That makes 2 of us.
This is not the show down I was prepared for when he came in here.
My hands are still covered in flour and dough and I remember that the hard way when I swipe my hair back off my forehead.
I hadn't gotten around to washing my hands after my cry-fest before the interruption and now my hair is caked in goo from my absent-minded gesture.
"Welcome to my world," I tell him with surprising coolness, "You know, when you told me you wanted to 'talk' about our agreement when you got back from New York, this wasn't exactly what I was expecting."
Without waiting for his response, I head to the sink and wash my hands, making the most of the chance to give myself a stern pep talk while my back is turned.
"Believe me, me either," he says somewhere behind me.
"I listened to your messages on my way over here." His voice is that gentle tone he used to use in the early morning when he'd bring me coffee and tell me it was time to wake up-- before sliding between the sheets with me. "The office never forwarded my number, I never got your calls. I wasn't ignoring you, I swear."
"Well I guess it doesn't matter anyway." Whether or not he ignored my phone calls is irrelevant to me now.
Brighton
"Why didn't you call the office?" I'm still processing 2 weeks of information that I've just gotten caught up on on my drive to get to Paula. I only got through the first few of her voicemails before frantically calling the company that manages the condo and finding out they'd rented the place already.
What a cluster-fuck.
I still don't know where Paula went. I'm just lucky she didn't pack up and head back to Vegas, I guess.
Paula stares at me like I've sprouted a second head, "I did. They told me you were having your personal calls held and that if I had any other questions I needed to deal directly with the property manager. That's how I found out you wanted me out of the condo."
"But you weren't supposed to move yet."
Uh oh. Wrong answer.
I watch Paula's eyes narrow and even with her hairline caked in drying bread dough and the splotches of flour dotting her forehead, she's beautiful-- but boy is she pissed.
"But I did need to leave." She says it plain and flat, with an edge in her voice that makes my blood run cold. "You didn't rush down here with your shoes untied to tell me it was all a big misunderstanding. You were planning on dissolving our agreement anyway so what difference does it make? I'm out early and you can start making money off the condo instead of spending it to house me."
The fire in her eyes is short lived before being replaced by pure exhaustion. She rolls her shoulders like she's every bit as tired as she suddenly looks.
I hear the resignation in her voice as she turns away and heads toward a cabinet in the back of the room.
"Yes I did, Paula!" I need to make her understand, to turn this all around before I lose her. "I tried to call but your phone's going to voicemail."
"Yeah."
I follow her into the business end of the bakery and watch as she pulls bowls covered in cloth out of the cabinet.
"I put your number on do not disturb," she informs me as she begins kneading the ball of dough that tumbles out of the bowl.
At least she didn't block me entirely, I guess. That's gotta be a good sign.
"Paula, would you please listen to me?"
"I have to get this bread done. It's a time sensitive project, remember?"
Yeah, I do remember. I've watched her make bread at home and I love listening to her talk about baking. It makes her eyes light up with the kind of passion I'd enjoyed seeing when she was with me as well.
"Dammit Paula!" My fist lands hard on the thick metal surface of her work station, making me rethink that particular outlet for my frustration.
I think I see the corners of Paula's lips twitch in amusement as I cradle my tender knuckles in my other hand, making sure I didn't break anything.
It's a small breakthrough in our impasse, but it gives me hope that this conversation isn't as over as she's pretending it is.
"Yes, I did tell the management company to find a new tenant for the condo, Paula, but they weren't supposed to turn it over until I had a chance to run my plans by you first."
"Hmm." Her eyes stay on the dough as she works it with hard movements.
She's not looking at me, but I know I have her attention. I see her nose twitch and it kills me to see her upset.
"And I did say you're not going to be able to continue being my sugar baby. I did say that, I admit it. But I didn't mean it like you think."
I jog after her as she puts the newly formed loaf of dough back into the fridge and takes out another bowl.
"How else did you mean it, Brighton?" She asks, a glimmer of that anger flashing beneath the hurt evident in her words. "What was I supposed to think? You weren't taking my calls, the office said you weren't taking my calls, the management place was asking when I would be out of the condo...
"I guess I appreciate that you didn't mean to be a dick about it, but it's pretty obvious that you were planning on ending the arrangement."
"Well yeah, I was, but you weren't supposed to go find your own damn apartment, Paula!"
"Really? What was I supposed to do, Brighton? Go back to Vegas? Beg for my job at the fucking gas station back? Move back into my aunt's filthy hoarder house where I can't even microwave a fucking burrito in the kitchen?
"I don't think so. Maybe I can't afford to open my own bakery anytime soon, but I have a good job and Andy was willing to give me more hours and a good reference so I can get my own place and I don't have to quit school."
She puts another tray of loaves to rise in the refrigerator and glares at me, "I still have a long way to go, but at least my life isn't a total loss any more. I really do thank you for everything you've done for me and I'm sorry I--"
Her voice cracks and tears slip from her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back.
