Sugar and Spice

by Shandi Boyes

  Clara shoves a fancy clutch under her arm as her eyes scan my half-full bakery. “It’s quite convenient, don’t you think?”

  I stare at her, lost as to what she means.

  She doesn’t keep me hanging long. “That your bakery has a revival at the exact moment you start dating my brother.”

  Confusion is stripped from my face, replaced with nothing but anger. "My relationship with Cormack has no consequence on my business."

  Clara laughs. “Ha! Cormack has made a name for himself in this town. By attaching yourself to him like a leech, people falsely believe you hold the same qualities as him. I guess he failed to get the memo that when you lie with dogs, you’re bound to get fleas.”

  My mouth gapes open and closed, but not a peep seeps from my lips. I'm stunned—utterly mortified. If our exchange wasn't being witnessed by three people standing behind her waiting to be served, I'd wipe the arrogant grin off her face with my palm. But since my bakery comes before anything, and a twinge of doubt for its sudden recovery is keeping my anger at may, I use a weaker, more pathetic retaliation.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  Before I can gesture for the person behind her to step forward, Clara thrusts a piece of paper into my line of sight. “Can you explain this?”

  I scan the paper three times before it registers. I don't know what my intuition was warning me about. The article is a flight manifest for our trip to Mummo Koti this coming weekend.

  “It’s a flight manifest.” Confusion echoes in my tone.

  Clara rolls her eyes. “Clearly. I’m referring to this.” Her polished-to-perfection French-tipped nail points to Isabelle’s name jotted just below Isaac’s.

  “That is my friend, Izzy.”

  “Oh my god, you really are daft, aren’t you?” Since she is stating a fact rather than asking a question, I don’t bother answering her. “I want to know why her name is on the manifest, not who she is, you twit!”

  Over our conversation, I gesture for the next customer to step forward. “How can I help you?”

  Clara splays her hand over my customer’s chest, stopping him midstride. Although peeved she is holding him up, the wink he awards her hides his annoyance.

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Clara snarls at him. “But it is never going to happen." She drags her eyes down his body, which is well-presented in a pair of dark jeans, black boots, and fitted shirt. "Ever."

  After pushing him back two inches, she returns her slit gaze to me. “I’m not leaving until you tell me why she is on the manifest.”

  Even though I’m not in the mood to play her games, it is either ease her curiosity or murder her. I’m going for the one that creates less mess. “She’s on the manifest because she is coming to Mummo Koti. Isaac invited her.”

  Clara gasps as if I told her spoilers for every romance book I've ever read. "Isaac invited her? Why would he do that? He doesn't invite women for sleepovers." Her tone is as high as her manicured brow.

  “I don’t know,” I reply with a shrug. “Maybe he likes fleas?”

  Using her shock to my advantage, I signal for my next customer to move forward. This time, Clara lets him advance without protest.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” I moan against Cormack’s lips when he drops them to mine to greet me as he has the past four weeks.

  The minty freshness of his breath soothes the grumbles in my stomach. “Good morning. What time is it?” This is the first time in weeks I’ve awoken without a tired headache.

  I jackknife into a half-seated position when Cormack says, “A little after noon.”

  “Noon! You let me sleep until noon?”

  The delicious smells seeping through the wooden floorboards announce my bakery is in full swing, but it doesn’t lessen my guilt. We leave for our weekend getaway this afternoon. I should have been assisting Renee and Phoebe in preparation for the weekend, not loading them with more work.

  Ignoring the scorch of my tongue, I guzzle down half the coffee Cormack handed me before charging into my bathroom. “What time do we fly out?”

  “The time doesn’t really matter, but I’d like to have wheels up no later than 4 PM. Geese become an issue if we leave too late.”

  My fingers stop raking my hair. “Geese?”

  What the hell is he talking about? I thought geese only lived in Canada? And why would they affect a commercial-sized aircraft?

  Realizing I don’t have time for a discussion about birds, I slice my hand through the air. “No later than 3 PM. Should we meet at the airport. . .?”

  I stop talking when Cormack shakes his head. “Isaac and I will pick you up. You just need to tell me where? Here or Izzy’s?”

  I curve my brow high, answering him without words. He knows I'm embarrassed about my living conditions, so the fewer people subjected to it, the better.

  “Harlow. . .”

  “Don’t,” I warn, holding my toothbrush at him like it is loaded with more than toothpaste.

  He ignores my caution. “I have access to dozens of apartments in Ravenshoe—”

  “And I have pride by the bucket loads, which means I am fine here.”

