and while it’s a little bizarre seeing him sans tie, he somehow looks more Ben-like dressed this way.
I lean against his car and narrow my eyes. “So. You show up here all dressed like a regular person, and I find out you’re a geek, too? I don’t know what to make of this, Ben.”
“Okay, if you have a problem with Firefly, I’m not sure we can be friends,” he says, the edges of his mouth pulling up.
“Heck no,” I scoff. “That shirt makes me like you all the more. But still. You don’t have a tie or a jacket or anything. It’s weird.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “So, the squirming thing,” he says, walking around to his side of the car. “I guess we’ve established it’s ‘a lot’ then, right?”
We go out for Mexican food, sans margaritas. It is a surprisingly effective helper for my physical state. Not that I ever intend to beer bong three bottles of wine again, but if I ever do, I’m immediately following it up with enchiladas.
After dinner, we decide to walk back to my apartment, since it’s only a few blocks away. The evening air is warm and comfortable, and the company is quite nice.
As we approach my place, he says, “So, last night didn’t go particularly well.”
“It wasn’t the best. Maybe next time we shouldn’t get blackout drunk first.”
He chuckles. “That’s a solid plan. And I suppose that implies you do want a next time?”
I stretch my neck out. “Sure. If you’re up for it, I am.”
“I’m in,” he says and nods.
We reach my door and I turn to him. “Thank you for a very nice dinner fresh on the heels of one of the weirdest nights of my life, Mr. Cleary.”
“Back at ya,” he says and smiles. He stops and squints at my neck. “Did you know you’re covered in glitter? I didn’t notice it until just now, but the awning light is making you look like a disco ball. It’s all over your neck.”
I laugh. “Yes, actually. Butter thought I needed sparkling up earlier, so she doused me with edible glitter. I can’t get it to wipe off, so I’ll have to shower. Not that I’m not in desperate need of a shower anyway.” Ben grins and then purses his lips together, trying to hide it. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says, still grinning, looking down at the ground.
“Tell me,” I demand.
Rubbing the back of his head, he says, “Well, it’s...” He shrugs. “I mean, it’s just I can think of so many more fantastic ways to remove edible glitter from someone’s neck.”
At first I feel a mischievous smile pull at my lips, but in an instant it’s gone. The potential delight is replaced by a wave of sadness I didn’t expect.
He sees it playing out on my face. “I’m sorry,” he says, shifting gears immediately. “That was inappropriate. I didn’t mean—”
“No,” I interrupt him. “That was fine.” I reach out and put my hand on his arm to reassure him. “You are totally fine.”
“What happened? You just shifted really fast.”
I shake my head a little. “I’m sorry, actually. I just...” I take a breath and wonder if this is wildly tasteless, but roll with it anyway. “I’ve been with Ryan four years. Four whole years with the same guy. And I didn’t realize it until you just said it, but in those four years, I don’t think we’ve ever once looked for the fantastic way of dealing with something. I guess I didn’t realize we don’t have that kind of spark, you know? It just made me feel kind of sad.”
He pulls at his shirt where his tie would normally be. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
I smile at him. “You didn’t. And I’m glad you said it. It’s nice to know there are fantastic things out there. Something to aspire to.”
His mouth pulls up in a very kind half smile. “I mean, I’m not an expert or anything, but I’d certainly know what to do in this particular glittery situation.”
“What would you do?” The words are out of my mouth before I even know I’m saying them. But I want to know.
He swallows hard. “Um, I. Well, I think it would be hard to explain.”
I smile. “Show me?”
I don’t know what I’m doing. The hangover has me in what I assume is physically gross territory, I probably still smell like the inside of a bottle of wine, I’m covered with sugar glitter and I’m wearing my work clothes that are likely saturated with a thin layer of flour and flop sweat.
Never mind the rules I’ve set up for us, Ryan included. This will likely break them all.
But I don’t care.
“What about the rules?” Ben asks, echoing my thoughts.
“This can be a free pass?” I suggest, grinning as I move closer to him. “It doesn’t have to be related to anything. Not the therapy, not relationships. Not anything. This can just be because you said you had an idea, and because I really, really need you to show me something fantastic, Ben.”
His eyes have gone dark and he’s breathing a little too hard, but he steps closer to me, lifts a hand up near my face, then hesitates. “Can I...” he whispers. “I mean, can I touch you?”
“It’s a free pass,” I say, the grin still playing at the edges of my mouth. “Make it count.”
His hand comes back up, finding a home with my skin. His long fingers stretch from my cheekbone all the way down to my neck. His other hand appears, gently positioned under my jaw on the right.
