by Shyla Colt
“Is it true you’re dating Anders Rivera?” a woman asks.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear on the internet. People love to gossip and speculate.” Right now, I don’t know what’s going on with us. So, I couldn’t answer her honestly if I wanted to.
“Oh.” The plump blonde’s face falls, and her shoulders slump. “I was rooting for you. He’s quite a catch, and easy on the eyes, too.”
I nod. “That he is.” Its torture being forced to talk about the one person I want to forget exists. I don’t understand how I ended up in the same situation, betrayed by a man I trusted and cared for. I was falling in love with the man I thought Anders was—devoted to his family, funny, and passionate about cooking. He had a sweetness to him that I couldn’t resist. Even after he got under my skin and challenged me with his words and different beliefs. I thought maybe we could make things work despite our opposite onions. Stupid.
A petite, curly-haired brunette steps up with a slender girl who could only be her daughter.
“My daughter, Makayla, and I just loved your series with the Cookie King. Can we get a picture for you? We had the Royal S’mores. They were delicious, by the way. We’re really hoping you bring the trophy home.”
“Thank you so much. Of course you can.”
“We’ll take five cookies for holding up your line.” She grins, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. If nothing else, the show seemed to really empower a lot of women. That, I can get behind. I take their money, hand over the cookies, then lean forward and smile as they arrange themselves to my left and right to take the shot. I can’t help but feel they put Brittany’s table directly across from mine on purpose. Never underestimate the small-town love for drama and competition. I can feel her mean mugging me from across the way.
I’m glad I spent so much time in the kitchen. I was trying to work out frustrations, but the way the cookies are going like hotcakes, I’m going to need every last one of them. I continue to pedal cookies, making small talk, and answering questions. I’m feeling better about the choice to take the lessons. We all need to see someone not afraid to fail. It reminds us that perfection is not a part of the human experience, and failing is a step on the journey to learning. If I got nothing else from Anders, I could take that with me.
“Have you seen this?”
I look up from my transaction to see a frantic, red-faced Jordan in front of me.
“See what?”
She waves her glittery, gold-cased phone in front of me.
“I can’t read it when you’re waving it. Here you are, ma’am, two dollars even. Thank you again for stopping by.”
“I’m sorry to cut, but love is on the line,” Jordan says, squeezing in front of the tall blonde staring at her open-mouthed.
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at what your man did for you.” She thrusts the phone into my hand, and I press play on the video.
“Today, I was supposed to post the final installation of Baking Redemption with Matilda, who you know as the Cookie Queen in Training. But I find myself unable to do that. She was hurt by speculation about us and a picture taken without her permission of a very important person in her life. I signed up for this. I love teaching you how to bake, hearing your stories, and being allowed to come onto your screens with my new content. That being said, she deserves your respect when it comes to her privacy. She chose to share pieces of her life with you because she’s an amazing woman who wanted to make her daughter proud. That’s admirable. Whoever it was that leaked the information, you should be ashamed of yourself. Today, I’m questioning if I want to be a part of this community at all. Matilda, I’m sorry this happened.” The screen fades to black.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Are you still confused about if he did this or not? His statements on social media say basically the same thing.”
“He can’t stop! He loves what he does.”
“Not more than he does you,” Jordan whispers.
“God. I screwed this up.”
Whispers go up around us. Jordan smiles. “I don’t think you did.”
“Tilly.”
The familiar tenor makes me gasp. The crowd parts. I watch as he approaches me with a tray of heart-shaped sugar cookies ranging in frosting from bright red to blush pink. I’m sorry. You own my heart. The messages blur as my eyes well up.
“I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“I know.” I force the garbled words out through my swollen throat.
“I’m falling in love with you.” He stands in front of me, all milk-chocolate-colored brown eyes full of hope and adoration, and perfectly decorated cookies on a silver tray.
“Me too,” I whisper. He moves in and leans over. I kiss him. Cheers, applause, and camera clicks go up around us, and for once, I couldn’t care less. Breathing hard, I grin. “I’m sorry. I won’t doubt you again.”
“Can I come back there and help you sell now? We said we’d do this together.”
“Please.”
If the booth was busy before, traffic has doubled now. Time moves swiftly as we sling cookies like pros. My heart is full, and my mind is calm. Whoever did this has their own issues. I don’t want my daughter to be a media darling, but I can’t control others’ actions. Trying to would bring me back to the dark place I struggled to claw my way out of post-divorce.
“Ladies and gentleman, we’ll be announcing the winner of the cookie contest shortly.”
“Eek.”
“You got this.” Anders leans down and kisses the top of my head.
I search the crowd, looking for Jackson and Clementine. He’s picked her up from school and took her to get something to eat before he brought her here. I spot them in the sea of faces and stand on the tips of my toes, waving wildly. Jackson nods and smiles. The expression fades quickly as he sees Anders beside me. I find myself wondering once more if he was the one who leaked the picture. No one would question him being around my home. Before, I’d say he wouldn’t sink that low, but my trust for him has been broken so badly I’m not sure what to think. They walk over, and Clem’s eyes light up. She breaks away from her father to bolt for the table.
