The two girls exchange a glance. Tension unwinds from their bodies, and they slump against the seats. “Okay.”
This is a bad idea. I’m not being a responsible adult. Fiona will kill me when she finds out—but the girls are safe, they made a good decision, and the least I can do is give them a night to sort out their plan for coming clean to their parents.
A short while later, I unlock my apartment and herd the girls inside. They jump into my bed without hesitation, giggling, and I plant my hands on my hips. “Seven o’clock.”
“We won’t touch anything.”
“And you’ll tell your parents where you were.”
“We promise.” Clancy smiles at me, angelic. Right.
Sighing, I nod. “Fine.” I say goodbye and head back to the truck. By the time I climb into bed beside Wesley, my whole body is sore. Knees, back, neck—everything. I feel about four hundred years old. I groan as I sink into the pillows, and Wesley turns toward me. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to him, my back to his front.
Everything inside me goes still. I freeze, heart thumping, eyes wide open.
His breathing is steady. He did that in his sleep.
Slowly, my heartbeat returns to normal. The weight of Wesley’s arm across my waist is comforting. Safe. His body at my back is impossibly warm and nice.
It’s been a long time since I shared a bed with a man. Since I cuddled. I should probably fight this feeling, but my eyelids are heavy. I’m so very tired, and this is so very comfortable.
It means nothing, though. He wanted a warm body next to him while he slept. I want the same.
Just because we fit together like two jigsaw pieces doesn’t mean this relationship is real. It doesn’t mean my worry for him today gnawed at every frayed nerve. It doesn’t mean I care about him. Not at all.
10
Jen
As the baker of the four-woman circus that created the Four Cups Café, I feel a huge amount of responsibility to do my job well. So, I always get to work early. It gives me time to get set up without anyone else around. Space to set out my equipment, to plan my bakes, to be as precise as I want to be.
The other restaurant where I work—a true foodie’s place with an ever-changing degustation menu and a Michelin star to boot—is a hive of activity and shouting. Four Cups has been my haven for over a month, a place where I can just do what I do best. Bake.
But then…there’s Fallon. That smiley, muscular, bearded beauty of a man. A man who, for some unknown reason, has decided that he, too, likes to get to work early. I’m only here three days a week! And he does all his prep work in the afternoon, yet as soon as I unlock the door, I hear his music, his banging, his chopping and frying, and voice.
Ugh.
Candice, Fiona, and Simone don’t seem to understand when I say he’s a damn nuisance. They just see how much customers love his food, but they don’t have to work with him.
The man who crowds the kitchen, eyeballing every recipe and prancing around like some sort of two-hundred-and-fifty-pound ballerina. Ballerino? Whatever.
This morning, I thought I’d get here even earlier. Five-fifteen. The sky is grey, the sun not poking above the horizon yet. The days are getting shorter. It won’t be up for another hour. Most people are asleep.
But you know who isn’t asleep like he should be?
Fallon freaking Richter. I push the café door open and hear his stupid folk-rock music blaring through the restaurant. Flicking the button on the speaker, I cross my arms. “Would it kill you to let me have a few minutes here by myself in the morning? You don’t even need all this extra time. All you end up doing is waiting around for the first people to show up for breakfast at seven or eight o’clock. Your prep is done from yesterday. You don’t need to be here before six.”
“But then I wouldn’t get the pleasure of seeing your scowling face every morning.” He flashes a smile at me that I’m sure makes women weak in the knees.
He probably thinks it works on me.
His straight, even teeth and tightly cropped beard do nothing for me. Yes, he’s big and strong and he looks like he could throw me over his shoulder without an ounce of effort, but there are so many things about him that turn me off.
Like his stupid, cheeky grin and the way he makes fun of my baking process. It’s too precise for his taste, apparently. He thinks weighing ingredients is ridiculous, but he doesn’t seem to understand that baking isn’t the same thing as frying an egg and putting it on a piece of sourdough.
