Apparently, only Haven had nights like that. Isabella was saving herself for marriage. So that left Daisy firmly in the middle and firmly on the boring side.
Gah.
His kissed a path down her stomach, ever closer to where she began to throb, and all feelings of unease and self-doubt began to dissolve like sugar in hot tea.
“You’ve never wanted to do this before,” she said, breathless.
“First time for everything,” he said, breath hot against her hipbone.
The timer dinged.
He shot up from bed, and she sputtered a protest, “No—wait … where are you going?”
“The cinnamon rolls. I have to get them, or they’ll burn.” He kissed her on the forehead and looked into her eyes. She could have sworn she saw relief in them, but maybe that was just her own insecurities. “Don’t be mad. I made breakfast for you.” He practically ran from the room.
Anticipation turned to ash.
“I’d rather have something else right now,” she called after him, grabbing a pillowcase and biting it. This was dumb. She never should have let him come home with her. She should have stayed the hell away and taken Haven’s advice by finding a guy who wasn’t her ex to kiss at midnight. She tossed the defenseless pillow to the side.
But she was weak. And he was Glen. Her first everything.
A few minutes later, Glen walked into her bedroom again. This time he had a tray, loaded with plates and glasses of orange juice and water. A small rose bloom sat in a vase. It was nice he remembered she loved roses.
He set it across her lap and smiled like a little kid who’d finally tied his shoes all by himself. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She picked up a fork and looked at her plate.
“Eggs over-easy and bacon extra crisp, just like you like it.”
Oh God. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the eggs weren’t done at all, or that the bacon was burnt. This was the first time he’d ever attempted to cook for her, and for someone who cooked for others all the time, it was the sweetest thing ever.
“Thanks for fixing me breakfast.” She leaned over and kissed him. No matter what, she’d choke down the bacon, and she could swallow the eggs whole, without actually having to taste them.
“I know last night happened a bit fast for us, but it’s not like we don’t know each other.
“Yeah” she said noncommittally. “Very true.”
“The timing’s perfect, though, with my lease running out.”
She blinked at him. “Your lease?”
“Yep. So, when do you want me to move in, roomie?” Glen asked as she took her first bite of eggs.
Daisy gave him a faint smile, chewing slowly and carefully. If she thought really hard, she could vaguely remember a conversation about his lease being up and needing a place to stay.
“Take your time. I don’t have to be out of my apartment until tomorrow.”
This time she dropped her fork.
* * *
Flowers. He could send flowers.
Sebastian shook his head. “Too overdone.”
He clicked on the Bulgari website, searching their inventory of bracelets, rings, and—ah, ha!—chopsticks. They were made of jade, decorated with platinum filigree and diamond accents. Perfect for her hair. The green would contrast nicely against the bright orange.
“Exclusively made for Bulgari by Sam Max. One pair only. Call for details.” He twisted his lips. “Don’t mind if I do.” Just as he picked up the phone to call, the door to his study opened and his cousin walked in.
“Bad time?” Alexander Romanov asked. As usual, his clothes were the very latest trend. At times, Sebastian thought it a little much, but his version of being trendy was wearing a plaid tie instead of a striped one.
Closing his laptop and setting down his phone, Sebastian blew out an annoyed breath. “Yes.”
“Fantastic.” Alexander sat down in the nearest club chair and crossed a leg over his ankle. “We need to talk.”
“What could we possibly have to talk about?”
“No idea,” Alexander said cheerfully. “Rose was the one to tell me to come here in the first place.”
Sebastian leaned back in his office chair, steepling his hands. “And you did as you were bid.”
Alexander shrugged. “I rather fancy having Rose and our daughter in my life.”
Trust Alexander not to be put out in the least by his insult. Very few things could ruffle the man, and try as he might, Sebastian wasn’t one of them. However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop trying to get under his cousin’s skin. “Obviously you’ve come to thank me.”
“There is that.” A smile played on Alexander’s lips. “Thank you. I’m grateful for the lie you told to get her here.”
“I didn’t tell a lie.”
“You led her to believe you were Christian.”
“I thought it was the only way,” Sebastian said lightly. I’m not a monster. The words echoed in his mind. All lies, he’d told Daisy. Truth be told—he would have kidnapped the woman and her daughter, in order to bring them here. But he’d made a promise to a certain baker, and despite the monster that lived inside of him, his word was everything.
Alexander gave him a skeptical look. “It would have been easier for you to have sent someone to Rose’s place, and encouraged her to come here.”
They both knew what encouraged meant, and it wasn’t the definition one would see in Webster’s Dictionary. “Perhaps I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf.”
“Perhaps the Queen will step aside and let Prince Charles rule.”
Sebastian forced his hands to his lap. No need to let his cousin see him agitated. The man wouldn’t stop if he did. “You’re welcome.”
His cousin rose to his feet, seemed to think the better of it, and sat down again. “Out with it.”
Sebastian pressed the tips of his fingers against his mouth. Maybe Alexander could give him a little insider knowledge about Daisy, without Sebastian ever having to admit who he needed insider information about.
