by Katie Allen
Without looking at him, Leah made a noncommittal sound that came out as a grunt. If it had been anyone but Jude, she would’ve been embarrassed. Since it was Jude, she wanted to be as unattractive as possible. It wasn’t like she was a bakery owner by day and a high-fashion model by night. She was too short and ate a few too many cookies for that. The most common compliments she heard were “cute” and “adorable” and the occasional “huggable.” She’d gotten her permanently tan skin and her dark hair from her Samoan dad, and her deep dimples and not-quite-blue-but-not-quite-gray-or-green-either eyes from her mom. They’d both died in a car accident when Leah had just turned four, so she’d been raised by her grandma, who’d passed away four years ago, right after Leah had graduated from college.
“The best part is that I can keep working from home. No cubicle for me.” Jude jerked her back to reality again, which was unfortunate, since reality meant hanging out with his possible-serial-killer self in an otherwise empty bakery.
“That’s great.” Leah snuck a glance at her watch. There were still ten minutes to go before Q and his teen entourage were due. Jude never stuck around after Q arrived at the bakery. She gave mental thanks that it was a Friday. She worked alone on Mondays and Tuesdays, which meant that Jude hung out even longer, until the place started getting busy with the after-work crowd. In the fall, it was even worse, because Q had football practice after school and only worked at the bakery a few early mornings and on Saturdays.
The bell over the door jangled, and Leah looked up in happy surprise, expecting to see an early Q. Instead, Mr. Hamilton stood there, frowning at her. Despite her landlord’s sour expression, Leah still gave him a huge, relieved grin. Anyone, even the aggravating and thought-monopolizing Anthony Fitzgerald Hamilton III, was better than hanging out with her stalker of three months. Jude was at the bakery every weekday like clockwork—annoying, talkative, oblivious-to-brush-offs clockwork.
“Mr. Hamilton!” Her cheeks ached a little from the extreme wideness of her smile. Part of her happiness might have been because he was wearing a suit, and Hamilton looked very, very nice in a suit. “What can I get for you?”
He looked briefly taken aback by her warm greeting, but then his expression returned to his normal bland-robot setting as he approached the counter. He eyed Jude, who took a reluctant step away as Hamilton neared. It was all rather fascinating, and Leah watched with the delighted interest she’d dedicate to a wildlife documentary. The burlier, more alpha male badger forces the smaller, less dominant badger to retreat from the source of food, a hushed announcer voice in her head narrated, and she bit the inside of her lower lip to stop herself from laughing.
Hamilton’s gaze left a retreating Jude to rake across the contents of the display case. His unreadable expression cracked to reveal a slight scowl. “You’re out already?”
“Of course not.” Going up on her tiptoes, Leah lifted a bakery box filled with cupcakes off the top of the speed rack next to her. “I figured you’d be in sooner or later.” Normally, he’d stop in closer to closing time, but she was very happy he’d switched up his routine today and saved her from ten more agonizing minutes with Jude.
Hamilton smiled, just the smallest upward twist of his lips, and Leah couldn’t stop staring at him. That tiny movement had changed his whole face, turning him from rigid animatron to something really pretty. If he actually out-and-out grinned, she was certain that he would become the most beautiful thing in the world. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Leah was still a little dazed from that itty-bitty smile, so she did something she normally would never do with Hamilton. She actually flirted a little. “I would never make you go without your favorite cupcakes.”
There was another barely visible change of expression that Leah struggled to read. It might’ve been startled with a hint of panic if Hamilton ever did anything as low-brow as startle or panic.
“Do you save a croissant for me every day?” Jude’s question was an unwelcome intrusion into her analysis of Hamilton’s fascinating micro-expressions, and it took Leah a moment to tear her gaze from her landlord so she could look at Jude.
