by Nia Arthurs
“Like a single woman getting a marriage proposal in three months.”
Her eyes flit to me. “Like getting your own happy ending, whether that entails marriage or not.”
Sage advice, albeit—not one I really want to hear right now.
This marriage agency is my best bet. I spent all of last night looking for legitimate online marriage-match-matching websites. What I found was primarily catered to Indians.
And porn.
Way too much porn.
To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m going to do if this doesn’t work out. Maybe I’ll put an ad in the newspaper.
Husband Wanted.
I wipe the thought from my mind. There’s no need to panic yet. Kayla and her agency came highly recommended. If their price is any indication, it’s worth the money.
“I haven’t been in this business long, but I’ve seen enough to know… these things have a habit of working themselves out,” Kayla adds.
“Is that from personal experience or…?”
“Or what?”
“Nothing.”
“Let’s just say, when it comes to love, I live vicariously through my happy, satisfied clients.” Kayla leans against the door, her gaze fastening on the wall across from us. She’s got her arms folded over her shoulders, her chin up. A warrior stance. Yet, I sense vulnerability in her. No one wears armor unless they have something to protect.
I’m suddenly curious about this marriage agent. How did she get into this gig? What’s her sob story?
Wisely, I keep the thoughts to myself and just say, “Well, I hope my happy ending’s the best one yet.”
“We’ll see,” she says flatly.
So much for the vote of confidence.
Kayla points me to the receptionist and locks the door behind her.
I head to the desk, sign the contract put in front of me and make arrangements for a follow-up visit.
This is only the first step.
I need to be cautious.
Still, my chest stirs with anticipation.
I’ve just set my future in motion.
And it feels great.
11 Teale
The bell above Brew Drop’s front door jangles as I walk in. The smell of warm cookies fills the air, grabbing my stomach in a chokehold. It growls, an instant reaction.
I haven’t had breakfast yet and that savory scent—with an underlying hint of cream and sugar—is teasing out my greed.
First things first.
Zania. Then food.
It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen her. Every time I’ve stopped by the bakery, Chandra’s been the one attending to me.
If I didn’t have so much going on, I’d have stuck around and waited Zania out. She’d have to emerge sooner or later. Unfortunately, I haven’t had the time. I’ve been hard at work setting HQ up. Buying equipment. Putting things in order. Thinking of a new concept to build an app around.
It’s sapped all my energy. All my brain reserves. Everything.
This morning, I woke with red eyes and a splitting headache.
It’s time for a distraction.
Preferably one with brown eyes, glossy dark skin, long braids and a biting tongue.
I step further into Chandra’s quaint bakery. The sunlight hits the glass window just so. The tables whisper a quiet invitation.
My muscles loosen.
If Chandra intended for Brew Drop to feel like a refuge then she hit a home run.
My eyes hone in on the display case in front of the counter. Cupcakes, muffins and cookies are nestled in delicate white wrappers, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights.
A soothing R&B number is muffled but discernable. It’s coming from the kitchen.
Zania’s here.
“Hello?” I call.
A sound rustles from the distance, indicating movement.
I wait for the swinging doors to burst open.
They don’t.
“Zania!” I call a little louder, thinking that maybe she hasn’t heard me even though I have a good feeling that she has.
The music cuts off.
I wait a beat longer.
Still nothing.
She’s hiding from me.
So it begins.
I smile, my energy reviving like a video game character with an extra life.
I pull out my phone. Press a number. Call Ollie.
A click.
My brother’s voice grumbles over the line. “What?”
“Is Chandra beside you?”
Rustling. Quiet whispers. He gets back on the line. Grunts, “Yeah.”
“Put her on.”
“Why didn’t you just call her yourself?”
“Because this is more fun.” I shift the phone to my other ear. “I get to enjoy your pretty voice first thing in the morning.”
I hear Ollie cursing me out in the background as he hands the phone over to Chandra.
“Hey, Teale,” she says.
“Hey. I need a cake.”
“For when?”
“Next week.”
“Teale.”
“What?”
“It’s six thirty in the morning.”
“I own a watch.”
She yawns loudly. “This couldn’t wait until later?”
I glance at the door again. “No.”
“Talk to Zania,” Chandra says sleepily. “I’m not going in today so you’ll need to work out the details with her.”
I grin.
Access granted.
“Thanks, Chandra.”
“Of course. And Teale…”
My eyes are on those two kitchen doors. On the woman behind them.
I can hardly pay attention to the conversation.
“Yeah,” I answer distractedly.
“Nothing. Just… Zania’s in a vulnerable place right now and it’s a really confusing time for her—”
I straighten. “Why? What happened?” A million scenarios scream through my mind. I fasten on one. “Did that Damion guy show up again?”