Fallon leans his hip against a stainless-steel countertop as his eyes track my movements through the kitchen. “I took out your kitchen scale. It needed a new battery, so I replaced it.”
My hands freeze as they work to tie my apron, my back to Fallon. “You didn’t have to do that. I’d rather you not touch my stuff.”
“That’s a funny way of saying thank you.”
I throw him a glance over my shoulder, hoping it conveys how much I resent his presence.
He starts whistling in response.
Sighing, I grip the edge of the worktop and count to ten. I make it to eight, then let out a breath and get to work. I’ve got sourdough proofing in the refrigerator, so I pull it out, shape it, and set it aside for its final rise. Before I know it half an hour has passed, and a mug appears next to me.
Fallon’s arm is ridiculously muscular. The cup looks like a child’s toy in his hand. I let my gaze crawl up his tattooed forearm, over his muscular bicep, and all the way to his face.
He really is quite handsome. Objectively speaking.
“Here. A peace offering. Does it really bother you that I’m here early every morning?”
“Yes, it really does.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll come in at six. You’ll have a whole forty-five minutes to yourself.”
I nod. “That would be nice.”
He moves away on silent feet, grabs a knife, and starts chopping chives into teeny tiny pieces without even looking. I think he might be showing off.
I stare at the mug of hot liquid, inhaling the scent of spices—cinnamon, cloves, cardamon. This is milky, sweet chai. I glance at Fallon’s broad back, frowning. How did he know?
I don’t drink coffee—never liked the stuff—but masala chai is my drink. I rarely have it while I’m in the kitchen, and the tea bags we sell at the café taste watered down and weak, but once in a while I bring my own in a travel mug. Fallon must have smelled it.
My bread needs another few minutes to rest before it goes in the oven, so I lean against the counter and give in. This chai smells incredible, and when it hits my tongue—whoa. I must make a noise, because Fallon turns around with a grin on his face.
“Good?”
“Really good,” I answer, eyebrows inching up. “What brand is this? It’s not the stuff we sell out there.” I jerk my head toward the front of house.
“Richter brand.” He winks.
“Where did you learn to make tea like this?”
“My mom’s half Indian,” he answers. “Grew up on the stuff.”
I tilt my head. He does have deep brown, almost black hair and his skin is darker than mine. Blue eyes, almond-shaped. The color must come from the other side of the family. Full lips, a burgundy-brown shade. I’d never really noticed the color of them before. They’re nice lips. They look soft. His cropped beard hides a defined jaw, especially with the hair net he hooks around his chin.
“Are you dissecting my facial features right now?” He arches a thick, dark eyebrow.
A blush creeps over my cheeks. “No.” I put the delicious tea down and pop my bread in the oven, make some excuse to escape the kitchen with my drink, and head out the front door just in time to see Allie and Clancy exiting Simone’s apartment. Huh. Weird.
I stare at them through the window, watching them carefully close the door and lean their heads close together. The two teenagers hug, then head in opposite directions. I wonder what they were doing at Simone’s. I’ll ask Fiona when sh
e gets here.
Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s already past six. Sven will be arriving to open up the front of the café any minute, which means I need to get cracking on brownies and cheesecake to replace what we’ve sold already. I shuffle back to the kitchen, steal a glance at Fallon as he glides through the space, and get to work.
The man makes good tea. I’ll give him that.
Doesn’t mean he doesn’t drive me crazy.
11
Wesley
I wake up with my arm around Simone’s waist and my hard cock pressed up against her ass.
Shit. Damn. Shit.
My pulse takes off as my eyes snap open, my erection merrily throbbing against her body with every heartbeat. Simone’s snoring softly, which means she’s asleep. Thank God.
Slowly, I pull my arm away and put some space between our bodies. Simone lets out a small whimper of protest, angling her body against mine. Her hip brushes my cock again, which bounces in response. I pull away, wincing when pain lances through my leg.
