She contrasted his reaction to her starting her own business to Cash’s. Cash had been surprised at first, but interested, and then totally supportive. He hadn’t tried to talk her out of it.
She shouldn’t be thinking about Cash, though it was hard not to after everything they’d shared last weekend. A longing to talk to him and hear his steady voice and encouraging words swept over her.
She did need to talk to him about the party for his mom.
So she picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.
He answered with, “Hi, Callie.” Obviously she was programmed into his contacts. Warmth spread through her chest.
“Hey. Guess who was just here, trying to talk me out of this crazy bakery idea?”
After a beat of silence, he said, “Your dad?”
“Yep. And Beau. They’re both horrified that I’m doing something so demeaning.”
“Demeaning? Bullshit. You’re an artist.”
That warmth inside her spread wider. “Thank you.”
“Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah. I…I stood up to them.”
“Good for you.”
Some of the tension eased out of her body. “Yeah. And I think my dad was kind of surprised by my business plan.” She sat on a stool, feeling lighter and calmer. “Anyway. I need to ask you some questions about the party for your mom, and the birthday cake. Do you have time right now?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know how many people will be there?”
“Yeah, I just checked with her friend Barb, and they’ve confirmed eight friends. With Ginnie, Kevin, me, and you, that will be twelve.”
Her mouth fell open. “Me?”
“Yeah. I want you to come. You’re helping to plan it, and you’re doing the cake.”
“I’ve… I don’t even know your mom. Are you sure she’d be okay with that?”
“Hell yeah, she’ll be fine with it.”
Would she think there was something more to their relationship than there really was? How was Cash going to introduce her? She should probably decline the invitation so things didn’t get more complicated. But it was nice of him to invite her, and they were friends…sort of… “Okay. So, um, the menu. I looked online, and you get three choices of salads, three main courses, and unlimited desserts. Except I’m bringing the cake, so when I talked to them, they said they’d give us a choice of three starters as well in the fixed price. Is there anything in particular your mom likes?”
“Hang on. Let me go onto the website.”
Callie opened her browser and found the site, also. Together they decided on selections.
“Now what about the cake? What kind of cake does your mom like, and do you have a design in mind?”
“I have no clue. All those flowers you make are cool, but it looks like a lot of work.”
She smiled. “You’re going to pay me for it, right?”
“Of course I am!” He sounded so horrified that she laughed.
“I was teasing. What’s her favorite color?”
“Christ. Um, I think it’s pink.”
“Hmm. Okay. What about a pink lemonade cake?”
“Sure.”
She shook her head. “Do you want me to sketch out a design and send it to you first?”
“Nah. Whatever you come up with will rock.”
“You’re not helping me much.”
“I don’t know anything about fancy cakes.”
“Go to my new website and look at some of the pictures.”
“Your website is up?”
“Yep.” She gave him the URL.
Computer keys clicked as Cash typed it in. “Oh hey, now. That looks really nice.”
“Thank you. You can click on the photos tab and see some pictures.”
“I see.” He went silent momentarily. “Okay, so that wedding cake you made last weekend was pale blue…was that blue velvet?”
“No. The cake was vanilla. If I make a pink lemonade cake, I’d ice it in pink, with pink flowers.”
“Okay, like the one you made your mom, only pink.”
“Well, it’ll be smaller, because there are only twelve people, whereas my mom’s party had fifty.”
“Oh yeah, for sure we don’t need it that big. Okay. Just be creative and make something beautiful.”
She laughed. “Okay.” She paused. “Have you heard from your dad yet?”
“Nah. Who knows. He could have been blowing smoke up— Well. He may never call.”
“I guess.”
They chatted a while longer about various things, Callie updating him on business progress, him telling her about a big project they were working on a bid for, although he didn’t share a lot of details about it.
“Well, I’d better get back to my cookie shots.”
“Your what?”
“Cookie shots.” She described them to him. “I think they’re cool enough to fill now.”
“Oh man, that sounds good.”
“I hope so. I made a lot of them. I’m not even sure what to do with them all. This is when I need a little shop, so I could sell them and get feedback.”
“Yeah. That would be good.”
Her heart climbed up her throat and lodged there. Again, he wasn’t belittling her or trying to talk her out of her dream. Her eyes stung at the fact that Cash supported her when her own family didn’t.
“Okay,” she choked out. “I’ll talk to you soon about the party.”
She ended the call and sucked in a long, slow breath, then moved to the counter to pipe filling into one of the small cups. She popped the first one into her mouth. Damn. That was freakin’ good!
What was she going to do with all these cookie shots?
…
Cash got home from the office the next day at nearly seven, tired and hungry enough to eat his boots. He flicked through the envelopes that had been in his mailbox—crap, crap, and crap—tossed them aside, and headed to the fridge for a beer.
His doorbell rang, and he paused, head inside the fridge. He pulled out a bottle, set it on the counter, and headed to the door.
Callie.
Christ.
Callie.
He opened the door. Because…Callie. “Hey.”