“No.”
“Then why the warning?”
“It’s not a warning.”
“A caution then.”
“It’s not that serious. I’m saying… just stick to business. Don’t flirt. Don’t tease. And don’t be a prick.”
“When am I ever?”
“A prick? Generally always.”
Ollie yells something indiscernible in the background, but I’m pretty sure whatever it is… it’s not too flattering.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a cake order.” Mostly.
“I’ll get the details from Zania later.”
“Sounds good.”
I hang up. Slip my phone back into my pocket. Stalk to the counter.
There’s a little door separating the customers from the employee’s-only area. I reach over and grab the knob. It slides aside with a satisfying thud. The door swings open.
Languidly, I stroll forward.
Enter the kitchen.
A little gasp welcomes my entrance.
Zania.
She’s staring at me from across the room, frozen. Spatula in hand. Cute, white apron wrapped around her, trying and failing to hide a body as mouthwatering as the cupcakes baking in the oven.
I take a moment.
Just look at her.
The way her eyes—almond-shaped—have doubled in size.
The way her plump lips are parted.
A picture of innocence and seduction.
My body tightens.
I’ve been waiting for this feeling to die, but it’s only gotten stronger. She’s my temptation. My sweet, little angel. My closet freak.
That night, I only touched a tip of all the things I could do to her.
All the things I want to do to her.
All the things I could teach her.
Damn.
I can’t get ahead of myself.
Zania blinks. Her eyes fix on me. Melt into a glower. She raises the sp
atula. Wields it like a sword. “You’re not allowed back here.”
“You weren’t answering when I called.”
“You called? I didn’t hear you.”
“It’s a sin to lie.”
She laughs drily. “You’re one to talk about sin.”
“True.” I tilt my head. “I’m no saint. As you know.”
“I know it all too well.” She juts her chin to the door. “If you wait outside, I’ll be right there.”
I lean against the counter. Get comfortable. “I’m good here.”
The screw you in her eyes gets stronger, louder. “Teale.”
“I need your help.”
“With what?”
“A cake. I spoke to Chandra just now. She said I should discuss it with you.” I dive into my pocket for my phone. The spatula follows my movement. Brown eyes spark. I pause. Slow my descent. “I’m just getting my phone. You can call her yourself and check.”
Zania studies my eyes, searching for sincerity. She must find it because the spatula is set away and placed on the counter.
“How convenient,” she mumbles.
“I wanted the best.”
She stalks past me. Shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“It got me this far.”
She scoffs. Returns to me with a sketchpad in her hands. “What do you want?”
You. “Anything.”
She looks up quickly. “I need more to work with than ‘anything’. What’s the cake for?”
“My business opening.”
“So it should have something to do with tech, right?” She sketches while she talks. I just see her hands moving all over the page. “That’s what you do.”
“Yeah, I develop code. Make apps. Sell them off to bigger corporations.”
“Do you enjoy that?”
“Making bank? Yeah.”
She glances up. Hits me with a that’s not what I’m asking look. “Programming.”
I rub my chin. Think of the first time I learned to code. I made a silly little game that had two movements max, but I was so proud of it.
“As a kid, people didn’t make any sense to me. There were too many variables I couldn’t control. But coding’s about order. Structure. It’s all built on ones and zeroes. There’s nothing you can’t do. I love it.”
Head still bowed, she mumbles, “I heard you were a prodigy.”
“Something like that.”
“How’d they discover you?”
“We had a club at school.” I cross my ankles. “The volunteers took me under their wing. When they saw how well I did with the kiddy courses, they paid for me to take advanced classes at a college.”
“That must have been hard. Being around all those adults as the only child.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“You showed them up?”
“With style.”
“Your dad must have been proud.”
A lump burns in my throat.
Every. Freaking. Time.
“He… didn’t understand.”
She looks up, into my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Dad was a manly-man. Owned a gym. Guzzled a six-pack in the evening while watching football and screaming at the TV. He believed real work could only be done with your hands, getting callouses, breaking a sweat.”
“So he wasn’t exactly your biggest fan.”
“He tried to toughen me up, but he never succeeded. He never let me forget it either.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. That’s just life.” I shrug. Wonder why I’ve gone off the beaten path to discussing a subject I hate to think about.
She studies me. “Your first time talking about it out loud?”
“Let’s just say I’d rather pretend some things never happened.”
“I know how you feel.”
She doesn’t.
She has no freaking idea.
And I’ll keep it that way.
Keep my crazy thoughts and my inferiority complex to myself.
Guys with screwed up heads aren’t sexy.
“If it’s any consolation,” Zania moves closer, “my dad’s in prison.”
I glance up, surprised.
Her lips flatten. “That’s not something I usually share either.”
“Does it bother you?”