“Anders.”
“Hey, Clementine!” He grabs her smaller hand and squeezes it gently.
“You helped Mommy sell cookies?”
“I did. She’s been swamped.”
“I’m sure your presence helps,” Jackson mumbles.
“You should try a cookie.” I shove it into his mouth before he can start more drama.
“Jackson. Over here.” Brittany’s shrill voice cuts through the crowded gym.
Jesus, that’s his future.
He waves at her dismissively.
“This year’s the trophy for best cookie goes to ...” I hold my breath. “Matilda Lawson.”
“No.” Brittany’s cry is followed by cookies being flung to the ground. My eyes widen as she stomps over, a ball of fury.
“Why are you over here with her instead of me? She gets everything. You’re mine. We’re getting married, and yet she’s all you talk about, Jackson.” She shoves at his chest. “Why did you even leave her if you weren’t going to let her go?”
He grabs her arms. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You are.” Her shoulders shake with sobs. I almost feel bad for her as she melts down in front of God and everyone. “You’re never going to love me.”
“Of course I love you. We’re getting married.”
“Not like her.” She turns her mascara-smeared face to me. “I had the pictures taken, and you ran to her.” I turn to Anders, shocked at the lengths she’d gone to. Brittany’s hand trembles as she removes the diamond ring and places it in his hand. “I can’t compete with a memory.”
“Holy crap,” Jordan whispers.
I nod, numb.
“You should accept your prize,” Anders says, leading me and Clem away from the scene unfolding in front of us. The golden cookie trop
hy is lovely, but the expression on Clementine’s face is the real prize. She grins as she accepts the envelope on my behalf. As we leave the gym with empty cookie trays in hand, I see my future stretch out in front of me, bright and exciting.
Epilogue
18 months later
Anders
“Are you trying to fatten me up?” Tilly smiles up at me as I set the tray on the table in front of her.
“We’re celebrating having the house to ourselves tonight.”
“That’s a bi-weekly event.” She giggles, and I know she’s enjoying the pampering I’ve been doing, from the drawn bath and candles to the homemade pasta dish and now the moonlight dessert platter.
“Oh, these are adorable.” She traces the heart pies on a stick filled with apple compote. Her smile fades. “Did I forget an anniversary?”
I chuckle. “No.”
Her eyes take in the buttery Mexican wedding cookie, heart-shaped vanilla petits fours, and handmade fortune cookies dipped in chocolate and covered with sprinkles. “Is there an eating order?”
“Yes.” I walk over and trace her lips. “The heart pop first because I think you stole mine the first time you opened your door and threatened to strangle me.”
She smiles. “You remember me at my best.”
Lifting a heart, I bring it to her mouth. She takes a bite and hums her approval of the sweet and tangy filling. I finish the rest, eager to move her through to the final treat.
“I like sharing with you,” she whispers.
“I know you do.” I hope that goes for more than just my cooking.
I lift the petits fours. “Because you and Clementine own my heart. I never knew it could be this full until you stepped into my life. I’ve never been so grateful for baking before as I am now. It’s brought me everything I wanted most in life.” She takes a bite, and I bite from the other end, nibbling into our lips meet in a sweet, vanilla-flavored kiss. She moans, and I swallow, darting my tongue out to collect the leftover glaze from her luscious lips.
“Keep that up, and we won’t finish our way through the dishes.”
I’m stalling.
I kneel beside her and lift up a fortune cookie. “I want to help you with this one.”
“Okay?” She flashes me a questioning gaze.
“On three. One, two, three.” We snap the cookie in half as my heart beats in double time. The slip of paper floats down into her lap. She lifts it up and reads it. “Anders.”
“I love you. I want to make us an official family, and maybe add a few new members when you’re ready.” Will you marry me? is printed in black ink. “Matilda Anne Lawson, will you marry me and let me add Rivera to the end of your name, so Clementine doesn’t feel left out.”
“Yes.” Tears fall from her eyes as she nods. “That’s why the Wedding Cookie was last?”
I nod. “You should break that open.”
“You didn’t,” she whispers.
I grin as she digs into it like a treasure hunter. The cookie gives way to reveal a ring. The oval-shaped platinum ring gleams brilliantly. I brush away the crumbles and slide her ring onto her finger. My tongue circles the band, licking away the crumbs. She whimpers, and I grin.
“I have to make sure to clean it up.” I continue to tease her as I cup her breasts, flicking her nipples with my thumbs. Her slinky pale pink gown stands out against her caramel-colored skin that shows off her shape.
“You did all this for me.” Her voice shakes. “Let me return the favor.” Her eyes darken in the ambient lighting set of by the fairy lights wound in the trellis above us.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sit.” She gestures to the chair across from her. Rising, I follow her directions as she stands and sashays her ways over to me.
“You took such good care of me today.” Bending over, she trails her fingernails up my thighs. Goosebumps cover my skin. “I want to make you feel good, too.” She palms my cock, and I groan, straining against my gray lounge pants.