She held up a box. “Cookie shots.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Awesome. I’m starving.”
She walked in but frowned. “Why are you starving?”
“Just got home. Haven’t had dinner yet.”
“Well, cookie shots can’t be your dinner.”
“It can be my appetizer. Lemme at ’em, darlin’.”
She held the box out of his reach, which made him laugh. “You have to eat a meal first.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yeah, I had a salad at home.”
“A salad.” He shook his head. “You need more than that. I have leftover pizza.”
“Sounds…delicious.”
He grinned, opening his fridge door. He withdrew the box of Giuseppe’s pizza. “You want a piece or not?”
“Eh, sure.” She leaned against the counter that separated his small kitchen from the dining area. His kitchen that was about a tenth the size of hers. “What kind is it?”
“Their special. Ham, pepperoni, mushrooms, green peppers, and olives.”
“Ugh. I hate olives.”
“Right. We’ll pick the olives off your piece.” He remembered that from a time in college they’d all been out for pizza, probably not long after she and Beau had started dating.
He sighed as he slid a pan with the pizza into the oven.
“You need to turn it on,” Callie said.
“I know that, darlin’.” He punched the buttons to turn on the oven and set the temperature at 450.
“You’re supposed to turn it on and let it warm up to temperature before you put the food in.”
“What difference does it make? The food’s still going to get warm. It’ll take longer if I wait for the oven to get hot.”
“Callie.” He walked to the counter, placed his hands flat on the granite, and leaned over so they were nose to nose. “Shut up.”
Their eyes met, and awareness snapped between them. Her lips twitched. “Just trying to help.”
He breathed in her sweet vanilla and brown sugar scent, leaned in a little closer, and kissed her, catching her bottom lip in his teeth. She sucked in a breath through her nose, and the heat around them intensified. “I think you were just trying to annoy me, darlin’.” He licked over that plump lip, then drew back. “Something to drink? I was about to have a beer.”
“Um. Sure. I’ll have a beer.”
He pulled another bottle from the fridge, popped the top, and poured it into a glass for her. He slid it across the counter.
Still looking a bit dazed from the kiss, she picked up the glass and took a gulp. And another.
“I need to change.” He tugged at his tie to loosen it. “Be right back.”
“Sure.”
He shed his suit jacket as he jogged up to his bedroom and then into the walk-in closet. He hung it up, tossed his shirt into the bag he used to take his shirts to the cleaners every week, and hung the suit pants up as well. He pulled open a drawer to grab a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Moments later he was walking barefoot into the kitchen as Callie was climbing onto a stool at the counter.
He glanced at the oven and saw the temperature was now 375. He shook his head. “You had to do it, didn’t you?”
She grinned.
“Is it burning?”
“Well, no.” She looked around. “Have I ever told you that I like your place?”
“Not sure.” She’d been there before, of course, lots of times with Beau in the few years since he’d bought this townhouse.
“I love the feel of it. All the trees and shrubs outside, the big windows… It’s cozy.”
“It’s pretty small and ordinary compared to your mansion.”
“You could afford something bigger, with all the money you and Beau are raking in.”
He shrugged. “I don’t need anything bigger. This place has three bedrooms, more than I need. Ginnie stays with Mama when she comes home. I don’t need a mansion.”
“Yeah, my house is way too huge. And your place feels comfortable.”
They ended up watching another episode of Daredevil as they ate pizza, then Cash devoured a bunch of cookie shots. “Damn, these are good. Do you ever have anything that doesn’t turn out?”
“No.” Then she laughed. “Okay, a few times. But usually for me, ‘not turning out’ just means it doesn’t look perfect and still tastes okay.”
“I’ll gladly take any of your rejects. One more episode?”
One more turned into two. They sat next to each other on the couch, somehow ending up closer. When Callie’s bare arm brushed his, every hair on his body stood on end with the electricity of it. Her hip bumped his when she leaned forward to pick up her beer and heat surged to his groin. He wanted to pull her onto his lap, slide his hands up under her shirt, and kiss her into next week.
Distracted from the TV show, he studied her smooth legs, her bare feet propped on his coffee table, her toenails now painted soft pink. He watched her toes curl, and glanced sideways to see her eyes widen at a particularly dramatic moment in the show. “I can’t believe he did that,” she said.
Yeah, whatever. He needed to focus on the show and not be aware of Callie’s every breath and change of position.
Fuuuuuck.
Easier said than done. Now distracted by her legs, he let his gaze roam over smooth thighs and calves, wishing he could touch them. Wishing he could wrangle her out of those shorts and under him on the couch with those slender ankles over his shoulders. His dick lengthened and thickened, and he shifted on the couch.
She glanced at him, eyebrows raised as if she knew he was hurting for her, the corners of her mouth lifting. “You okay?”
Tension snapped between them, and he knew without a doubt she was as aware of him as he was of her. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Sure.”
Jesus, how was he supposed to admit he was turned on just by sitting beside her on the couch and looking at her bare legs?
