by Katie Allen
Her fingers slid up his forearm and back down again. It was as if her hand was completely independent of her brain, which was frankly horrified by her action. She was fondling Hamilton. “Please stay.” Obviously, her mouth wasn’t consulting her head about anything either.
He sighed heavily, his chest pressing harder against her back for a second before his exhale blew against her cheek. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Warmth flowed through her at his answer. Not only did she get to continue cuddling with Hamilton, but she also had company on the walk back to the bakery. Despite her earlier assurances that she didn’t think Jude would bother her in the wee hours, the possibility was there, and she knew she’d be as jumpy as a mouse in a cat circus if she were to walk there by herself.
She ran her hand up and down his arm again, marveling at the coiled strength beneath his skin. Taking another deep breath, he tightened his arms again. The tiny space that had opened up between them disappeared, leaving them closer than before. Slowly, he dropped his head, easing it back into its previous spot against her neck. Her lower region was reacting wildly to the contact with him, softening and moistening, getting ready for something that wouldn’t happen—at least not in the next fifty-some minutes.
His breaths slowed, each one hitting her neck right where her pulse throbbed, and she wondered if he’d fallen asleep again. The thought brought a mixture of disappointment and happiness that he was getting some rest. He’d just mentioned having insomnia, and she’d suspected it before. After all, there weren’t many people who got up to run at 5:00 a.m.—and sometimes much earlier than that.
Feeling a rush of sympathy for him, she moved her hand from his arm to his closely cropped head. As she stroked his short but silky hair, he went still. He didn’t even breathe, and she missed the warm dampness against her neck. His reaction told her that he hadn’t been asleep. She found herself holding her breath along with him, her hand unmoving on his head, until he finally exhaled. It felt as if all the air in his body was leaving, his muscles softening and relaxing until he was sinking more heavily against her.
When her head started swimming with a desperate need for air, she sucked in a breath. Her chest rose, pressing against his forearm, and then retreated as she exhaled. His weight was pressing her into the mattress even more now, but she still didn’t mind. In fact, she loved that he’d relaxed against her, that he was comfortable enough to let go, especially since he seemed like the type who very rarely allowed himself to relax. No wonder the poor man couldn’t sleep.
Her fingers started stroking again, smoothing the short strands and then ruffling them lightly, exploring the contours of his skull and ears.
“LeeLee,” he muttered, tucking her even more tightly against him, and Leah smiled.
Panda-worthy or not, the nickname came from Hamilton, so it made her happy.
Chapter Seven
Leah realized that she was staring at the back door—the safely closed and locked back door—and she made an annoyed sound.
“You’re doing it again,” she muttered, rolling out the croissant dough with a little too much force. After an intense fifty minutes or so of cuddling early that morning, the alarm had seemed like the worst kind of intrusion. Hamilton had quietly walked her to work, waiting for the door to close behind her before going upstairs to his loft. She hadn’t seen him since. Granted, it had only been a few hours, but he could’ve at least stuck his head in before leaving for work. “Knock it off. You need to accept facts, girly. He likes your sugar, but he doesn’t want your sugar.” The intense cuddle session popped into her mind, and she had to amend her statement. “Maybe he does want your sugar and your sugar, but that’s it. He’s not going to be your boyfriend. If anything, you’ll get a sugar friend out of the deal.”
A masculine laugh from behind her made her swing around, the rolling pin clutched in one hand.
“Who are you talking to?” Q stood behind her, smirking.
“Q, I’m going to kill you one of these days,” she said, letting the hand holding the rolling pin drop to her side. She’d had it cocked back, ready to swing like a baseball bat. “Kill you or make you wear a collar with a bell on it.”
The threat didn’t kill Q’s grin. “I’d make a collar look good.”
She managed to hold out for five seconds before saying, “Yes. Yes, you would, and, as someone who can’t pull off...well, really anything as a fashion choice, I hate you just a tiny bit for that.”
“Right.” Q rolled his eyes. “Because you don’t have the snuggly cookie-kitten thing going.”
“The what?” She laughed, turning back to the croissant dough now that she knew it was Q and not a psycho killer standing behind her. The thing with Jude was making her twitchy.
“Please.” Dragging a stool close to the table, Q straddled it. “As if you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
He gave her a don’t-play-dumb look.
Putting the rolling pin down, she held her hands up as she walked over to the cooler to get the butter blocks. “Honestly. I have no clue why you’re babbling about snuggles and cats and cookies.”
“I bet Mr. Hamilton knows.”
Her hands froze in the middle of peeling the parchment off the chilled butter, and Q chuckled.
“You should see your face right now. Guess you like him an awful lot.”
His teasing broke her paralysis, and she finished removing the parchment and then folded the croissant dough around the sheet of butter. “He’s okay.” She tried for breezy, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t pulled it off.
That feeling was confirmed when Q nearly fell off his stool, laughing.