I’m having every possible emotion at once. It feels like it’s been at least one million years since I’ve been in this position, and I want to shriek like a tween and go text Shannon and Butter about what to do next. I want to take control of the situation and kiss him. I want to call Ryan and ask if he feels this way when he kisses Alice or any of the other potential women. I want to stop this and go back to the security of my rules, because I have no idea what I’m even doing here.
But I don’t. Because more than any of those things, I want to feel something fantastic.
Ben in conversation is a casual, tie-fidgeting, easygoing person.
Ben in this moment is none of those things.
His lips move directly to mine, perfectly controlled, no nervousness to be found. I close my eyes and let him kiss me. My arms are stuck at my sides, my hands clenched into tight fists. I don’t know if I could control myself if I reached out and touched him. But damn, do I want to touch him.
His left hand moves carefully down my throat, across my shoulder, his fingers gingerly tugging the collar of my shirt aside. He takes his mouth from mine and brushes it along my jaw slowly, his other hand guiding my head ever so slightly to the side. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath as his lips pull down the side of my neck. My knees feel shaky.
His mouth moves across my neck with soft kisses, each placed s
lowly, deliberately, and I pull in a broken gasp of air. He starts back at zero, the base of my neck, but this time, the tip of his tongue trails just behind my collarbone, his teeth lightly dragging against the front side.
“Jesus,” I gasp, and my arms jump without permission, grabbing his chest, unable to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. One hand wants to stop this, because I laid out rules, and they are important rules and what I am feeling is so not covered under the scope of those rules.
The other hand wants to pull him into my apartment and dump glitter over my entire body just to see if he’ll rise to the challenge.
My brain is at a loss, but I can’t seem to let go of him. I clench one hand into a fist on his chest, gripping his shirt tightly, and my other hand—I’m assuming the one that wanted to yank him in through that door—jumps up to his jaw and stays there.
His forehead drops to mine, and we just stand there, me still clinging to him for reasons I can’t quite explain, breathing a little too hard. He’s got one hand still wrapped around the back of my neck, his fingers resting in my hair, and the other arm around my back.
Finally, after what seems like forever, he speaks.
“That’s what I’d do,” he says.
19
“And you have a fabulous day, Mr. Montgomery,” I say, handing my customer his tiny pie box and coffee. He gives me a big smile and heads on his way.
“Seriously,” Shannon hisses at me as she wipes off the counter beside me. “That’s the third person you’ve told to have a fabulous day. It’s a Monday morning. What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” I say, and give her a look. “I’m just in a good mood.”
“Wait!” Butter yelps, scaring Mrs. Tottle, who is trying to pick a tea. “Did you...did you and Ben?”
I roll my eyes. “No, we did not. And we can discuss things after the rush, okay?”
Shannon gasps. “So there are things to discuss?”
I fight a grin and shake my head. “Come on, we’ve got customers.”
Liz scurries behind me on her way to refill the coffee machine and whispers, “Speaking of...”
Ben walks in the entrance for his morning cup of joe, and I smile. Then he smiles. And then so do Shannon, Butter and Liz.
“I hate you people,” I mutter as I head over to the register. Ben stands in line patiently, poking away at his phone like a good be-suited grown-up. I’m starting to wonder if glittery times Ben in a T-shirt was a hungover hallucination.
I’m not sure I’d care if it was. It was a pretty damn good hallucination.
When it’s finally his turn, I get him his regular order of coffee and say, “Hi there.”
“Hey.”
Butter, Shannon and Liz have all stopped working and are staring at us.
“Oh my god, will you guys go help these people?”
Ben laughs. “I bet it’s never boring working here.”
“It’s a hoot,” I say and hand him his coffee. “Did you have a nice weekend?”
He takes a sip and thinks for a moment. “It was okay. I had a boring Sunday full of errands and laundry. My Saturday night was pretty awesome, though. You?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “About the same.” He grins, looking very proud of himself. Part of me is tempted to knock him down a peg, but the other parts of me think he doesn’t look nearly proud enough. “See you tomorrow morning?”
“Yep,” he says, handing me money for the coffee. “And are we still a go for tomorrow night?”
Now I can’t fight the smile, cheek-biting or not. “Sure.” I pass him his change.
He gives me his very best crooked smile. “Until then.” He turns to my coworkers and says, “Have a good day, ladies.”
“Bye!” they call out in unison.
We finish up the morning surge, and after we get the front situated, we head back into the kitchen for the morning meeting.
“Okay,” Shannon says, tapping her pencil against her notepad. “As much as I want to know what’s put the giddyup in Kat’s get-along, first we’ve got business to attend to.”
“Shoot,” I say, taking a sip of coffee.
“First, Liz has three wedding cakes going out this weekend, so we are all going to have to pitch in on those. Also, Liz has tomorrow afternoon off because she has a dress appointment, right?”
Liz flushes. “I am so sorry,” she says. “I tried to reschedule, but this was the only time they could get me in.”