Right, my ankle’s broken. How could I forget? I glance down at the massive cast propped on a stack of pillows, then roll away a bit more. Hooking my hands under my knee, I swing my injured leg off the bed and pause, catching my breath. My crutches are propped next to the bed, and a glass of water with pain medication is waiting for me on the nightstand. Simone must have done that last night.
I glance over my shoulder at her sleeping form. Her hair is splayed over the white pillows, fiery and wild. Her heart-shaped face is totally calm, lips slightly open as she sleeps. She looks… Never mind. It doesn’t matter how she looks.
Something squeezes in my chest, and I tear my gaze away. I haven’t slept next to a woman in a long, long time. Whatever’s happening below my belt is just a physical response. It’s natural. It doesn’t mean anything.
I throw the pain pills down my throat and take a big gulp of water, then reach for the crutches. Simone doesn’t wake as I lift myself up and head downstairs. The smell of bacon wafts toward me, and I find Eli in the kitchen, humming to himself. Having Sean and Alina here isn’t my idea of fun, but I could definitely get used to Eli’s cooking.
He nods to the table and I sit down, accepting a cup of coffee with a grateful grunt.
“How’s the ankle?”
“Broken.”
Eli returns to the kitchen, coming back a moment later with a plate of bacon, eggs, and perfectly golden toast. He pauses for a moment, tilting his head. “Thank you for letting me stay at the cabin.”
I pause, then nod. Right, Simone set it up for him. There’s been so much going on, I haven’t been able to keep track of everything. “No problem, Eli. You got everything you need?”
“I do. The cabin is well stocked. Looks lived-in.” His eyes meet mine, and the meaning is clear: I know you’ve been living there.
Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.
I nod, reaching for a piece of bacon. “It sure is. My man-cave.”
He stares at me for a moment longer and backs away when my uncle appears.
Sean lands in the chair across from me and doesn’t even look at Eli as the older man serves him his coffee and breakfast. He must be used to being waited on hand and foot. “I like it here,” Sean announces.
“Oh?” I scoop some scrambled eggs onto my fork.
“This town has grown a lot since I grew up here. It feels like coming home.”
“Uh-huh,” I answer, unable to form actual words. Where is he going with this?
“Alina and I have decided to stay.”
Oh. Oh.
My fork stays suspended halfway to my mouth as I gape at him across the table. “You want to stay?”
He nods. “Alina and I will rent somewhere to get out of your hair. You and Simone seem happy together, we don’t want to intrude. Perhaps Eli could remain at the cabin?”
Eli’s eyes dart toward me, and I ignore the gaze. I find myself nodding, agreeing, even though my mind hasn’t caught up. Staying? They’re…staying?
My uncle continues. “I think I could open a shop here. We’ve been looking for new locations, and Heart’s Cove is growing. People love the outdoors, and there aren’t any specialized sporting goods stores for thirty miles.”
My fork makes it to my mouth and I chew slowly, trying to digest this new information. He wants to stay. He wants to set up a store, which means he’ll be staying for a long while. Weeks, months, even. Maybe…forever.
He thinks Simone and I are happy and…together.
Oh, shit. Oh, no.
As if she could sense my thoughts, Simone appears in the kitchen. She smiles at Eli, plucking a piece of bacon from the plate beside him and saying something that makes him laugh. She waves him away when he tries to pour her coffee for her and opens the refrigerator to show him something.
My uncle is talking, but I don’t hear it. I’m just watching Simone in the kitchen, sleep lining her eyes, smiling at my uncle’s butler like he’s an old friend. And Eli’s smiling back. He never smiles at me like that, like I’m a favorite nephew of his.
Simone pats his arm and fixes herself a plate before coming to sit to my left. She’s facing the big windows that look out on the ocean and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of that view.”
“You won’t have to,” my uncle says, the meaning of his words clear. He thinks Simone and I will get married. He thinks the trust will be available to me. “I was just telling Wesley that I can see you two are happy here together.”
Her eyebrows arch as she looks at my uncle, then at me. “We are.”