“I don’t think about it.” Brown eyes flash up. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ashamed. I’m just… I’m more than my sob story, but when people find out, they can’t seem to move past the misfortune. It becomes the sum of who I am instead of one defining moment in my story.”
“Deep.” I quirk an eyebrow. “You feel all that and yet you shared it with me?”
“You’re right. Let’s just scratch the past three minutes from record. This never happened.”
I chuckle.
Zania cracks a smile and tilts the sketchbook toward me. “Here. What do you think about this concept?”
I blink when I see the three-tiered structure. “You just drew that?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
She chuckles. “Stop playing. Tell me what you think.”
“I think you should quit baking and start painting canvas.”
Another beautiful laugh.
Zania’s got this throaty way of laughing when she’s really amused. I never noticed that before.
Probably because she’s always wearing some variation of a scowl when I’m around.
“I’ll probably have to do more research, but this is what I came up with on the spot,” she says.
“I love it.”
She bites down on her plump bottom lip. Shy. Unsure. “Yeah?”
“It’s really amazing.”
She’s amazing.
Zania’s standing so close. Her shoulder’s touching mine. Her hand’s in front of me, holding the sketchbook. Her teeth sinks further into her bottom lip. She brushes a thick, dangling braid away from her cheek. The twist has gold clips in it.
She looks like an empress.
Like an ethereal queen.
Her tongue darts out. Pink tip rasps along the brown lining of her lips.
Damn.
I want to kiss those lips more than anything.
I want to taste her.
I want her laid up on that counter.
Legs open.
Those shorts around her ankles.
Her moans disappearing in my kiss.
Heat engulfs me.
I move closer to the flame.
Closer to Zania.
12 Zania
I can’t believe I told Teale about my dad. It’s a painful secret I keep locked in the darkest corners of my mind, right next to the chest where I store memories of our night together.
I want to turn my sketchpad over. Fan my face.
The kitchen is hot.
I feel even hotter.
Teale and I are standing side by side. Shoulders touching. Arms brushing. There’s something shimmering between us, something lighter than lust and more compelling than hatred.
Understanding.
I have no idea how this happened.
Because he complimented my sketch? Because he meant it?
Or because he told me about his dad?
Mine was never there and as much as I hate to admit it, that screwed with me. With my self-esteem. With my confidence.
I know I’m naïve.
Can’t say I can blame that entirely on daddy issues, but there you go. We all have our scars.
And even if Teale isn’t showing all of his to me, the fact that he uncovered them, just a little, is it’s own seduction.
There’s a flare of sincerity in his eyes that tells me he means what he says.
He’s flawed.
He’s broken.
The sheen of hurt in his eyes tells me he’s trying to act like he isn’t.
My heart trembles.
Is it just me or did he lean
a little closer?
His eyes are blue. Dark blue. Like the sky before a storm.
Like a hurricane threatening to uproot everything I am, everything I’m holding on to.
Dull pink lips hover over mine.
His intentions are clear.
Mine are hazy.
My eyes sweep closed.
Idiot.
I’m not over him.
I’m so not over him.
But I’m getting married soon.
Kayla is, at this very moment, looking for my husband.
I can’t.
But I want to.
My eyes crack open.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. Inch back. My free hand flattens on the counter top.
He twists toward me. Hips slightly pressing into mine.
My body whooshes to life immediately.
My pulse thrums. Heat prickles my skin. My thighs clench.
His touch is making me dizzy. Making me tremble.
He’s someone I hate.
Everything I can’t stand.
But I still crave his kiss.
Man, I need it so badly…
“Truth or dare, Zania.”
I blink twice. “What?”
“Truth or dare?”
It’s such a random, Teale-thing to say.
We’re not in high school anymore. We’re not kids.
And this situation…
He smiles, enjoying the chaos he’s causing in me, in my body. “Then I’ll go first.”
“But you just—”
“Say it.”
I pause. Stare at him.
He leans closer. Blue eyes bore into me. “Say it. I dare you.”
I inhale a deep breath. Exhale. “You’re crazy.”
The words were supposed to escape stronger, with more conviction. Instead, my voice trembles.
His eyes crackle and sparkle. Hypnotic. Entrancing.
I try to step back. My instincts boom one word: run, but when I try, my butt hits the counter.
The jolt propels me closer to him.
He catches me by the waist. Drags me closer. “What else?”
“I don’t want you.”
An eyebrow arches. Unfettered amusement. “Mm-hm?”
“You mean nothing to me.”
My eyes catch on his lips. My heart thuds.
No, Zania.
A magnetic pull.
Stop, Zania.
I rise on the tips of my toes. Press my mouth to his. Quick. A peck.
Back away.
“See,” I say huskily, “nothing.”