  When he steps closer to me, his pleading blue irises thaw the ice around my heart. “Your bakery is pulling in enough income for you to reconsider your living conditions. I’m merely offering you suitable suggestions. Don’t be angry at me because I care about you.”

  I'm tempted to tell him the record sales of the past four weeks have barely shifted one-tenth of my debt, but I decide on a more playful route. We are about to go away for the weekend. I don't want our getaway thwarted by our first fight. "Are you worried about me or your back?"

  Cormack smiles, hearing the jest in my tone. I’m a sucker for his smile. “Would I get in trouble if I said both?”

  “Never,” I reply. “I’d rather you be honest than lie to me.”

  The weird boom-boom, skip a beat, boom-boom thing Cormack’s attention regularly causes my heart takes on a new routine when guilt filters over his eyes. He closes the small space of air between us, looking like he wants to say something, but unsure how to articulate it.

  “What is it?” Nothing but worry resonates in my tone. He’s had no problems expressing himself the past month, so I’m a little lost as to why he looks so tongue-tied. “Is it Clara again? I know she isn’t a fan of mine, but if it isn’t bothering me, why let it bother you?”

  "It's not Clara." He takes a deep breath that expands his chest high. He has me worried. Even more so when he says, "I should have told you this weeks ago."

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going on a gluten-free diet?”

  Cormack laughs, appreciating my levity. My wit has the effect I am aiming for, but it doesn't entirely erase the tension.

  “Come on, out with it. You’re killing me. Are you married?” The brisk shake of his head lessens the severity of my next set of questions, “Do you prance around my loft in high heels when I’m not around? Are you a dog killer? Did you father eight children with eight different women?”

  He shakes his head for each question, his smile growing.

  "Then what is it?" Before he can respond, I cut off his reply with a warning, "If I find out you've built all this tension to tell me something I don't care about, I will kill you. I can't handle drama, Cormack. It's why I never read trilogies until all three books are out and binge watch my favorite shows—the suspense kills me. So unless you're going to tell me something that will dramatically tilt the axis of my world, maybe you should keep it to yourself—"

  My rant comes to an end when the smell of smoke lingers into my nostrils. Peering past Cormack’s broad shoulders, I see smoke billowing through the floorboards of my loft. It is thick, black, and choking.

  I race down the stairwell with Cormack on my heels. My heart smashes into my ribs as bad feeling after bad feeling bombards me. A fire is the last thing my bakery needs. I don’t have insurance. It was one of the many things I had to cancel to pay the electr
ic bill. If there is any damage to my kitchen, the health department will shut me down without a second thought.

  The fear invading every inch of me fades when our dramatic entrance reveals the cause of the smoke. It isn't an out-of-control blaze determined to force me into bankruptcy, just a tray of bread left in the oven too long. They are like charcoal, almost as black as Cormack's expanded pupils. Dumping them into the sink douses their flames instantaneously, leaving my kitchen un-scorched.

  “I’m so sorry,” Phoebe apologizes when she spots my pale face. “I was trying to get a head start for tomorrow, then we got busy, and I forgot I pull them out.”

  My eyes drift to Cormack. Out of respect for Phoebe, I don’t speak, but my eyes articulate on my behalf. I can’t leave my bakery, or I may not have a business to come back to.

  "No," Cormack replies without hesitation. "We've had these plans for weeks. We're going to Mummo Koti.”

  “Cormack. . .” I follow him to the shelf housing his wallet and keys.

  Usually, I’d relish the confidence our relationship has given him, but right now, I’m afraid it will cost me more than I can afford. I’ve always believed if something is too good to be true, it is. Our relationship is the stuff of magic, but is it worth losing my bakery for?

  If you had asked me two months ago, I would have said no chance in hell. Now, if I had to pick between my business and my boyfriend, Cormack would always triumph.

  After cramming his wallet and keys in his pocket, Cormack raises his eyes to mine. The indecisiveness in them confirms my earlier assumption. He doesn't like being stuck between me and my business any more than I hate putting him there.

  “You’ve trained Renee well. She is as qualified as you, and she won’t let you down. But you will let her down if you don’t give her the same level of trust. You know your bakery, Harlow, and I know you. You would have never agreed to come to Mummo Koti if you didn’t want to. For that alone, we’re going. Together.”

  His bossy demeanor should piss me off. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes me horny. . . and has me thinking recklessly.

  Before three stupid words way too early for our blossoming relationship can spill from my lips, I nod. The adoration blazing through Cormack’s beautiful blue irises from my agreeing gesture makes it even harder to hold in my emotions, but his brisk departure ensures my focus remains strong.