“Why are you torturing me, anyway?” she asked, starting to roll out the dough again with smooth, even strokes, being careful not to fracture the butter inside. “Shouldn’t you be working? Maybe doing something productive up front and not harassing me back here?”
“I’m not even supposed to be working today,” he said, not sounding at all concerned about her scolding. “I just got up early so I could talk to you before school.”
She stopped mid-stroke with the rolling pin and looked at him, her eyes wide. “Talk? About what? You know you can’t quit, right? If you quit, then I’m most likely going to curl up under this table and die. Just so you know.”
His laugh made her relax slightly, and she went back to rolling out the dough. After all, he wouldn’t have thought that was funny if he’d actually been planning on quitting. Also, she had a limited amount of time to finish the roll-outs before the butter got too soft and absorbed into the dough. If that happened, her croissants would be gummy messes, rather than the delicate, flaky delights that they should be. Once the rectangle of dough was thin enough, she brought each side to the middle and then folded it in half, so it looked like a book made of dough. Turning it ninety degrees, she started rolling it out again.
“I’m not quitting. I was just hoping to have Saturday off?” He gave her his slow smile as he asked, and his voice went up in that cute way at the end that she knew he knew she found endearing.
Still, she groaned. “I have to do Saturday by myself? Why? What entertainment could make it worth you inflicting that kind of misery on me?”
He lowered his voice, even though they were the only ones in the entire bakery, and leaned closer to her. “Remember when I told you about my lab partner, Carlisle?”
“Your chemistry lab partner? The soccer player with the adorably nerdy tendencies and unfortunately pretentious name?” She finished the final fold and pulled plastic wrap over the dough.
“Yes!” He wiggled a little on the seat as if he couldn’t hold in his excitement. “He asked me out.”
“Q! That’s amazing! You’ve liked him for what—two years?” Leah slid the croissant dough into a rack in the cooler before turning back to Q.
“Forever.” His grin
was huge, bigger than she’d ever seen. “I don’t know how he knew. I mean, I’m not out at school yet, and we usually just talk about, like, hydrochloric acid and things like that.”
“So you’re going out Friday night, then?”
Q’s expression was both tentative and hugely excited. “He’s going camping Saturday with his family, so Friday’s the only night that works, unless we wait until next weekend.” Leah could tell that Q really did not want to wait a week for his date with Carlisle. “I told him I might not be able to get off work.” He stared at her hopefully, and she rolled her eyes.
“Of course you can have Saturday off. Do you think I could stand to look at your sad, sad face all morning? Besides, I’m not a Carlisle-blocker.” Q grabbed her in a hug, making her laugh. “Go out with your adorable nerd boy, have fun, sleep in and let me know next week how it went.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He hurried toward the swinging door. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Bye!”
The bakery went quiet again as Leah scooped blueberry muffin batter into the paper-lined tins. She glanced at the clock and gave a satisfied hum. There was enough time before opening to bake the muffins and finish rolling out the croissant dough if she moved quickly. She enjoyed weekday mornings, even though they didn’t bring in the sales that Saturday did. While Saturdays were frantic, the other days had a relaxed rhythm that didn’t involve having to run back and forth between the kitchen and the customers.
She made a face as she sprinkled sparkling sugar onto the tops of the muffins. Without Q there to help, Saturday was going to be rough. An idea niggled in her brain, and she tried to ignore it.
“He’s helped you enough times,” she said firmly. “Give the poor guy a break. He shouldn’t have to get up at five on a Saturday to slave away for cupcakes.”
Although he’d probably be awake by five anyway, a tempting voice in her head reasoned.
“Stop it. Don’t take advantage of his kindness—or his desperation for sweets.” She slid the muffins into the oven and closed the door with a resolute bang.
Despite her determination not to ask Hamilton, the idea stayed with her all day, poking at the back of her mind. As closing time approached, her heart rate sped up every time the front door opened, but it was never him. She wondered if he was planning on walking home with her again, and heat flashed through her body.
Quickly corralling the mental images this idea produced, she wiped down the café tables and ushered the final straggling customers out. She performed her closing duties automatically as her gaze kept flying to the door. Jude hadn’t been in at all since his early morning appearance the day before. She had a feeling that it was over, that he’d called her some nasty names in his head and then found a new bakery and a new croissant provider he could obsess over. It wasn’t as if they were in a tiny town that had limited options. Denver had a whole host of bakeries to choose from.
When everything had been wiped down and put away and readied for the next morning, Leah pulled her phone out of her pocket and studied the blank screen as she debated texting Hamilton. She’d never used his number for anything non-landlord-related before, though, and it felt strange.
Making a frustrated sound, she shoved her phone back in her pocket, annoyed at the wimpy, confused person this whole Hamilton thing was turning her into. She pulled on her hoodie and collected her bag. It was just that she didn’t know where they stood. They were more than landlord and tenant, more than temporary employee and employer, not quite lovers, and a strange sort of friends. She and Hamilton were floating in a strange gray space between possible relationships, and it was messing with her mind.
