So Much More (Made for Love #3)

by R. C. Martin

  “Thanks for saying that.”

  “Of course. Although…” I watch as her gaze shifts behind me and her kind smile turns into a mischievous smirk. “He looks like he’d be quite the generous lover. Plus, the man can bake, so you already share one great passion. We’ve established that he’s nice—he gave you this job in, like, five minutes! So, my advice? Don’t rule him out.”

  I laugh and shake my head at her. “Right—because sleeping with my boss is such a great idea.”

  She giggles and then I change the subject, wanting to talk about something else. We chat for a few more minutes and then she has to head back to work. I’ve still got another half hour on my lunch break, so I pull out my Kindle in search of a distraction. I’m sure I’ll get used to working in close proximity to Brandon and my attraction to him will simmer down, causing my lonely heart to calm itself. Until then, I think it best that I stay faithful to my current book boyfriend. His name is Drew. He’s completely over-protective and he’s got a horrible temper—not to mention we’re currently not getting along—but he’ll have to do. Brandon is not an option.

  She’s distracting. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I can’t stop thinking about her and that pink apron. I overhear her when she tells Tabitha that she studied to be a third grade teacher. I can sense the sadness in her voice when she mentions it and quickly shifts the direction of the conversation back onto the subject of Tabitha. I have no clue what happened, why she’s not teaching now, but I can tell she loved it. Seeing her in that apron—I bet she looks smokin’ hot in front of a classroom.

  When I feel myself getting hard just thinking about it, I shake the image away.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No one has ever consumed my thoughts the way she is. Not even Olive.

  Olivia.

  Olivia kept my heart and my head captive. Even when she wasn’t a part of my life, I wondered about her. I worried about her. I missed her, longed for her, even while I despised her. The worse part was, she knew it. She knew it. It’s that knowledge that gave her the confidence to keep coming back, knowing I wouldn’t be able to deny her anything she asked. It’s that knowledge that compelled her to rent that room at The Archibald—she knows me; she knows what she means to me.

  What she meant to me.

  With Sarah, it’s different. I’ve known her for a day—my memories of her from the past somehow forgotten—and yet I’m drawn to her like a moth to a fucking flame. I know I can’t have her, I know going after her will bring nothing but trouble, but I want more of her. I want to sit and watch her eat an entire plate of breakfast pastries. I’ve never seen a girl consume that many carbs unapologetically. I have no idea where she puts it, but I do know that I love that about her—that she indulges her tastebuds without an ounce of guilt.

  “Hey.”

  I look up from my desk, shoved into my closet of an office, and spot her leaning against the doorframe, her pink apron in her hands. I like having her here, like the familiarity and ease that accompanies her stance. I don’t hide the smile on my face that says so. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “It’s four. I just wanted to check in and see if there’s anything else you’d like for me to do before I head home?”

  “Oh,” I mutter, checking the time. I wasn’t paying attention and I’m surprised to learn that it’s so late in the day. “No. You’re good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay,” she says with a smile and a nod. She turns to leave but then stops and steps back into the office. “You've been here since four, right? When do you leave?”

  “I usually head out at about nine.”

  “Nine? You close at nine!” she cries, her brows furrowed in shock.

  “Yup,” I say with a nod.

  “Wait—are you telling me that you work seventeen hours a day? Everyday?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, nonchalantly. I know it sounds crazy, but I will never complain. My days may be long, but I’m doing what I love—I’m living the dream. Nobody said living the dream would be easy.

  “No wonder you don’t date,”she murmurs.

  “Excuse me? Who told you I don’t date?” I ask, spinning my chair so that I’m facing her directly.

  Her eyes grow wide in surprise, as if she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “I’m sorry. Gossip. None of my business.”

  I chuckle, because the thought of her talking about my dating life makes me incredibly tempted to prove that theory wrong and ask her out on a date. If I don’t laugh, I’ll do just that. “Don’t apologize,” I insist. “And for the record—I do date. When I want to.”

  “Right. I’m sure you do. I’m sorry.” She smacks her hand against her forehead as she shakes her head. “Dammit! I’m sorry that I—you know what, I’m just going to stop,” she laughs, looking back at me. “Anyway, it looks like Daphne wasn’t exaggerating when she said you needed the extra help. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay a bit longer? I know I might not be able to do too much, since I’m still in training, but I can stay—”

  “No,” I interrupt reluctantly. “You’ve put in a full day. Thanks for offering, though.”

  “You know, when I taught, my days were damn near close to seventeen hours, too. I was always taking work home with me. Always. Seven and eight year olds are quite the demanding audience and I was constantly trying to find better and more creative ways to keep them engaged.” She draws in a deep breath and I see it—the weight of her confession stealing the light out of those bright blue eyes. “I just mean to say that I’m fully capable of putting in a few extra hours. I’d welcome the familiarity. Think about it.”