My uncle continues, oblivious to the panic starting to flare in Simone’s eyes. “I think Heart’s Cove would be a great location for one of my stores. It’s growing, has a bustling tourist economy, and there aren’t any similar stores in the area.”
Simone puts her cup of coffee down and turns to look at him. “You want to open a store here?”
Sean nods. “If you don’t mind us in your hair for a little while longer, you’ll have a staff discount for life.” He flashes a smile at Simone, who tries to smile back, but ends up just baring her teeth at him.
“You’re staying?”
Sean nods.
“That’s wonderful,” she repeats, her voice mechanical. “Isn’t that wonderful, Wes?” Her eyes bore into mine, the sleepiness in her face burned away by anger.
“Morning!” a sing-song voice calls out. Alina sways her hips as she crosses the kitchen into the living room, not sparing Eli a glance. She leans over and plants a kiss on my uncle’s cheek, giving Simone and me a view of her breasts in her low-cut top, then heads around the table toward me. She puts a hand on my cheek, concern lining her eyes. “How are you, Wes? Sean and I were so worried yesterday.”
I pull my face away and shrug. “I’m fine. Sean was telling me about your new plan.”
Alina sits in the chair across from Simone, smiling sweetly. “Isn’t it great? Heart’s Cove is such a cute town. I can’t wait to get to know more of the locals. If every day is as entertaining as yesterday, I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.”
Simone forces a laugh, crunching down on a strip of bacon. “That’s Heart’s Cove for you.”
Breakfast is a tense affair that ends with Simone shooing Eli out of the kitchen and taking her aggression out on innocent pans that definitely don’t need to be scrubbed so hard.
I wait for my uncle and Alina to walk out the back door toward a forest trail while Eli retreats to the cabin, and lean against the kitchen counter. Simone’s shoulders are tense. She doesn’t look at me. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she responds in a way that says she definitely isn’t. “I’m swell. Just wonderful. You’re injured, my friend’s kid is blackmailing me, and now I need to pretend to be your girlfriend for an indeterminate amount of time. We can’t stage a breakup because he’ll be back here like a vulture, and I can’t pretend to be your girlfriend without the whole town knowing we’re either da
ting or faking it.” The pan bangs against the sink, and Simone grunts. “You know, my life was great a week ago. Simple. I was broke, but I was my own person. I was independent. Sure, my marketing business barely made enough to live on and I put all my savings into the café, but I was moving forward. I wasn’t tied down. Now I’ve waded into an absolute mess of my own making. Figures. That’s very on-brand for me.”
Hopping across the kitchen on one leg, I put a hand on her lower back. “Hey.”
She flinches away from me, and the movement makes something deep in my chest sting. Shaking her head, she shifts her body to increase the distance between us. A growing chasm. “Stop, Wesley. Just stop. Stop cuddling me and touching me and acting like you care. This is getting out of control.”
I do care. The words stay stuck in my throat, and I back away, bracing myself beside the sink so I can see Simone’s face.
She drops the scoured pan into a sink full of soapy water and lets out a sigh, lifting her eyes to mine. “I need to go check on Clancy and Allie. It’s past seven.”
“Is that sentence supposed to make sense to me?”
Simone just shakes her head. “Never mind. I need to borrow your truck again.”
“Sure.”
She fishes the pan out of the water, dries it, puts it away, and throws me a pained look. “We need to talk about this when I get back. Are we going to continue this…thing…the whole time your uncle and his girlfriend are here?”
My chest squeezes and I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
She nods without saying anything, turns, and walks away.
Grabbing my crutches, I hobble to the couch and flop down into it. My ankle is throbbing and I can’t think straight. There’s a lump in my throat that just won’t go away and a tightness in my chest that I haven’t felt before.
The longer I pretend to be with Simone, the more real it feels. A week would have been fine. More than a week? Trouble. There’s no other word for it. Nothing but trouble.
Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2) Page 10