So Much More (Made for Love #3)

by R. C. Martin

  Before I have a chance to figure out what Sarah means—What if that’s not my choice?—we’re interrupted by a loud woman with red hair. I notice her only after I watch Sarah’s blue eyes widen in surprise and horror. Her whole body tenses and I feel the urge to pull her into my arms, to protect her from whatever it is that’s stolen the fun and flirty side of my sweet girl.

  She stands just as I look over her head at the person who called her Red Coat—whatever the hell that means. The friendly face I see doesn’t exactly coincide with Sarah’s response and I’m immediately confused. That is, until she turns around and the redhead sees that Sarah’s not the least bit amused.

  “Shit. Ohmygod, it’s not funny yet. Fuck! I’m so sorry. Can I get a do-over? I need a do-over.” She immediately turns around and heads back outside.

  What the hell is going on?

  I reach for Sarah’s hand and she wraps her fingers around mine, giving them a squeeze without looking up at me. Then the redhead is back.

  “Sarah Hailey Prescott, get your ass over here and give me a damn hug.”

  Sarah chokes out a halfhearted laugh as she sets her Kindle down and makes her way to the woman standing in the middle of the lobby.

  I’m completely lost.

  I do know one thing, though—the H in Sarah H. Prescott stands for Hailey.

  I'M GOING TO KILL her. I'm going to give her the biggest hug in the world, and then I'm going to kill her, I think to myself as I make my way from behind the counter to greet Harper. I can't help but smile at her as she stands in the middle of the shop with her arms stretched wide. She's got her hair pulled back into a ponytail and she's dressed casually in shorts and a strapless top. When I wrap my arms around her delicate frame, she squeezes me hard.

  “I'm a dirty slut and I'm sorry. Forgive me?” she murmurs sincerely.

  I want to tell her that my forgiveness will cost her, but right now, her hug is everything. I can't help but laugh as I nod against her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” I ask, still not ready to let her go. I've missed her and her potty mouth.

  “It's Teddy's birthday, which means it's Theodora Day. You know us.”

  I hum my understanding, my thoughts taking me back to January when it was Harper Day. Teddy came down and the two of them spent all day celebrating. I got to tag along for dinner and dancing. It was a blast.

  “I can't stay for long. She’s currently in the middle of a two-hour session, getting work done over at Generation Ink, so I snuck away for just a minute.”

  “She's getting more ink?”

  “Yeah,” Harper laughs pulling away from me. “She's running out of places to hide that shit. Anyway, I took the day off. I'm praying my new little ones won't kill the sub while I'm away. It's only been a week and I swear those little fuckers are going to wear me out.”

  I force a smile, my heart aching at the mention of her students. In this moment, with her here, I sort of hate myself for running away. I shake the thought away and take her hand, leading her to a nearby table.

  “You love them and you know it.” She can talk nasty all day, but she’s got the biggest heart. I’ve never met a student who didn’t adore her.

  “You're right. Deep down, I know they're all tiny angels starving for knowledge.” We both laugh as we sit. “God, I miss seeing your ridiculously gorgeous face everyday.”

  “Yeah. I miss you, too, Harp.”

  “Well, you sure as shit don’t act like it. First, you ditch me for most of the summer. Then, I fix you up with a roommate and I barely hear from you again. What the hell?”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I say pleadingly, my fingers reaching to fidget with my braid. “I’ve just had a lot—”

  “I know, you don’t have to explain,” she interrupts me gently. “How are you doing? Really? I mean, clearly, The Incident is still a touchy subject. Have you heard from him?”

  I bow my head and stare down into my lap. “He texted me last week. Told me he missed me. I ignored him.”

  “Good for you,” she insists, resting a hand on my knee. “He’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve anymore from you—which is what I told him when he asked me about you.”

  I shoot my head up, frantically searching for answers in her bright green eyes. “What?”

  “Micah’s in Leah’s class this year. Our kids line up next to each other in the mornings. He spotted me on the first day and came to me, with these pathetic puppy dog eyes, asking me about you. I wanted to kick his fucking balls until they were black and blue.”