  I nod, studying her. She’s carrying a secret and I want to know what it is—I want to know what it is so that I can chase it away. All I ever want to see on her face is a smile. Yet, even though her burden seems far from light, she’s offering me more than what I’m asking for. That only makes me like her more. I have no idea how I got to be so lucky, but I’m going to make sure that she doesn’t regret her decision to seek out employment here. Daphne was right—I need her. I need Sarah.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too,” I reply, not at all surprised when I’m disappointed to see her go.

  Unknown: I miss you, angel.

  UNKNOWN MY ASS! I know exactly who that is. Seeing the text light up my screen makes me want to shatter my phone into a billion little pieces. And then bake them into a red velvet cake. And then send it to him.

  I want him to Eat. His. Words.

  Dramatic. Yes. I know. But who does he think he is, sending me text messages at midnight? No doubt he had to wait until he was alone. Just thinking about him sitting there, his phone in his hand, wondering whether or not I’ll respond…it makes my blood boil. He might as well abandon the phone, take out his dick, and pretend I give two shits about him anymore. He had his chance. He had me. Then he threw me away like I meant nothing. He broke my heart and then he watched as my entire world fell apart.

  Fuck him. Of course I’m not going to respond! It’s been four months since I deleted his number. Since then, I haven’t so much as drunk dialed him. I can’t believe he initiated contact. I can’t believe he woke me up! There’s no way in hell I can get back to sleep now.

  I want so desperately to call Harper. I won’t. It’s after midnight on a school night. If she’s not sleeping, she should be, and I can’t be the reason she’s a zombie in her classroom tomorrow. My second thought is to call Claire—but with the time difference, I know it’s the middle of the night. Same with Addie. Though, I still haven’t come clean to her about the state of my life these days. My last and final option is Aria. Something tells me if I told her I needed a friend, she’d be pounding on the door—completely uncaring as to whether or not Millie is asleep—in order to find out what’s up. But I haven’t told her the details revolving around my last relationship, either. Right now, I don’t really feel like drudging i
t all up.

  Instead, I toss and turn for three hours. I think about Luke. I think about Micah. I wonder how the little guy is doing. I wonder whose fourth grade class he’s enrolled in. Man, I miss him. I miss his giggle. I miss the way he always asked us to challenge him to a spelling bee. I miss his cowlick and the freckles that are sprinkled across his nose.

  Thinking about him fills me with the urge to make a batch of monster cookies. They’re his favorite. It irritates me even more when I realize that won’t be happening. Not only do I lack the M&Ms required, it’s only been a handful of days since Millie ripped my head off for making a mess in her kitchen. Something tells me that if I wake her up at three in the morning because I’m baking, I’ll be homeless before dawn.

  When I can’t stand the confines of my bed any longer, I get an idea. I hop in the shower and then get dressed for the day. I leave my damp, wavy locks down, hoping they’ll dry just a little before I have to pull them back, and then I gather my things and leave for Little Bird. It’s a couple minutes before four a.m. when I arrive. All the lights are off inside, cluing me into the fact that Brandon’s not here yet. I know he will be any second. I take out my Kindle and prop myself against the door as I wait.

  I see her as soon as I pull up, leaning against the front door with the light from her tablet illuminating her face. My heart rate speeds up at the sight of her. Outside. Alone. In the middle of the night.

  What is she thinking?

  In an instant, my mind fills with countless blurry visions of this gorgeous woman getting caught in an ugly situation with no one around to protect her. I think of the sad look she gets in her eyes and I can only imagine what happened to make her that way. Having her here, now, alone—putting herself in a position for the night to throw more shit at her—I can hardly stand it. I haven’t the slightest clue what she’s doing here, but I intend to find out. I cruise right past the bike rack, dismounting from my ride as I approach.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I spit out, gripping the handles of my bike to stop myself from reaching for her.

  She looks up, apparently startled by my presence, and pushes herself away from the door. “I couldn’t sleep,” she tells me, raking her fingers through her hair. I can smell the floral fragrance of her shampoo from where I stand and my grip around my handlebars grows tighter.

  That’s not nearly enough of an answer for me. Not to mention, her overwhelming scent is like bait. My irritation goes up a notch without my permission and I can’t control my outburst. “So, what, you just show up? How long have you been out here?”

  “I don’t know,” she says with a shrug, hugging her tablet to her chest. “Five, ten minutes?”

  “It’s the middle of the night, Sarah!” I cry.

  “Why are you yelling at me?” Her voice catches in her throat and the sound has me dropping my bike before I close the distance between us.

  I want to pull her into my arms, I want to feel her against my chest, I want to thank God that she’s safe and that nothing awful happened to her while she was standing out here all alone.

  You can look, but you can’t touch.

  Dammit. What has come over me?

  I take her chin between my thumb and my finger and tilt her face until I can peer through the darkness into her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to—I’m just surprised to see you. You shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe.”

  “Brandon, I’m fine.”

  “You can’t just hang out in Old Town, in the middle of the night, all by yourself.”

  “It’s not like Fort Collins is the most dangerous place in the world. Besides, I knew you’d be here.”