The show ended and Callie groaned. “Damn. It’s nearly eleven. I don’t want to stop watching, but I’d better get home.”
Hell. That made him want to weep with frustration, his erection painful. He turned to her, still hopeful that maybe she’d decide to jump him now that the show was over. But no…she stood.
Then she stretched, which made her T-shirt lift up and reveal a strip of skin just above the low-rise waist of her shorts. Cash’s mouth watered with the urge to press his mouth right there on her firm stomach. He swallowed, his dick aching, his hands itching to touch. Hands off. Hands off.
“Thanks for the cookies,” he managed to say in a calm tone as he stood, too.
“You’re welcome.” She moved to pick up her purse and car keys, pausing near the door. “I guess I’ll see you next weekend. At your mom’s party.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to you before then. We’ll figure out a plan.”
“Sounds good.”
They eyed each other for a long, wordless moment, heat expanding around them. He knew they were thinking the same thing—they both wanted more. But they were uncertain of exactly what their relationship now was.
Finally, Callie broke the silence. “Good night, Cash.”
“Night, darlin’.”
He watched her from the door to make sure she was safely in her car. Crickets chirped in the shrubbery, the night air soft and damp. Then her taillights disappeared around the bend in his street.
Chapter Sixteen
Cash was picking her up at six, although their reservation at Interlude wasn’t until seven. She buzzed around her kitchen, nerves fluttering wildly in her belly, making sure the cake was perfect and ready to be transported to the restaurant. It was different than other ones she’d done, so she hoped Cash liked it. More importantly, she hoped his mom liked it.
It was a tall cylinder of cake, frosted in shades of pink that started with a deep rose at the bottom, ending in a pale blush at the top, and adorned with three big pink flowers, a few smaller ones that cascaded down the side, and topped with a sugar butterfly in pastel shades of pink, blue, and mauve.
She clasped her hands together as she studied it and scrunched her face up with excitement.
Okay. She needed to get herself ready, too. She still hadn’t decided on a dress, although she was all showered, shaved, and silky with her favorite body lotion, her hair blown out smooth. She ran upstairs on bare feet and hopped from foot to foot in front of her closet, where she’d hung two dresses—the black halter-style dress and the red one with the shoulder cutouts. She pursed her lips. Black was safe. You could never go wrong with black. The red was gorgeous, but tonight was definitely a little black dress night, a sophisticated fade-into-the-background night as opposed to a stand-out night, since she didn’t know anybody who was going to be at this party other than Cash.
She shrugged out of her robe and slipped on a sheer black thong and black strapless bra, then shimmied the dress down over her head. She reached for the zipper and got it halfway up her back when it stuck. Well crap. She tugged at it in vain and finally gave up. She’d have to get Cash to help her when he got there.
He was always helping her.
She’d thought she was helping him by making this cake, but she wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t helping her by hiring her to do it. She was just starting out in her business. Although she’d had a few orders right away those first weeks, last week she’d had not a single one, and she was starting to worry that maybe her initial confidence had been misplaced.
She grabbed a pair of strappy black sandals and a pashmina for later, in case it was cool when they came home, and ran lightly back down the stairs. She was halfway down when the doorbell rang. Pausi
ng, one hand on the rail, she sucked in a breath at the way her heart leaped in her chest, then continued down at a slower pace.
She opened the door to see Cash wearing a pair of narrow black dress pants and a fitted charcoal striped shirt with the cuffs turned back. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked so stylish and sexy, she wanted to whimper. “Hi, come on in,” she chirped, trying to sound casual and together.
“Wow,” he said. “You look amazing.”
Her heart quivered. “Why, thank you. You look good yourself.”
His hot gaze swept up and down her body, and her skin heated. “Would it be inappropriate to tell you how fuckable you look?”
Her girl parts squeezed. “Um. It might be. But since there’s nobody here but us, I’ll tell you that you look pretty fuckable, too.”
His smile went dirty. “Excellent.”
And she knew what he was thinking.
When she’d left his place that night after their Daredevil binge, they’d both wanted sex. She’d been hyperaware of him beside her on the couch the entire evening, and the sexual tension shimmering between them had been undeniable. But she’d made herself walk out, because they couldn’t go there.
Tonight might not end like that. And she had to admit her panties were getting damp already thinking about it.
“I, uh, have a little problem.”
“So do I,” he muttered, glancing down. “Only it’s not so little.”
She blinked, her belly doing a flip. A surprised laugh burst from her lips.
“What’s your problem, darlin’?”
“My zipper is stuck.” She pivoted to show him her back.
He sucked in an audible breath. “Jesus.” He stepped closer, and she felt his body heat, then rough fingers brushed her skin as he worked at the zipper. Awareness slid over her skin. A sharp tug had the zipper free, and he slid it up.
“Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome. So where’s the cake?”
“Right here.” She led the way to the kitchen and gestured.
“Damn. Mama’s gonna love that.”
“You think?”
“Oh yeah. Where’s your bill for it?”
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