  I take a deep breath, startled by her news. My heart is racing. I wish it wasn’t. I wish that his asking about me ignited not a sliver of emotion. I wish that I could close my eyes and pretend that I didn’t care. But I do!

  I don’t love him. Not anymore. Yet, it’s impossible for me to feel nothing when I think of Luke. I think of pain. I think of loss. I think of my humiliation.

  He didn’t love me. His asking for me? It’s about him wanting to make himself feel better. He doesn’t care about me. If he did, he would have fought for me. He would have stood up for me.

  “Hey, sweetie, none of that.” I don’t realize that I’m crying until Harper wipes away my tears. “What’d I say? He doesn’t deserve anymore from you. That includes these tears.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I know.” I sit up straighter and roll back my shoulders, sniffing away the last of my unwelcome cry.

  “So, does this mean you haven’t moved on to greener pastures? Or…bearded ones? Because I was kind of hoping that the fucktastic guy behind the counter was flirting with you when I walked in.”

  When I look back over my shoulder, I see Brandon’s in the middle of making a drink at the espresso machine. As if he knows he’s being watched, his eyes dart away from his task for just a moment and his gaze finds mine. He winks at me and then the woman he’s serving says something that pulls his attention away from me. I don’t mind, though—that wink left me with goose pimples that will linger for a moment more.

  “That’s Brandon. This is his coffee shop-bakery,” I tell Harper, giving her my full attention.

  “Oh, so he’s your boss?” I nod my answer. “Well, Principal Turner winks at me sometimes, but it’s not nearly as sexy as all of that,” she says, lifting an eyebrow at me. “Is Brandon your bossy boyfriend?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or—he could be? I couldn’t say for sure.”

  “Well, dammit, Sarah—I don’t have time for the stories that come along with maybe. I’ve got to get back to Teddy. Do me a favor? Call me when you’ve got that shit figured out?”

  “Yeah,” I reply with a chuckle. “I promise.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. I just couldn’t fathom being in town without dropping by to see you.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad for even these few minutes. We’ll have to plan a weekend or something.”

  “Absolutely. We’ll hash out the details and talk schedules—almost like the good ole days.”

  The good ole days…

  “Alright. I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait—I can’t let you leave without a muffin. I swear it’ll change your life. Give me two seconds.”

  I run back behind the counter and bag up two blueberry crumble muffins and then hurry back to hand them off to Harper. She gives me a big hug goodbye and then she’s gone. Her visit was so short, it’s almost as if it didn’t happen. My heart sinks a little as I watch her leave.

  “Hey—are you okay?” Brandon asks when I situate myself behind the register.

  I want to tell him that I’m great. I want to go back to that moment when we were flirting and he was talking about us—as if we are an us. Unfortunately, that moment has passed; at least for the time being, it has. In its place is the residue of Harper’s stop-and-go. Now, standing in this bakery with Brandon, in my pink apron, it doesn’t feel as easy as it did earlier. Now, I think of Micah. I think of the lunch room filled with noisy children and their sticky fingers.
>
  I think of Luke.

  He asked about me. Why?

  Who the hell cares? my heart retorts defiantly.

  You do! We do! As much as I want to pretend that I don’t give a shit—I’m curious. No, I’m not in love with him, but…why does he care where I am? Why did he text me last week? What does he want? Absolution? Forgiveness? What?

  “Sarah?”

  “What? Huh? I’m okay,” I mutter, shaking my head to shift my train of thought. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he tells me. The look in his eyes lets me know that I’m not doing a very good job of convincing him of my well being. I offer him a small smile and the one he gives in return hurts my heart. I can tell that he’s worried.

  Don’t fuck this up, Sarah—don’t fuck it up.

  He’s the best thing to happen to me in months. I can’t spoil it by wondering or worrying about what’s in my rearview mirror. I can’t go backwards.

  Don’t push him away trying.