Sinking onto her knees, she spreads my legs and nuzzles me through my pants. My hips jerk as I chase the heat from her lips. “I can’t tease you tonight. Not after everything.” Her hand slips into the top of my pants and grips my cock, freeing me. I slap against my stomach, and she laps at my length, teasing the sensitive underside of my head. “So hard for me.” Circling my mushroom-shaped head, she swallows me down.
I grunt, burying my hand in her hair as she takes me to the back of her throat. “Your lips so pretty wrapped around my cock.” I thrust up, watching her face as her eyes glaze over, and she hums, bobbing her head as she pushes me to the brink, swallowing to tighten her throat around me. I pull her up to my mouth, and our tongues duel as we battle for dominance.
“I have a surprise,” she whispers huskily.
“What’s that?”
Standing, she lifts her gown up over her hips, revealing her neatly trimmed, slick pussy.
“No panties.” She turns, and I nip her plush ass as she straddles my lap. Gripping my cock, she eases down, keeping her feet flat on the seat. I groan as I fill her tight sheath to the hilt. My balls rest against her flesh, and she flexes her pussy. “I want you to fuck me, Anders.”
I tug her nipple, and she arches her back, crying out.
“You sure you want that?” I wrap my hand around her throat, and she swivels her hips.
“Yes.”
Gripping her hips, I lift her up and slam her back down, thrusting up into her flooded sheath.
“Harder.”
Moving us to the edge, I lean her forward slightly and give her what she wants, pounding into her as she meets me thrust for thrust. Her breathing increases. I tighten my grip. Her pussy flutters around me. I increase my speed. The sound of our bodies slapping together is a symphony I’ll never tire of. Her body tenses, and she locks down on me. I release her throat. She explodes around me, quivering while I find my release, painting her insides. She goes limp and pliable. Kissing her neck as she comes down, I inhale her scent, knowing this woman is mine for the rest of our lives.
About the Author
Shyla Colt is the sassy USA Today Bestselling author of the popular series Kings of Chaos and Dueling Devils M.C. This genre-hoppers stories feature three of her favorite things: strong females, pop culture, and alternate routes to happy ever after. Listening to her Romani soul, she pens from the heart, allowing the dynamic characters, eccentric interests, and travels as a former flight attendant to take her down untraveled roads.
Born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, this mid-west girl is proud of her roots. She used her hometown and the surrounding areas as a backdrop for a number of books. So, if you’re a Buckeye, keep an eye out for familiar places.
As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there's never a dull moment in her household.
She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company.
Excerpt
All I want for Christmas Is Yoon
Prologue
Hart
There are days engraved into everyone’s minds where life takes a turn you know you’ll never fully recover from. This is one of mine. They say it’s natural for a child to bury their parents because it’s the correct order of things. Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t make things easier to handle. Seeing my mother deteriorate before my eyes was more than I could bear. So, I’d set off to make my mark on the world, returning often, but never for too long. It was cowardly. Cancer slowly stole away her energy and the one passion she lived for outside of her family—painting. When the chemo prevented her from making steady brush strokes, she withered. An artist, Mom made her living expressing herself through multiple types of media. Taking away that ability silenced her soul. Dad tried to be there for us as much as possible while working to combat the bills. But too often, it left Fiona, the youngest, fending for herself.
I skim my hands over the riot of dark curls spilling down
Fiona’s back as I rest my head against her headboard. Today we laid our mother to rest. Yet, peace continues to elude us. My vivacious firecracker has been deadened. Her eyes are dull and sad, and she’d turned inward where no one could reach her.
I should’ve been around more for my baby sister. Mom insisted I chase my dreams. When I landed a position as a make-up artist for an up-and-coming singer, she forced me to take it and go on tour. Selfishly, I used her enthusiasm as justification for my absence. Guilt sits heavy in my stomach like an indigestible foreign matter. Movement in the doorway attracts my attention. My father stands there, dark eyes red-rimmed, and his tie undone, a living ghost still clad in the suit he wore to the graveyard. He looks rumpled and defeated. Seeing the man who’s always seemed larger than life laid so low cuts me at a soul-deep level.
“She finally asleep?” Dad whispers.
I nod. “Yeah. I think rest is the best thing for her.”
He rubs his face. “It’s probably what we all need.”
“You can go to sleep, Dad. I’ve got her.”
His shoulders shake, and I long to go to him and give him comfort. “I have something for you.” His voice breaks.
I frown, confused and wary. We’re reading the will with the lawyer tomorrow.
“Your mother wanted me to give it to you. After.” He reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a white envelope. Walking into the room, he hands me the letter and backs out like a criminal afraid to set off an alarm. Hartley is scrawled across it in the fancy handwriting I’ve admired my entire life. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the study.” Turning, he gives me his back.
He’s aged before my eyes this last year. I hardly recognize the graying man lumbering down the hall and out of my line of vision. Careful not to wake the small being holding me hostage with her weight draped over my lap, I take a deep breath and carefully open the white rectangle in my hand. I can smell her floral fragrance. My hands shake as I hold my breath and open the letter. A purple geode broken up with gold in the corner greets me from her personalized stationery. The words blur as I begin to read.