"I'm sorry, Brighton. I totally understand how you feel about not wanting to complicate things. The condo is all cleaned out and I gave the keys back to the property manager. I'm going to use the severance pay you owe me so I can finish my college classes so if you could make sure the office deposits that soon, I'd appreciate it."
"No."
"What?" Paula looks surprised at my flat refusal, but I don't know what else to do.
I mean, this is all wrong.
I came down here prepared to explain the miscommunication and I expected her to understand and then I guess I thought we were going to laugh about it and she'd jump into my arms and we'd live happily ever after.
This isn't going the way I'd planned at all.
"No, Paula, I'm not going to have the office do anything. Not yet anyway. Not until you at least tell me-- is this what you want?"
I make the mistake of waving my hand, giving her the impression that I mean the bakery.
"Yes, Brighton. I love baking. I miss having my own shop but I like it here for now and it pays well enough that I can support myself at least. Without a sugar daddy."
"I know you love baking," I assure her, "that's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, then?"
"I meant...us, Paula."
I'm suddenly feeling very nervous.
Paula sighs. Standing up straight and wiping her hands on her apron before finally breaking from her work and looking me square in the eye.
"I didn't think there was an us?"
"I was hoping there was."
That's when I see it. The spark of hope in her eyes as she finally starts listening to me.
"Then why did you rent out the condo?"
"Well that wasn't supposed to happen yet. I was waiting till I got back and got to run my plan by you." I shake my head, just thinking about all the ways my plan got screwed up is giving me a headache. "I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight."
Goddamn! Was I looking forward to tonight. I'm supposed to spend my nig
ht celebrating my future with Paula-- not watching it go down the drain.
"Brighton," she motions at the unfinished bread project impatiently, "I'm working. Whatever you were planning is obviously already shot to hell so just cut to the chase so I can get on with my life."
"Well I was kinda hoping we were going to get on with our lives together."
Might as well go for broke here.
I put the box on the work station with a soft tap.
Paula
I hear the sound of something in Brighton's hand hitting the stainless steel table. When I look down, a small box appears as he moves his hand away.
It's too big to be a ring box.
"What's that?" I ask hesitantly, feeling like whatever's inside might bite me. In the ass. What if everything he's telling me is true? What if I just screwed up big time?
"You're right, I did say we needed to discuss ending the sugar daddy thing. I don't like the idea of paying a woman to act like my girlfriend, I was hoping you'd be interested in actually being my girlfriend."
He taps his index finger lightly on my work table.
"I was going to give this to you at dinner tonight," he says, lifting the lid off the box.
It's a key chain. A cheesy little "I love NY" bauble on one end and a single key on the ring at the other.
"It's to my house," Brighton points out, "I was hoping you might be tired of living so close to the ocean."
His house is farther from the beach. By about 200 feet. Because his place is about 3 times bigger than the condo and sits on a full acre of private land.
Oh. I guess he really did want me to move out of the condo.
I feel stupid. And scared. And...hopeful.
"I signed a lease." I look at the key in the box and then up at Brighton with an apologetic shrug.
"So just stay over a lot."
He gives me a wink to go with the smile that tells me everything's going to be OK and suddenly I can't remember what I was scared of.
Finale
Paula
"You're sure about that?"
Brighton's laughter echoes off the emptiness of the master bedroom where I'm determined to choose paint before the end of the day.
"What? Too pink?" I tease, stepping back to admire the 3 foot square swatch of pastel I just rolled onto the wall.
In all fairness, I didn't think it was going to be so full-on pink when I picked up the sample. Now that I see it on our wall in the full light of day, however, I have to admit that it was a hard no for me right from the first stroke.
Not that I'm going to admit that to Brighton just yet though. Let him squirm.
"I think it's nice," I say as I pretend to study the color in earnest, "with one of those paintings from that woman we saw last week?"
They were truly hideous paintings. An entire series of paintings of dead animals in pastel colors with glitter thrown on top.
"I'm pretty sure the roadkill skunk one would match perfectly."
"Well I have been thinking about painting one room in the house pink, but I don't think any of those paintings were appropriate for a baby's room."
My hand freezes in mid-stroke and I spin to face Brighton, wondering if I really just heard what I think I heard.
"Say again?"
It's only been a few months since I officially moved in.
I kept the apartment for the whole term of the lease, even though I was rarely ever there. It felt good knowing I had my own place to go back to if life went belly up again.
Brighton wasn't just understanding, he supported me 100 percent.
Which probably had a lot to do with why I spent so much time here at his place and why I turned in my keys at the end of the 6 month lease and moved in with Brighton permanently.
Especially since he let me remodel the entire house. It's a gorgeous, 3,000 square foot beach house-- that was built in the 1970s. It needs a lot more than just another new coat of paint and new furniture to bring it into the modern age.
