Tempting Taste (Tempt Me Book 2)

by Sara Whitney

  He ran a hand over his mouth and looked at the large piece of vinyl. His shop name. His brand. His dream, right there in a box. It was all happening, better and faster than he’d ever imagined. He let the box top fall shut, and the motion disturbed a sheet of paper tucked inside. When he retrieved it from the floor, a quick scan revealed it to be a printout of Josie’s emails between her and the vendor. He squinted at it, uncertain of what he was seeing.

  “This date.”

  She slid the top box aside to work on opening the next one. “What about it?”

  He looked down at the paper again, which was clearly dated April twenty-ninth. Almost a month and a half ago. “I wasn’t even sure I was going to work with you then.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I knew you would. You were too good not to be in business for yourself. I just got a jump on lining up vendors for the future. Whatever it takes to make you a success.”

  The return of her quick grin had him rocking back on his heels while he gripped the paper in one hand and squeezed the back of his neck with the other. That long ago? She’d believed in him that much, without any actual proof that he could pull all this off? Something warm ignited in his chest, and he opened his mouth, unsure of what was going to come out but afraid it would be drowning in earnest sentiment.

  And then the back door slammed open and a voice called, “Your work crew’s here!”

  Josie tossed a guilty look his way as Finn and Tom tromped into the kitchen with their arms full of painting supplies. “I invited some helpers. Hope that’s okay. Hey, guys!”

  And just like that, Erik found himself enveloped in the happy chaos of Josie and her friends as they placed drop cloths and distributed cans of paint in the front room. Not the ideal scenario for a man used to solitude, but before long he found his groove, rolling paint onto his portion of the side wall and letting their conversation wash over him in waves. A TV premiere that weekend. A new restaurant to try. Mutual friend gossip. Job complaints. Everyday life in Chicago that actually sounded like something Erik wouldn’t mind exploring. Under the right circumstances. With the right people.

  “I hear my control-freak brother let you borrow his baby.”

  The question pulled Erik out of the trance he’d fallen into as he applied strokes of bright yellow paint to the wall in front of him, and he looked left to see that Finn had progressed on her area so much that they were working side by side.

  “Yep.” He kept the answer short so Finn wouldn’t guess that if he hadn’t lucked into his own van, he would’ve strapped cakes on his back like a packhorse rather than ask her brother for his Jeep again. Anything to avoid giving Josie another reason to look at that fucking guy with admiration shining in her big brown eyes.

  “Pretty gorgeous, right?”

  Erik’s paint roller stuttered to a halt as he frantically wondered how she’d known he’d been thinking about her roommate’s eyes.

  A denial formed on his lips, but she kept talking. “I assume Josie chose it? Everything she does is so bold.” She gestured to the now-yellow walls, and Erik’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Oh, the paint. Yeah, that was all her.”

  If it were up to him, the walls would be some shade of bone or ecru or eggshell, but Josie had insisted on something sunny and optimistic to reflect the excitement of the couples who’d be picking out their wedding cakes there. He hadn’t had the heart to stand in the middle of the hardware store and tell her that not every engaged couple was as starry-eyed about marriage as she seemed to be. Instead, he’d handed over his credit card and mentally calculated what fraction of the farmland he’d sold was covering this purchase. That’s how he was thinking about all his expenses now: how pinched would Pops’s expression have gotten to know that his beloved land was paying for a new pack of aprons or light fixtures for the public area? Would he begrudge Erik the rented sander to refinish the wide hardwood beams they’d uncovered underneath the old linoleum?

  The thought had him dropping his roller into the pan and muttering an excuse to Finn as he pivoted and walked to the kitchen, hoping it would help him locate the heart of his mission again. Once there, he opened the refrigerator and peered at the empty shelves waiting for the eggs and butter and cream he’d stock them with soon. He cracked the oven door to look again at the interior he’d scoured to a shine the previous weekend, working so vigorously that his arms had ached the following day. Then he braced his hands on the kitchen island and sucked in a steadying breath. His domain. He was in control here. Hopefully someday soon he’d need to hire assistants to help keep up with the order volume.

  Of course, that wouldn’t happen if they didn’t finish painting and get his signage up. The thought had him running his hands over the boxes Josie had delivered, pausing over the final unopened one. When he broke through the tape securing the lid and saw what was inside, his jaw clenched too tight for words.

  Too bad that’s when Josie sauntered into the kitchen.

  “Hey, did you want us to—?”

  “What’s this?”

  Her eyes widened a fraction at his clipped tone, but her voice stayed chipper as ever. “For the van. Cool, right?”

  He held up the huge magnet. “I said no.”

  “It’s your logo, Erik. It belongs on your delivery van.”

  He ignored the exasperation in her voice. “My face is the size of the sun. No.”

  She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips.

  “It’s also on the window decals.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t drive the shop around. It’s just…” He shook his head, frustrated at being unable to articulate the horror that flooded every cell in his body at the thought of that fucking magnet. Putting it on the van felt desperate. Felt like his mom making the round of casting agents and nightclub operators. Felt like begging people to love him when he only wanted to be known for his cake.

  “Putting it on the van is flashy,” he finally said.