  For the rest of my shift, I struggle with the battle that’s raging between my head and my heart. My head wants answers. My heart wants a new adventure. My head is worried about the past. My heart is begging me to enjoy the present. My head is worried about my future. My heart is trying desperately to hold onto the optimism that I seem to have found in the last week. It’s a tug-of-war that leaves me distracted—so much so that I can’t even fully enjoy the hug goodbye that Brandon offers me before I leave.

  I need to bake something.

  I shove aside the idea and hurry home so that I can get ready for my kickboxing class with Aria and Josh. Maybe if I get my ass handed to me in a rigorous workout, it’ll help me out of this funk.

  Sadly, a couple hours later, I’m gross, sweaty, tired, and still stuck in my head. I hardly even think about it as I stop by the grocery store on my way home. I pick up all the necessary ingredients for monster cookies before I go back to the apartment. By the time I get out of the shower, Millie’s home. She speaks barely two words to me and I know in an instant that there’s no way I can bake in that kitchen tonight.

  I’m not in the mood to be yelled at by my OCD roommate just now.

  I check the time and get an idea. There’s another kitchen I know better than my own. I’m going to borrow it. I know that Brandon said I wasn't allowed to be at the coffee shop all by myself, but I’ll be in and out in less than two hours. He’ll never know. Besides, I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t go. This is an emergency.

  RED COAT. I’M DYING to know what that means. The look on her face when she heard it…

  Harper—that’s the redhead’s name—I could tell that they’re close friends, that she hadn’t meant to hurt Sarah with her words. It was also completely obvious that whatever situation Red Coat is connected to is still something that plagues Sarah. My gut tells me this involves the married jackass who broke her heart. It kills me to think that he was on her mind all afternoon.

  Sarah was different after Harper left. She kept telling me she was fine, but her smile wasn’t mine. I know my smile. I missed my smile. When she came back to the office to tell me she was leaving and I hugged her goodbye, she pulled away first.

  She’s never the first to let go.

  As I ease my way to a stop in front of the stairs that will lead me to my apartment, I reach into my pocket for my phone. I want to check on her. My pocket, however, is empty. After a full pat down, I realize I don’t have my phone. I’ve been misplacing the damn thing all day, so I’m hardly surprised that I forgot it at the shop. Nevertheless, I’m a little pissed because now I have to go back and get it. Not only do I want to check on Sarah tonight, but I can’t go another day without texting her on my way into work. The look on her face this morning—I don’t want to be responsible for that kind of disappointment ever again.

  I ride fast, shaving off a couple minutes from my usually fifteen minute ride. When I pull up in front of the bakery, I don’t even bother to lock up my bike. I plan on being in and out. That is, until I see the lights are on inside.

  I swear I didn’t leave them on.

  When I reach for the door handle, I find it locked. I’m relieved and more confused all at once. I let myself in, prop my bike next to the door, and twist the deadbolt before I make my way to the kitchen where the light is coming from. I’m halfway there when I hear it—the most horrible singing I’ve ever heard in my life.

  As I stand in the entryway, listening to the awful screeching noises that are coming out of my gorgeous sweet girl, I can’t contain the big ass grin that spreads across my face. I specifically told her I didn’t want her here by herself. I’m irritated with her for ignoring me—but as she sways her hips to the beat of whatever song is playing through her earbuds, I can’t help but smile.

  She’s got her hair pulled up into a long ponytail. Her tank top and her little cotton shorts reminding me of her every curve. Her apron is tied around her as well, shielding her from whatever it is that she’s making. As she sings her heart out, I fall for her a little bit more. I’m in love with the fact that she can’t carry a tune to save her life and she doesn’t give two shits about it. It just might be the cutest damn thing in the world.

  God—I want to kiss that mouth.

  When she stops stirring and uses the wooden spoon in her grasp as a microphone, I know I’m not leaving until I stake my claim and kiss my girl. She spots me out of the corner of her eye and yelps as she spins to face me, dropping the spoon in the process.