  I shake my head at her, my heart still pounding in my chest. “You should have called me. I don’t need you testing theories as to the safety level of Fort Collins’ streets at four in the morning.”

  “I don’t have your number,” she informs me.

  “Give me your phone,” I instruct, pulling my hand away from her face as I hold it out, palm up. She does as I ask and I add myself to her contacts before shooting myself a text. As soon as I hear the beep from inside of my pocket, I hand over her device. “Next time, you call me, got it?”

  “Promise,” she assures me with a nod.

  “Good. And let me just make this perfectly clear right off the bat—when I make you a copy of the key, I don’t want you here alone. You hear me? I don’t care what time it is.”

  She cocks her head to the side as she coughs out a sigh. “Brandon, I’m—”

  “Nope. I don’t want to hear it. Those are the rules.”

  “Fine,” she concedes.

  “Walk with me. I need to lock up my bike.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, explain to me again why you’re at work three hours early?” I ask as we make our way to the bike rack.

  “I was up. I thought I might as well see if I could come help. I know that you do all of the baking—but I’m pretty good at following a recipe. Maybe if we work together, it’ll take half the time it usually takes you. If it takes half the time, then maybe you don’t have to be here at four every morning.”

  The idea of an extra couple hours of sleep every night seems too good to be true. As I check to make sure my lock is secure, I look up at her skeptically. “You can bake?”

  She smirks at me before she answers. “My apron isn’t just for lunch duty.”

  I’m still not convinced this is a good idea. Sure, I’ve got recipes written down for all of my pastries, but I’ve been making them for so long I hardly use them. To trust someone else with creating my product seems risky. While Sarah has proven to be capable, resourceful, and dependable, inviting her into the kitchen is different.

  I cast a sidelong glance her way, appreciating how the darkness of the pre-dawn morning shields me from the the power she wields with those blue eyes. When she catches me eyeing her suspiciously, she laughs and it’s as if she knows how to wear down my resolve.

  “C’mon! What’s on the menu today? Just let me bake one thing. Let me prove it. Besides, if I don’t bake something, I’m going to punch someone. Seeing as how you’re the only someone around, I think it’s best if you just let me loose in that kitchen.”

  Her ultimatum intrigues me and I see an opportunity to take advantage of her desperation. “I’ll make you a deal,” I begin to say, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. “You tell me why you want to punch someone, I’ll let you make the coffee cake.”

  She pauses for a moment before she sticks out her hand. I wrap my fingers around hers and we shake on it. “Deal.”

  I weigh my options and decide that I can tell Brandon part of the truth without divulging too much information. At this point, I’ll do whatever I have to in order to get my hands on some flour. Nevertheless, I stall as long as I can. After I store my things for the day, I head to the bathroom in order to deal with my hair. It’s still pretty damp as I pull it to one shoulder and weave it into a fishtail braid. It takes me longer than usual, but I need a few extra minutes to prepare myself for the subject of Luke.

  Bastard. I can’t believe he texted me!

  By the time I join Brandon in the kitchen, he’s already started mixing together his first batch of what looks like his blueberry crumble muffins. When he sees me, he nods at the recipe binder that’s open on the edge of the workspace. I see the card for espresso chocolate coffee cake and skim it for ingredients. Most of what I need I can find without any help. His kitchen is very user friendly, which I appreciate. Anything I can’t find, Brandon is quick to point out, and then I’m well on my way to proving my baking skills.

  “Assuming you can multitask, let’s have it,” he demands as he fills three ovens with batter-laden muffin pans. I can hear the smile in his voice without having to look up to see it.

  “I’m a woman—obviously that means I can do at least a dozen things at once,” I insist, proving my point as I continue my current task. “I got a text. From my ex. He decided it’
d be a good idea to message me at midnight telling me he missed me.” Saying it out loud fires me up again and I shake my head, unable to mask my irritation. “I honestly don’t know what he was thinking. Unless he wanted to remind me how much of an asshole he is. Little does he know, I haven’t forgotten for a second.”

  “How long have you been broken up?”

  “Four months. You know what the worst part is?” I ask, still not bothering to look up from the bowl I'm busy filling with ingredients. “He hasn’t reached out to me this whole time, until now. How dare he tell me he misses me?! He’s the one who broke my heart, not the other way around.”

  “What happened?”

  “He lied to me. Then he left me. For his wife.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. It isn’t until after I’m drenched in a fresh wave of guilt, regret, and heartache that I realize I’ve just said that out loud. Now my head snaps up, my eyes searching for Brandon, like he might be able to save me from drowning.

  Save me, or possibly pull me under, securing an anchor of his judgment around my already heavy heart.

  I’m surprised when I find him standing next to me.

  “You’re right,” he says when our gazes align. “He is an asshole.”

  Save me, it is. Those handsome hazel eyes could never inflict any harm. I’m sure of it.

  My nose tingles as I shake my head and drop my chin, my shame and the compassion I read on his face quenching my fire. Now, it seems as though the whole truth is called for. “I’m not blameless either,” I whisper. “I should have figured it out.”