Enough. It had been a long day, and she needed to stop thinking about Hamilton. She pulled open the door, double-checked that she had her keys, and let the door fall shut behind her. Automatically, she gave the handle a tug, making sure that it had locked, and then she started across the parking lot.
The sun had mostly gone down, turning all the natural light a dark gray outside of the reach of the streetlights. The wind was cold, cutting through her sweatshirt. With a shiver, she pulled up the hood and walked faster toward the start of the trail.
“Leah!”
The shout made her whirl around, her heart thumping. It took a second to recognize the male voice and figure jogging across the lot toward her. She waited until he reached her before thumping Hamilton on the upper arm.
“Between you and Q, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t stay crabby in his presence, which was a worrying thought that she refused to dwell on.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?”
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Of course I was coming. You don’t have your car here.” He was obviously pissed, his face tight and his eyes narrow. For some reason, his glare didn’t scare or annoy her. It turned her on.
Ripping her gaze away, she focused on the path ahead of them and tried to think about unsexy things. Who got turned on by a frown? Obviously, she was a weirdo. Dragging her mind back to their discussion, she saw that he was still silently glaring, as if waiting for her to answer. “I’ll text before I leave next time.”
“Don’t leave by yourself.” His voice had softened a little, although he still sounded grumbly. “You shouldn’t be walking alone at night, especially with a stalker.”
She opened her mouth, intending to argue, to say that if Jude was a stalker, he was a very bad one, in that he hadn’t shown his face since they’d kicked him out of the kitchen, but then she closed it again. Hamilton was worried about her, and he was taking time out of his day to walk her home. He’d even slept over the night before and had gotten up at stinking two-thirty in the morning to walk her to work.
Impulsively, she reached toward him and caught his hand, feeling him start as she laced her fingers with his. He didn’t pull away, though. After a stiff moment, he gripped her hand tightly, sending a bolt of pleasure up her arm and right down to her lower belly.
“I’ll wait for you,” she said. Forming words into sentences that made sense was a little difficult with all of her brain power preoccupied with the feeling of his hand around hers. “Were you able to get some sleep after you walked me to the bakery?”
“No. I went for a long run and then went to work early.” He sounded wooden, as if small talk was a struggle. It was endearing, although Leah knew she was so loopy over Hamilton that she’d find anything he did to be sweet.
“Thank you for walking me to work—and home now, of course, but this is a more reasonable hour.” She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand, and his fingers tightened. “I hope you weren’t tired today at work.”
“No. I’m used to not sleeping much.” Before she could ask why, he continued in a rush. “I’m sorry I was late tonight.”
“You weren’t, not really,” she said. “Did you get held up at work?”
He grimaced. “Yes. A meeting ran long, and then, afterward...”
As he trailed off, shooting her an unreadable glance, curiosity flared brightly in her. “What happened afterward?”
“Nothing. It was nothing.”
“Ham,” she said warningly, “do not make me hurt you, because I will. I am probably the nosiest person you’ve ever met, so there’s no way you can tease me with ‘afterward’ and not tell me what happened. If you do, I will be the first person in the world to die of unsatisfied curiosity.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in one of his almost-smiles before it disappeared, and he shot her a wary glance. “You’ll think I’m strange.”
“I already do, but I don’t mind strange. In fact, I kind of like it, so start talking.” She gave their joined hands a small shake for emphasis, and his tiny smile appeared again.
“Someone stopped me before I could leave the conference room,” he finally said,
and Leah found herself leaning toward him. Catching herself before she burrowed into his side, she gave herself a mental smack. No climbing Ham unless he gives you permission, she reminded herself firmly.
“Okay,” she said when he went quiet. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know.” He slashed his free hand through the air, as if impatiently brushing away the memory. Every loaded pause, every hesitation in his story made her more interested in hearing the rest. If he’d just passed it off as a boring work story, she wouldn’t be even half as interested in what he was saying, but he hadn’t. For some reason, this post-meeting encounter was a big deal. “I think she’s new.”
“Uh-huh. Why do I get the impression that you could work with someone for a year or two or three and still think they’re new because you’ve never noticed them?”
“Because you’re perceptive,” he said, and Leah’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t really expected him to admit it, much less give her a compliment. Quickly, she refocused on the oddly fascinating tale.
“Okay, so this woman—who might or might not have been working with you since you started there—stopped you from leaving.” When he nodded, she went on. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.” He sounded annoyed.
Leah let out a huff. “We’re back to that?”
“No,” he said defensively. “I’m being honest. She was talking and talking and not saying anything.”
“She stopped you from leaving,” Leah said slowly, trying to work out what had happened by translating Hamilton’s verbal shorthand. “But she didn’t say anything important?”
“Exactly!” The word blasted out in a huff of frustrated breath. “She just made me late.”
“What were her exact words?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Why are you so interested?”
“Because there were obviously two very different views of what was going on in that conference room, and it’s fascinating. It’s like a puzzle. I want to figure out what was happening from her perspective.”