  “Holy shit!” she cries, yanking her earbuds out. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, slowly making my way toward her.

  “Um—baking cookies.”

  “Alone?”

  “Okay. Yes. Alone. But I needed to bake something and Millie hates it when I bake at home.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know, I just—”

  “You’re not good with no. I know,” I murmur, sliding one hand around the nape of her neck and the other around her waist. “I don’t like you in here all by yourself so late.”

  “I know,” she begins to say, resting her hands against my chest. “I’m sorry.”

  “What’d I tell you about apologizing?”

  She opens her mouth to respond, but I don’t give her a chance to speak. I can’t go another second without kissing her—so I crash my mouth against hers, pulling her closer. She whimpers and then wraps her arms around my neck, holding me tightly as she instantly returns my affection. Her lack of hesitation encourages me to kiss her deeper. I flick my tongue between her lips, brushing it against hers, and she frees another feeble moan. This time, my cock responds.

  I can’t stop myself from backing her up against the counter and pressing into her until she can feel what she’s doing to me. She hugs me harder, as if she wants me closer, and I open my mouth wider, plunging my tongue deeper. She feels incredible and she tastes even better—better than I ever imagined. I can’t get enough. I can’t stop.

  I want more.

  I grab her hips and lift her up onto the workspace, never once taking my lips from hers. When she’s sitting, she wraps her legs around me and pulls me in, telling me that she’s just as hungry for this as I am. All of my senses are filled with Sarah. Touch. Taste. Sight. Smell—and the only thing I hear are the sounds of our hot, wet kiss, and the faint music coming from her earbuds.

  Her earbuds.

  As if someone has dumped a bucket of cold water over my head, I’m yanked out of the moment and I pull my mouth from hers. When our eyes meet, I can see her astonishment mixed with her desire and my dick tells me to dive back in—but my heart is demanding that I stop. For a second, neither of us speaks as we work to catch our breath.

  “Why are you here?” I finally manage.

  “What?” she breathes.

  “Why are you baking? Is this about him?”

  “Him? Him who?” she asks, shaking her head.

  “Your ex. Harper. Red Coat
. Why are you here? Is this about him?”

  “Why? Why are you asking me that?” Her arms fall away from me and that’s all the answer I need.

  “This—you and me—it can’t have anything to do with him. We cannot be a reaction. This—you and me—we’re more than that. Dammit.” I step back from her, still struggling to catch my breath. I hate the distance that now separates us. I hate that I’m the one who put it there. I can’t say exactly where my will power is coming from, but it’s winning.

  I want to be more than a rebound.

  I’m not letting her go, which means right now—I have to let her go.

  “You should leave.”

  “Brandon—”

  “I’ll clean up. You should go.”

  I watch her stare at me, completely taken aback, until I can’t handle it any longer. When I start putting things away, returning ingredients to their rightful places, she slides her way off of the counter. Without a word, she discards her apron, gathers her purse, and leaves.

  I’m not exactly sure how I got home. I know I drove, but I can’t remember it. I imagine, seeing as how I made it back in one piece, that I didn’t run any red lights or stop signs, but I can’t say for sure. I can barely think about putting one foot in front of the other, so switching on turn signals and checking blind spots may or may not have happened. What did happen was that kiss.

  Holy. Shit. That kiss…

  If I had to use one word to describe that kiss it would be: greedy.

  No, ravenous.

  Definitely delicious.

  Or possibly insatiable?

  Fuck. I can’t pick one word. It was perfect. So, so, so perfect!

  It was equal parts gentle, passionate, demanding, and generous. It was a little bit sloppy and out of control, but it was also completely intentional and it felt amazing.

  He felt amazing.

  I couldn’t get close enough. His hard body wrapped around mine, one hand supporting my neck as he bent over me and devoured my mouth, the other against the small of my back as he crushed me to him. I wanted more. I wanted to be closer. The warm, tingling, ache between my legs has never felt so overwhelming. I’m still so turned on, I wonder if I’m ever going to be able to go to sleep.