“There’s this woman,” Sebastian began.
A smile kicked up the corners of Alexander’s mouth. “Isn’t there always?”
Sebastian flattened his lips. “If you don’t mind…”
Alexander waved a hand. “Go on, go on.”
“This woman … let’s call her Petunia.”
“You can’t be serious. That’s a dreadful name. Might as well name the woman Shrub.”
Suppressing an eye roll, Sebastian continued, “Anyway, Petunia lives in Holland Springs, and I should like to send her something. Flowers are out of the question—”
“Obviously,” Alexander snorted.
“And I’m afraid jewelry might be a little too much, too soon.” He’d buy the chopsticks anyway and save them for later. “Maybe chocolates or the like … wasn’t there some confectionary shop that you couldn’t stop going on about when you were moping over Rose?”
His cousin’s green eyes fixed on him, and Sebastian knew a moment of dread. “The Sweet Spot. Daisy Barnes owns it. Why?”
“Thought it best to shop local, of course.”
“And you thought it best to know about the owner.”
“One can’t do business with just anyone,” Sebastian agreed. This would be easier than he thought.
“Especially when you’re attracted to said owner.”
“Exactly.”
Alexander smirked and raised his brows.
Dammit. “No. I … ah.” Sebastian clamped his mouth shut. No way around it. He’d been caught.
His cousin leaned forward. “Let me help you out, mate. You met the beauteous Daisy, and yes, I noticed—I am a man—and it was like lightning struck the poor sod otherwise known as Sebastian Romanov. The Earth moved and yet, your Daisy felt nothing. You responded in the usual way, with arrogant comebacks and demands, completely ruining any chance of ever wooing said lady.”
Sebastian stared at him in horror. “Ho
w did you—”
“You’re not the only one with spies,” Alexander said, smirk still firmly in place. “Or the ability to remotely activate mobile phones whenever the mood strikes and listen in. Never know what one might hear. And you’re you, for God’s sake.”
“Fine. I want to know more about Daisy Barnes.”
“Very good, Sebastian,” Alexander crooned, as if he were talking to his daughter and not a grown man of twenty-six. “Now the rest, or I can’t help you.”
Bastard. Sebastian crossed him arms and then smiled. “I’m in love with Daisy Barnes.”
Alexander blinked, and his mouth dropped open. “You’re sure Daisy Barnes isn’t a metaphor for money or her business that you want to buy and turn into some kind of cupcake empire?”
“Positive.”
“Then I’m truly sorry to say your Daisy belongs to another.”
The world that had shifted under his feet blew itself to pieces. “She’s married?” He didn’t recall seeing a ring, but maybe in her line of work, rings were a hazard.
“No. Back with her ex. According to Rose, Glen moved in with Daisy a couple weeks ago.”
So this was what heartbreak felt like. He rubbed at the spot in the center of his chest. “Oh, that’s good.”
This time, Alexander stood and moved to the door. “Normally I’d give you hell, but it looks like you’re already there.”
Sebastian could only nod his head and stare, at nothing really. His cousin and the contents of the room had all become vague shapes.
“Best thing about Daisy Barnes is her friendly nature. I ordered a few cheesecakes online from her last week, and we—including Rose—managed to exchange emails, which is how she found out about the ex.”
The last thing Sebastian wanted to hear about was cheesecakes and Alexander’s email exchanges with Daisy—his vision sharpened, and he fixed his gaze on his cousin. “She personally responds to emails?”
“She did for us.” Alexander stroked his chin. “You know, I was never a fan of getting back together with an ex, because usually there’s a reason why an ex is your ex in the first place.”
“Your point?”
“I’ve shown you the open window, mate. Send an email through it.” With that, his cousin strode out the door.
Chapter Four
“One cupcake again, Jules?” Daisy stared at the order for a moment, then rechecked the online form. One red velvet cupcake to be sent to a Mr. Jules Westmoreland in Surrey, England. One cupcake a week. Just like every order he’d made for the last three months. This was getting ridiculous, not to mention she felt guilty as heck that she’d let it go on as long as she had.
She tapped out a tune on her keyboard with the tips of her fingers.
So far, she’d shipped each one via FedEx per his request at the tune of over a hundred and fifty bucks just for shipping. It would be cheaper for him if he’d just order all four at once, and she really should let Jules know.
Brows scrunching, she began to type:
Dear Jules,
How is your dad doing? Has he stopped being a difficult patient yet? When my mother was convalescing at home, there were days I wanted to pull my hair out, because she was so darn stubborn and didn’t want my help. If you have to, leave the room for a minute, or hire someone to help him.
Be strong!
I also wanted to let you know that you could save a lot of money by ordering and having me ship all four cupcakes (baked however you want and whatever flavor icing you want) at once. Please don’t mistake my email as a complaint—I truly want to do what’s best for my customers (and my friends, no matter how recently made), and that includes pointing out where they could save some money.
Let me know if you’d like to change your order.
Smiles,
Daisy
Mr. Westmoreland’s response came faster than she expected. Heck, it was almost nine at night and there was a five-hour time difference.