  “Opening your own business is flashy!” she shot back.

  He huffed and swung away from her to lean against the countertop behind him, discomfort crawling over his skin.

  Josie was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and low. “Do you trust me?” She sounded as if she were soothing an animal caught in a snare. And honestly, maybe she was.

  “Obviously I do.” He wouldn’t be standing in his own kitchen right now if he didn’t. He turned back around to face her but kept his lips pressed tight.

  She slid the magnet back into the box and leaned it against the back wall. When she opened her mouth again, he braced himself for more questions about trust, but instead she asked, “What was your grandfather like?”

  The subject change rattled him—the man had been on his mind almost constantly for the past few weeks. Not since the days following Pops’s death had Erik felt his loss so keenly. The weight of the memories drove him to answer honestly. “Quiet. Frugal.”

  “Frugal with money or with praise?”

  Erik tucked his chin, never having considered it like that before. “Both.”

  She nodded slowly. “And did he love you?”

  Christ. This was hell. “Yes,” he muttered. “In his own way. We didn’t discuss our feelings.”

  “Wow. How weird that his grandson turned out the way he did.” Josie’s flat voice held a trace of amusement, and he shifted from foot to foot as her steady gaze kept him pinned. “And is that the reason part of you thinks you don’t deserve to have all this?”

  She waved a hand around his kitchen as a peal of Finn’s laughter drifted over the music from the wireless speakers set up in the front room, the happy sound incongruous with the tension in the kitchen.

  “That’s ridiculous.” He crossed his arms over his chest and studied the tile between his feet. Still, the idea took hold. Pops had hated the way his daughter chased even the tiniest promise of fame from town to town, and he’d wanted E
rik to instead find joy in a small, self-contained life on the farm. Was it any wonder that using his larger-than-life face to hawk his business felt like a betrayal of Pops’s wishes?

  Josie sighed into the silence. “I’m no shrink, but I’ve had to drag you along at several points even though you clearly want to do this, and I don’t think it’s only because you don’t understand marketing. I’m just trying to figure out whether your ‘aw-shucks shy guy’ deal is nature or nurture.”

  His head snapped up. “Look, I just don’t want my fucking face on a van.”

  “Fine!” She tossed her arms in the air in exasperation. “It’s just that your handsome fucking face is a great selling point, and people are going to love seeing you drive around town with it! But whatever. Run all over Chicago in your unmarked windowless van like a creeper and never become as successful as you could be.” Her words hung in the kitchen for a beat before she dissolved into laughter. “Wow. You really know how to push my buttons.”

  “What buttons?” He spread his hands wide, genuinely baffled by how they’d ended up squaring off over a kitchen island.

  She jabbed a thumb at her solar plexus. “The fear-of-rejection button. The anger-when-people-don’t-appreciate-the-things-I-do-for-them button. You can hit that one even when you haven’t actually asked me to do those things for you, by the way.” She blew out a breath. “Mostly though it’s the mommy-issues button.”

  “Ah, that button.” He was familiar with that one himself.

  She slanted a smile at him. “Well, you’ll see soon enough. My mom’s going to be here next week to shoot photos for the website. This mess”—she gestured down at herself, at that goddamn tissue-thin shirt—“will make a ton more sense.”

  A month ago, he’d have taken her self-deprecation at its surface, but he’d spent enough time with her to catch the vulnerability in the words. “You’re not a mess.”

  She laughed softly, a little sadly. “It’s nice of you to say so. But I’m mostly bad decisions and an even worse temper.”

  “Don’t forget bossy.” He shot her a quick smile, hoping to tease her quicksilver mood into a happier place. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Bossy to the bone.” She ran a tongue over her lower lip and adjusted the bandanna holding back her hair. “Hey, I’m sorry I pushed you on the van magnet thing. I truly didn’t think it would bother you that much.”

  He couldn’t help but return her contrite smile. She’d come a long way from her grudging apology on the L that first night. Then her lips twisted to one side. “But I still think you’ll come around to it someday.”

  “Never.”

  “We’ll see.” Josie blew him a kiss and whirled to head back to the front room, leaving him to stare at the magnet box.

  She was right, of course. The logo was a solid, memorable brand, and putting it on the van was smart. But the memory of his mother’s obsession with fame dug its claws into his chest and chased away all rational thoughts.

  With a sigh, he followed her out of the kitchen. Maybe he actually would come around to it someday. It was becoming obvious that he should never bet against Josie Ryan.

  Fourteen

  “I’m sure she’ll be here. Any minute now.” Josie took another turn around Erik’s tiny apartment and paused to look out the window. No fine-boned, pinched-mouthed woman hurried down the sidewalk, burdened by photography bags. The street was quiet, and Josie was furious.

  Her mother was almost an hour late despite a short text the day before, confirming their Sunday appointment. But that’s not what was making her angry. No, she was good and pissed at herself for thinking Pam Ryan would make her daughter a priority for a change.

  “Dammit.” The buzzing was back, the itchiness under her skin. She’d controlled her most impulsive urges fairly well over the past month, but all it took was the familiar burn of Mom-based disappointment to have her on the brink of running, shouting, fighting.