Shannon smiles. “It’s totally fine, hon. We’ve got this. And it’s your wedding! That trumps everything else.” Liz beams.
“Butter,” Shannon continues, “I need your final recipes for the Coopertown menu by next Monday at the latest so Kat has plenty of time to get all the art and decorations perfected. We’ve got a week and a half until the presentation. It’s just about go time. How are you guys feeling about things?”
“I feel good,” Butter says with purpose. “This will be my best work. You just wait.”
“I’m on it,” I say and nod. “We’re going to get it, Shannon.”
“Okay, we’ve got two big orders for cuppies, one due late Wednesday, one due Saturday morning, plus our regular orders. Kat, those are all you. We have five birthdays this week. I’m going to split those with Butter, and I’ll take the deliveries as they come.”
We all nod and make our own notes.
“Now,” Shannon says, shifting her gaze to me. “This is a big one. Kat, I got an email this morning from Channel 7. Next Wednesday, they want our shop to come on their morning show to do a cupcake demonstration. This one is all you, baby.”
“Whoa!” Butter says, clapping her hand to her chest.
“Seriously?” I say.
“And they’ll be promoting it for a few days before, which means it’ll be free advertising leading up to the Coopertown presentation. The TV spot happens the morning before, so if all goes well, we’ll have every possible chance with this.”
“Holy shit, Shannon,” I gasp. “That’s huge! How did you even swing that?”
“I whored myself out in every possible way, not gonna lie. So we need to make this count.”
“Why am I doing it? Shouldn’t you go? You’re a bit more dazzling than I am, hon.”
“One of the anchors has a toddler who has a birthday coming up, and they wanted to do a live thing about decorating for a birthday party. You’re better at on the spot art than I am. I thought you could go and show them how to do a few easy cuppie decorations, but suggest in the end that buying from us is the best option, naturally.”
“Obvs.” I wink at her.
“Can you do it?” Her voice is weighed down with the desperation of just how important the Coopertown contract really is. “I have total faith in you. You know that, right?”
“I’ve got this. I won’t let you down, I promise. I’m The Mouth anyway, right?”
“Yeah, you are,” Butter says, and waves her glitter brush through the air. I’m reminded of her Glittery Godmother magic.
I walk right over, grab Butter by the face and kiss her right on the lips. “Thank you, by the way.”
I release her and head back to my stool as she splutters and flails her brush around, causing a little glitter tornado to form.
“What did I do?”
“Are we all done with business?” I ask Shannon.
“Is this about you and Ben?” she asks. I nod. “Then yes, ma’am, we are.”
I launch into a fairly detailed account of my Saturday night.
As soon as I’m done, Butter comes over and resolutely flings edible glitter at my cleavage.
“Goddamn it, Butter.”
“If that’s what he did to glitter on your neck, you’ll thank me for th
at later,” she explains.
“So, you really didn’t sleep together?” Shannon asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “What can I say? I’m a simple gal. It was a good kiss. And!” I raise an eyebrow. “My therapy has been going spectacularly well since Saturday night. Like, magically well. I don’t know if I’m more relaxed, or if it’s all finally paying off, but whatever it is, it’s going great. So we’ve got plans to try again tomorrow.”
“Without wine this time?” Shannon asks with a grin.
I tap my nose. “There ya go.”
“You’re killing it,” Butter says proudly. “Your special is all happy with fifteen days to spare, you’ve got a very talented new friend, you’ll get past all the weird with Ryan, you’re going to be on TV and we’re going to kick this contract’s ass. All before summertime comes.”
I sit back and admire the situation.
Things are looking up.
20
Normally I thrive under pressure, but right now, there’s a part of my brain that’s inclined to feel overwhelmed with everything happening all at once. I’m trying to ignore it—I just need a little organization and compartmentalization. Situations like this are when my type A personality shines. I assume it has to be useful at some point, as opposed to just annoying everyone all the time.
Standing at my station, I’m quietly making mental lists and swirling fudge buttercream over a box of devil’s food cuppies for an order that’s going out first thing in the morning. Butter and Liz are working on a wedding cake that’s meant to look like it has intricate beading draped down the five tiers.
Whenever cakes like this come in, all I can think is that I hope I’m not quite so fussy when I get married. On the one hand, I’m very grateful for all the orders we get. But on the other, who the hell spends time thinking, ‘Gee, I wish I had a cake that takes twenty-two man-hours to make and looks like it has actual pearls and lace on it’?
This is why I don’t decorate the big cakes. I don’t have the patience.
The back door opens, and suddenly the kitchen is filled with all sorts of chatter. Shannon’s husband, Joe, walks in with their two kids, Brandon and Heidi.
The Awkward Path to Getting Lucky Page 13