“Oh, it’s usually not an issue,” she said absently, fighting the urge to glance at Hamilton again. Was he staring at the cupcake box with that intensely hungry look that always made tingles radiate from her core? Was he tempted to rip open the lid and dive in, consuming the cream-filled desserts with that almost agonized expression of pure pleasure he’d worn that morning? She cleared her throat, dragging her brain away from that line of thinking before she overheated. “I usually don’t run out of croissants. Filled cupcakes, on the other hand, tend to disappear as soon as I can get them in the case. People go nuts over them.”
“They are quite good.” Hamilton’s voice was even and bland, with all hint of emotions buttoned up tightly. It was maddening. Leah wanted to poke at him until his robot-like veneer melted away and his raw insides were exposed.
She blinked at the graphic mental image. “Yes.” She couldn’t remember what she was agreeing with, but she just considered herself lucky that she could still speak, given the torrent of lustful, needy thoughts rushing through her at the moment. “Did you want some coffee with those cupcakes, or are you going to take them to go?”
Even though she asked, she knew what the answer would be. He’d take them to go. He always did.
Today, though, his gaze shifted to Jude for a brief moment before returning to Leah. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Surprised, she could only parrot the word back at him. “Yes to coffee?”
That tiny, not-quite-a-smile was back, just for a moment, and her knees went soft. “Yes to coffee. Please.”
“Of course.” Hurrying to fill up a cup, Leah tried to hold back a grin. She was much too pleased that he was sticking around, even considering that the other option would be for him to leave her alone with Jude again. Without asking, she pulled a small pitcher of half-and-half out of the mini-fridge beneath the cappuccino machine and pushed it and the sugar bowl toward Hamilton. The look that crossed his face was identical to the one he always wore for just a fraction of a second before he gave in to whatever sweet treat she was offering. She had a feeling that, if she hadn’t tempted him, he would’ve drunk his coffee black, suffering through each bitter mouthful like it was his penance, his caffeinated hair shirt, his well-deserved punishment for the box of cupcakes he was about to inhale.
When he reached for the cream and sugar, Leah felt a warm rush of satisfaction. It was such a tiny thing, but she loved being partners with the devil on his shoulder, to give him the little bit of pleasure from sweet, creamy coffee. His shoulder angel was much too harsh, in her opinion.
“I should go.” Jude’s voice brought Leah’s attention back to him. She’d forgotten that anyone else was in the bakery besides her, Hamilton, and the angel and devil on his shoulders. “My workload is much heavier now that I’ve gotten that promotion.”
“Congratulations again.” Leah smiled at Jude, wider than she usually did, wider than she knew she should, but she was still caught up in the exhilaration of corrupting her uptight landlord with sugar. “Have a good day.”
Jude paused, his gaze fixed on her for a beat too long. Just as Leah’s smile started to slip, Jude glanced down, breaking the strange tension. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye!” Even the reminder that Jude would come back the next day, as he always did, didn’t deflate her buoyant mood. Saturdays were always busy, plus Q worked the front. Jude wouldn’t stay long, and he’d keep to himself while he was there, so he’d be much more bearable.
With a small lift of his chin, Jude left the bakery, leaving the jangle of the doorbell in his wake.
“Who was that?”
Leah turned back to Hamilton and took the cash he was holding out. “That’s Jude, unfortunately.” She tapped at the register screen, only charging him for six cupcakes, instead
of the dozen that were nestled in the box, and throwing in the coffee for free. It was only good business to keep her landlord sweet, plus feeding him was almost a hobby for her.
“Jude Unfortunately?” he said, making her laugh as she handed back his considerable change. He immediately dropped everything into her tip jar, and she forgave him for the last ten annoying things that he’d done.
“Just Jude. The ‘unfortunately’ part was my addition. He’s annoying.”
“What’s his last name?”
“No idea. If he told me, I don’t remember.”
“Does he pay with a credit card?”
“Yes.” The conversation was odd, for sure, but Leah was pretty sure she knew where Hamilton was going with it. Everyone got weird vibes from Jude. Q couldn’t stand him, and Q was the most accepting, kind person she’d ever known.
“Hmm.” Hamilton watched through the glass front of the bakery as Jude made his slow way to his Jeep. “Is he here a lot?”