Daisy,
He remains the same—arrogant, bad-tempered and non-cooperative—and that’s on his good days. Thanks for asking.
How goes negotiations with the insurance company? Still insisting the procedures weren’t covered?
I rather like the arrangement we have, but if you feel it would be best to change, I suppose I could order four a week (and run the ten extra miles it would require to eat them).
Make it so.
Your servant,
Jules
She let her head fall against her palm. That was not what she meant at all. And had he really just quoted Captain Picard from Star Trek? She laughed.
J.
Let me know how everything works out. You know you can email me anytime if you need to!
Ugh. Not going there with the insurance. At this rate, I’ll have to sell the house and move in with my best friend, then Glen and I’ll never be able to afford to get married. :}
BTW, I didn’t mean you had to order four cupcakes every week, you goose! I meant you could order all four at the beginning of the month, and I would mail all of them to you at the same time, then all you would have to do is follow my instructions for keeping them fresh.
So sorry for the misunderstanding. I apologize.
Ten points deducted from Hufflepuff.
D.
Daisy,
Clearly, our email exchanges aren’t quite getting our points across.
May I invite you to chat? We’re using the same email provider.
Jules
Her stomach flipped. She sat back against her bed, her laptop sliding to one side before she righted it, and took a deep breath. What was the harm? They’d been emailing back and forth for months now about personal stuff.
Sure.
Jules: Daisy?
Daisy: I’m here. Look, I feel really bad that you only order one cupcake at a time and pay so much for shipping, when you could order four at once, maybe at the beginning of the month, and I could ship with directions on how to keep them fresh.
Jules: You are lovely to think of me like this, but you lose absolutely no money with the arrangement we have.
Daisy: True, but I can’t, in good conscience, let you keep doing that without knowing all your options. And I feel guilty that I hadn’t thought of it before now. :(
Jules: Again, you are a lovely person to think so, but I’d be rather sad if I didn’t receive my weekly update from you regarding my order and my well-being, my father’s well-being, what episode of Downton Abbey I’m up to now, or debate the merits of a female Dr. Who. However, if you feel it’s for the best, we can only exchange emails once a month.
If she and Jules condensed their exchanges to once a month, it wouldn’t be that much of… Suddenly, she got a funny feeling in her stomach.
She would miss talking to Jules each week, she realized.
Ridiculous, maybe, but true. Sometimes it seemed like she talked to Jules more than she did Glen, but then, Jules listened to her. Glen mostly grunted and crashed, claiming he was tired.
Jules: Daisy…? I apologize if I’ve overstepped.
Daisy: NO! We can change your order to save money, but, um, we can still talk each week, if you want.
Jules: I’d like that. And Daisy…
Daisy: Yes?
Jules: You have no idea how much your weekly emails (and cupcakes) have helped. Thank you.
Warmth spread through her, down to the tips of her toes. It was nice to be appreciated, for someone to acknowledge the little things. Glen wouldn’t notice if she walked through the house wearing nothing but do-me-now red lipstick.
Daisy: They mean a lot to me, too, Jules.
Jules: Would it be odd if I chatted you up more often? The American version of chatting, not English, that is. Glen has nothing to worry about. In fact, he’s welcome to join in again.
Jules was so thoughtful, so not Glen.
She smiled at the computer screen, and then guilt pricked at her, quick and sharp, though there was nothing inappropriate about her rel
ationship with Jules. Heck, Glen had talked to Jules, several times. They’d given each other a hard time over sports. Something about football versus rugby.
Daisy: Let me think about it.
Jules: Of course. Good night.
Daisy: Night.
Taking a deep breath, she cleared her thoughts. If she and Glen were going to work out, she had to stop comparing Jules to him. It wasn’t fair of her to do so, and if she didn’t stop, then she’d have no choice but to stop talking to Jules. As much as she hated the whole “owed it to him” saying, she did think Glen deserved a second chance. Years of friendship before it turned into more had been the total basis for trying to work things out.
She set her laptop to one side and jumped out of bed to fix herself a little snack, padding across her bedroom and into the hallway, the wooden floor creaking as she went. Along the way, she paused in the living room to check to see if Glen’s truck was in the drive.
Pushing the sheer curtains aside, she peeked through the window. The space beside her Honda was empty.
Where was Glen?
She frowned.
He hadn’t texted or called to let her know he’d be late. Something he’d been doing a lot lately, and had been blaming on his extra work duties. But honestly, how much of an extra workload could a high school history teacher/assistant football coach have in the off-season?
Maybe it had been a mistake to get back together with him, or to allow him to move in with her, since they were planning to get engaged someday anyway … or so he had implied. Maybe she’d just been too darn lonely to say no.
But this was Glen. Her Glen. Someone she’d known since seventh grade.
Walking to the kitchen, she shook her head and muttered, “I love Glen and he loves me. There’s no reason at all to think that he broke up with me right before the holidays so he wouldn’t have to buy me a gift and then got back together once his lease had been up.”
Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance Page 221