  She pushed the destructive urges down and stepped away from the window, taking another lap while Erik reclined on the couch, legs stretched in front of him, an oasis of calm in the middle of her frenzy.

  “Maybe she’s at the bakery?”

  “No. I texted her this address last night.” Between the sanding and staining of the wooden floors upstairs, the building was safe for neither humans nor cakes this weekend, so Erik had prepped for the shoot in his apartment. “I’m sorry,” she spat out, her frustration bleeding through into her voice.

  His own phone vibrated, but he ignored it to focus on her. “For what?”

  The question surprised her. It even quieted the buzzing for a moment. She gestured around his apartment, empty but for the two of them and the platters and platters of gorgeous carbohydrates. “For making promises I couldn’t deliver on.” Didn’t he know by now how much she hated letting people down?

  He heaved himself to his feet, causing the ugly orange-flowered couch to groan in protest, and moved to stand in front of her. God, he was big, and she wanted to sink into him, to allow those long, strong bones to hold her up so she could let go of the tense energy that propelled her forward from minute to minute.

  But he didn’t touch her. He just stood inches away and hit her with his clear blue gaze. “You’ve delivered plenty for me. And I still don’t quite know why.”

  “Because…” Her eyes drifted down as she tried to articulate a reason he’d understand. “Well, for one thing, I wanted to prove that I could do it.” She brushed her hands down the front of the cashmere sweater and expensive jeans she’d carefully selected that morning to present her most polished/casual/professional self for her mother’s inevitable judgment. Then she glanced up at him. “And for another thing, I like you.”

  She had to smile at the confusion on his face. “Is that so surprising?”

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Yes, actually.”

  Making Erik blush was the best distraction. “I don’t understand who you were hanging out with before you met me. Do your friends not see how clever you are? How thoughtful?”

  His gaze dropped to the floor. “Not many, no.”

  His bashful confusion was adorable. So adorable, in fact, that she should move away, put some distance between them. She didn’t take a step back though. “Well, they’re idiots. You make me calm. You quiet things for me.” Like now. Exactly like he was doing now.

  His brows snapped together, and she had to laugh. “I’m not saying it makes me quiet. Nothing does that. But you soothe what’s restless in me.”

  She pressed a hand over her heart, and his gaze followed the motion. Realizing she’d just drawn his attention to her breasts, she held her breath, aware of a strange tension vibrating between them. Did he feel it too? Was he—

  Her phone chimed, shattering the mood, and she moved to rummage through the bags she’d brought with her.

  “Dammit!” Every part of her sagged in defeat. Pam had decided that getting drinks with some local patron of the arts was more important than her daughter’s passion project. Josie already knew all about her mother’s priorities, but it still had the power to wound her.

  The floor creaked behind her, likely Erik preparing to flee before her inevitable shouting tantrum. But she didn’t want to be the hotheaded brat her mother thought she was. With effort, she heaved a shuddery breath and dashed the tears from her eyes. “It’s cool,” she forced herself to say brightly. “I brought my camera stuff.” She reached for the closest bag and started mechanically unpacking the contents. Keeping her hands busy should prevent her from calling back and unloading twenty-six years of resentment onto her mother’s voicemail. “I don’t have a fine arts degree or anything, but I’m not bad.”

  She snapped together her umbrella light kit with stiff movements and waited for him to argue against using her amateur photography skills, but he didn’t, of course. He just regarded her with the same trusting gaze he’d been turning her way since she’d parachuted into his life.

  Trust. He was trusting his
business to her. She couldn’t let him down.

  “My mom started training me as soon as I could hold a camera.” As she talked, she set out foam core pieces that she clipped together to form three sides of a box where she’d place his beautiful creations. “I wasn’t the prodigy she was hoping for, so she lost interest pretty fast. But I still enjoy it as a hobby.”

  Next she moved the lights into place to provide the most flattering illumination. The kit wasn’t as fancy as anything her mother had, but it would certainly work for product shots for the time being.

  “Okay, Man Bun. Let’s see your goodies.”

  He rolled his eyes—He actually rolled his eyes! She was teaching him sass!—and handed her the first of the items he’d assembled to show off his handiwork. She positioned the cake with the most intricate marble ripples facing out and fired off a flurry of shots before moving on to the next one, and then the next, falling into a soothing routine of decadent treats and shutter snaps. More than half of Erik’s cakes were actually rounds of Styrofoam covered in his unique icing techniques. All the height and drama and bold colors he executed so well but at a fraction of the effort and cost and with no one looking at the pictures any wiser.

  Once she’d gotten all the exterior shots, she straightened to stretch out the kink in her back. “Okay, time for the good stuff. Start slicing.”

  Erik’s only response was to salute her with his silver cake server, and she indulged in the luxury of simply watching him. His brow creased in concentration as he eased the sharp edge of the server through the pink-veined cake on the counter in front of him, and she stealthily lifted her camera to fire off a few shots of the artist at work before turning her attention to the slices themselves.

  She moved them to her makeshift light box and started clicking. “It all smells so good. How do you keep from eating everything all the time? Other than the chance that it might be foam, of course.”