“Daily.” Leah leaned against her side of the counter, taking the opportunity to study Hamilton while his attention was elsewhere. His suit covered more than his running gear, but the lines of his body were still visible—and what delicious lines they were. The man was broad. Even with several feet and a counter between them, Leah felt dwarfed in a surprisingly enjoyable way. “Usually he stays until Q gets here, so you spared me ten extra minutes of his company. Thank you.”
His head swiveled around, and his narrowed gaze locked on hers. Leah was caught. Unlike her own indeterminately colored eyes, his were blue, the type of blue that could be called steely or icy or all sorts of other descriptors, but there was no question about the blueness. “He only stays when you’re here alone?”
She had to shake off her distraction. It was difficult to follow the train of conversation when her landlord kept sidetracking her thoughts with his hotness. “Not necessarily. He’ll stick around if other customers come in, or on Saturdays, when Q’s working the counter, but he only tries to have a conversation with me when no one else is here.”
Hamilton made a sound in his throat. “I don’t like him.”
“Join the club.” Leah gave a half-laugh that had more than too much snort in it. Although she cleared her throat immediately after, she was pretty sure the pig-like noise had been obvious and undisguised. “I don’t think anyone likes him. I pity the people he works with, even though he said he works from home most of the time.”
“What company?”
Leah racked her brain, but she couldn’t remember where he worked—or even what industry he worked in. “No clue. He talks, but I usually don’t pay attention. I’m too busy mentally begging him to go away.”
Instead of smiling at her joke, as she’d hoped, Hamilton frowned even more deeply. “I’ll look into it.”
“Look into what?”
“Him.”
“Jude?” She was a little confused. “Why? I have a feeling he’s boring. In fact, I know he’s boring.”
“I don’t care if he’s boring.” Placing the box of cupcakes on the counter, he flipped open the lid. Leah watched, enraptured, as his face took on that tortured, hungry look before he blanked his expression and met her eyes again. “I care if he’s a problem.”
“A problem?” Sure, Jude was an annoyance, but she wouldn’t consider him a major problem. He was like a pesky fly who would not die, no matter how long she chased him around the bakery with a swatter. “What kind of a problem?”
Hamilton never got to answer, because Q breezed in. “Ah. Mr. Hamilton’s here.” The way he said it was strange, as if he was answering a question only he had heard. When Leah cocked her head at him, he gave her a smile as he rounded the counter. “Your stalker was driving away when I pulled up. I couldn’t figure out why he’d left before I’d had a chance to give him my best I’ll-beat-your-ass stare.” Q pushed through the door to the kitchen, leaving silence in his wake.
“Stalker?”
Leah sighed, feeling strangely guilty, as if she’d misled Hamilton in some way. “Not really. He stalks my croissants more than he stalks me.” When his expression grew stormy—stormier—she flapped her hands at him, waving him toward one of the café tables. “Go. Sit. Drink your coffee and eat your cupcakes. Jude’s gone. You can take a break from thinking about how you’re going to break his kneecaps.” He gave her a too-bland look, and Leah narrowed her eyes at him. “You weren’t really going to break his kneecaps, were you?”
There was a pause that went on a beat too long. “No.”
“Good. Because doing damage to Jude would be an overreaction on your part. He isn’t going through my panty drawer at night while I’m sleeping. He’s buying a daily croissant and making really dull conversation. In fact, I think that you injuring my customers might be a violation of our lease contract.”
“It’s not.” He said it with such immediate assurance that Leah’s breath caught even as she laughed, which made her choke a little.
“We might need to add an addendum, then.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up, and Leah could actually feel her ovaries squee-ing. “I’d prefer to keep that option available, if necessary.”
Leah snorted. Again. For the second time in one conversation. She made a mental pledge to dramatically improve her game. There had to be exercises for that, or maybe a how-to YouTube video. “Of course you do. I didn’t realize you were such a mobster.”