Our master suite is the easy part. The kitchen is going be the real project.
"Or blue," he says off-handedly, "Or something gender neutral if that's more your thing."
We talk about the future, sure. We both know this is it for us, we're living happily ever after together. I just thought my happily ever after stopped with Brighton and the college degree I'll have in another year-- or 3, if I decide to go on-- and the bakery of my own that I'll be opening when I graduate. With money that I'm saving up now, and a lease in my name and no one else's.
At 36 years old, I figured any babies I might be having at this point would be of the fur variety.
Not to mention, we haven't really even talked about--
"I don't expect you to do it all out of order, I just figured we could pick the room now, while everything's torn up already."
Brighton carefully steps over my trays of paint, the wooden stir sticks and discarded rollers from the other colors I've been testing, making sure to avoid getting paint on his shoes as he crosses the room toward me.
He's wearing a sexy little grin and mischievous look in his eye that has me wondering if I'm about to get carried out of here on his shoulder.
I drop the pink roller on the disposable plastic drop cloth in preparation.
But he doesn't sweep me up and carry me off like I'm hoping.
Brighton takes my hands in his and holds them in silence, staring into my eyes long enough that I feel self conscious.
"I'm serious, Paula," he tells me, "Lately I've been thinking I'd like a new sugar baby," he grins and gently touches my stomach before I can jump to the wrong conclusion, "the kind we make together..."
His hand fishes in his pocket and this time, the box he holds in front of me is a ring box.
My eyes start to water as the lid opens and the ring flashes in the afternoon sun shining through the bare windows.
"...as husband and wife." Brighton finishes his sentence with a little toggle of the box in his hand sending the reflected light bouncing off every surface of the room.
I'm shocked. I wasn't expecting this.
I wasn't expecting my crazy idea to get a sugar daddy to turn into a real life fairy tale. I wasn't expecting to fall in love or live in a multi-million dollar beach house, or go to college, or ever see my credit score go over 600 again. But when I got all that, I thought it couldn't get any better.
The ring in the purple velvet box has so many diamonds on it it looks like it's made out of glitter. The center stone is a traditional round cut that's gotta be at least 3 carats.
There's no way I can wear that to the bakery.
Brighton clears his throat shyly, "You know, I was really hoping to start practicing the baby thing right now. So what do you say? Will you marry me, Paula?"
"Of course I will," I manage to answer just in time to get carried off to our temporary bedroom as an officially engaged woman.
Thank you for Reading
Thanks for reading Dipping a Toe in Sugar, the first book in the Taste of Sugar Romance series from Rocklyn Ryder.
I hope you enjoyed following Paula and Brighton on their way to happily ever after as much as I did.
If this was your first Rocklyn Ryder romance, you'll be glad to know that all my books follow one couple to their own happily ever after without any cliff-hanger endings and can be read in any order.
There are always more great stories in the works so keep in touch so you don't miss a new release.
Rocklyn's Newsletter
Also by Rocklyn Ryder
Modern Match-Maker Romance
(Raven Swann's client files:)
A Perfect Gentleman (excerpt included)
A Nice Boy
A Smart Choice
A Great Catch
A Real Keeper
A Good Move
A Wise Investment
An Elegant Solution
A Total Sweetheart
A Lucky Break
A Sensible Arrangement
A
New Resolution
Coming Soon: A Safe Bet
A Taste of Sugar Romance:
Dipping a Toe in Sugar
Ankle Deep in Sugar; A Taste of Sugar Book 2
Full Length Stand Alone Romances
The WILD Romance Collection:
BUSH
WOOD
ROUGH
BONE
Excerpt
Get started on the Arranged by Raven series with A Perfect Gentleman
The first story from the client files of Raven Swann can be enjoyed on Amazon.
Excerpt from A Perfect Gentleman
Brooke
"I'm serious!"
I know I'm being dramatic but fuck it. I deserve to be over the top at a time like this.
I fling myself back on the bed and throw my arm over my head. The tears threatening at the corners of my eyes are real. I'm over acting so I can keep my sense of humor but the truth of the matter is-- everything sucks and I really am going to start crying any minute.
"Brooke," Paige isn't buying it for a minute, "there's nothing wrong with you. Or your picker."
Paige might be my bestie, but she's so not helping right now.
"My picker is broken, how else can you explain how I manage to keep ending up with assholes like Damian?"
Paige laughs, "Well first of all, you could stop falling for guys with names like Damian! I mean really, how did that not tip you off right off the bat?"
I throw my arm over my face and groan.
"Seriously, Brookie, if you want to meet a good guy you're going to have to change your patterns."
"I don't even know what that means," I moan into the crook of my elbow.
"It means stop picking up guys based on their tattoos. Stop shopping in bars where all the guys are wearing leather jackets and ride motorcycles. Try a book club or maybe volunteer somewhere, that's how I met Jace."
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