“Not the mob.” He paused and took a step toward the corner table. She thought the conversation was over, but then he stopped and looked at her. “Army. I take care of my people.” Without waiting for her response, Hamilton took the seat in the corner, his back against the wall. Pulling out one of the cupcakes, he gave it that longing stare, the one that made her feel dirty and guilty and voyeuristic and giddy, all at the same time, right before he lifted it to his mouth and took a bite.
Flushed, she turned away, resisting the urge to fan her face with her hand. His people. She was one of his people. What did that mean? Did she even want to be one of his people?
By the way her stomach was turning somersaults—dizzying, exhilarating rolls—the answer was unmistakably yes.
Chapter Two
“What do you mean, twelve dozen?” Leah gripped the bottle hard, squirting a fat blob of icing right in the middle of the delicate antenna she’d been drawing on the butterfly-shaped sugar cookie. With a huff of impatience, she shoved the ruined cookie across the table and grabbed another one that had been base-coated. “Here. I wrecked this one. Eat it. And explain. The order sheet says twelve, not a hundred and forty-four. I checked it this morning.”
Q happily accepted the cookie, biting into it as he held up the order sheet. “See?” he asked, the word slightly muffled from his mouthful of cookie. “There’s a d after the twelve. Twelve dozen.”
“Where?” She squinted at the sheet, and Q moved it closer to her face. “Aww, marmot tits. That is a d right there. How’d I miss that? Fuuuck. Sorry, Q.”
He just shrugged, unconcerned by her swearing, and shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth.
“The customer is picking them up at eleven?” Leah quickly did the mental math as she put down the icing bottle and headed for the cooler. “It’s almost six now. If we include the four dozen I made for the store, plus the twelve—well, eleven now—that I’m finishing here, we’re still short seven dozen.” She pulled out a few blocks of butter, spaced them out in a quarter-sheet pan, and put them on top of the convection oven where it was warm enough for them to soften quickly, but not so hot that they’d melt completely. “What’s that—eighty-four?”
“Yep. Want me to help back here?”
Although Leah would’ve loved the help, it was Saturday morning, and they’d be opening in less than five minutes. “No. You’ll have your hands full making coffee and working the register. I’ll be fine.” I hope. As Q
headed for the front, Leah called after him. “Nice catch! Thanks!” If he hadn’t noticed that the cookies seemed a little sparse, it would’ve been a much bigger catastrophe at eleven when the customer came to pick up the order.
She weighed out the dry ingredients, getting everything ready so that they could be mixed together as soon as the butter was soft enough, and then returned to decorating the cookies she’d already made. As she dusted sparkling sugar over one of the butterflies, someone cleared his throat. Startled, Leah glanced up to see Hamilton in the open back doorway.
“How many times have I asked you to keep the back entrance locked for security purposes?” he asked, scowling at her. He was dressed in his usual running gear, which wasn’t tight but still managed to show off his incredible body. Earlier that morning, she’d propped the door into the hall and then the exterior door open, allowing the cool March air to flow inside the kitchen.
“It gets hot in here with the ovens and all.” Her voice was absent as her brain spun with an idea. It was crazy, but she was desperate. “What are you doing this morning?”
“What am I doing? I’m trying to make you understand that it’s not safe to leave this door open. This is Denver, not Mayberry. Anyone could walk inside while you’re here alone.”
“You’re upstairs, and Q’s here. Besides lecturing me, do you have anything else going on this morning?”
His expression turned cautious. “Why?”
“If you don’t have anything terribly urgent besides watching reruns of SpongeBob, I could really use some help.”
“Help? Here?” He glanced around the kitchen, looking a bit hunted. “With you? Here?”
“Yes, help, here, with me, and, once again, here,” she said, desperation making her talk faster. She had to mix the dough, chill it, roll it out, cut at least eighty-five cookies, bake them, cool them, basecoat them, decorate them, and package them before eleven. Help would be a godsend. “Please? I messed up an order, so there are a crap-ton of cookies to make and decorate. I’ll pay you.” Hamilton was going to say no. She could see it in his expression. “In cupcakes. If you help me for the next four hours, I’ll make you whatever you want tomorrow.”