  After a quick peck to the edge of my mouth, Cormack spins on his heels and darts out of my bakery. “I’ll pick you up from Izzy’s apartment at two,” he shouts without so much of a backward glance.

  I watch him leave with my mouth hanging open, suddenly panicked I said my private thoughts out loud.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cormack

  I dart out of Harlow’s bakery like my ass is on fire. Whatever you thought I was going to confess in Harlow’s loft, I can guarantee you’re wrong. I wasn’t coming clean about my company’s endeavor to run her business to the ground. That’s water under the bridge. Done and dusted. Never to be mentioned again.

  I wanted to tell her I love her.

  I love her like I’ve never loved anyone before, but is it too early for me to admit it? I don’t want to scare her away. Harlow exudes confidence, but she can’t see her worth. She has no clue how enticing she is. The way she has enriched my life the past month has been unexpected but intense. Instead of negatively impacting my business as Clara predicted, she helped grow my capital. But if I stopped looking the gift horse in the mouth and started walking the talk, would she repel my attention or encourage it?

  Things have been going so well for me the past few months, I don't want anything to affect it. It is amazing what you can achieve when you bring yourself down to the level of the people you are negotiating with. When my hands aren't on Harlow, they are on every aspect of my business. Our relationship has been a win-win for all involved. I just wish I could express myself without guilt.

  Perhaps I could if Harlow would accept one of the numerous offers I’ve bestowed upon her the past month. I’m not giving her a free pass to easy street; I’m just trying to lessen my guilt.

  It doesn’t take a genius to realize Harlow’s bakery is an extension of her family. She loves it with as much grit and passion as she has put into our relationship the past month. It warms her belly with determination and fuels her insatiable appetite for perfection. I didn’t think I could possibly admire her any more than I already do, but seeing her claw her way back to the top made my admiration grow tenfold. I just wish I wasn’t the man responsible for her fall to begin with.

  I’ve learned from my errors. I won’t make the same mistake twice. But it is going to take me a least two lifetimes to make up for my misjudgment, and I only have one.

  That is why I was adamant we must continue with our plans this weekend. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to start my redemption process. These will show the man I aspired to be when I walked away from my family inheritance nine years ago, exposing me as a mere man—faults and all.

  If I weren’t so excited by the prospect, I’d be scared. Harlow wasn’t what I anticipated when I stormed into her bakery months ago, but she has turned into everything I need and more. And I can’t wait to show her that.

  After the way I fled her bakery this morning, I expected Harlow to greet me with a little less envy this afternoon. She doesn't, not in the slightest. Her kiss is just as ravishing, her smile just as large. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she strong-armed me into attending this weekend getaway, not the other way around.

  “Hi.” Her greeting is as breathless as her smile makes my lungs. “Are you ready to watch the fireworks?” She swings her bright eyes to Isaac, who is greeting a gaped-mouth Izzy.

  “I’d rather create them, but whatever tickles your fancy.” I nip at her lips with my teeth to enhance my reply.

  She slaps my chest, signaling she accepted my tease as I hoped before shifting her attention back to Isaac and Izzy’s uncomfortable two-step routine. Izzy is clearly flustered, but her eyes hold the same appreciative glint Harlow’s get every time I enter the room.

  “Remember my comment about porn? Imagine if Isaac was ever short of change? He’d make a killing in the porn industry,” Harlow murmurs a short time later.

  Hearing the passion in her tone, jealousy smacks into me hard and fast. When I drop my eyes to hers, they’re not the pair I expected to see. Although her eyes are filled with desire, the focus of her desire isn’t directed at Isaac. She only has one prey in her scope: me.

  With a wink confirming I just walked straight into her trap, she breaks away from my side. She walks backward, her hips’ natural swing seducing me without words. “That’s what you get when you run from me, Cormack.” She tries to make her voice sound peeved. Her acting skills are so poor, I’m considering purchasing her acting classes for Christmas.

  “I wasn’t running. I was just. . .” Blank—nothing but dust floats between my ears.

  Harlow spins around, pretending she hasn't spotted my puzzled expression. I know she did. Not only did the vein in her neck do a weird flutter, but her breath also hitched.

  "One day I'm going to return your teases." My threat holds no steam. I'm too busy grinning like an idiot to warn her.

  “One day isn’t today, Cormack,” she replies, not bothering to face me. “Why not grab the bull by the horns and give it a real shot?”

  I'm sure my confession of love would knock her on her ass, but since I'm aiming for the non-creep Cormack this weekend, I roll my eyes before hot-footing it after her. I've got her to myself for an entire weekend; I'm sure I’ll find a way to knock the wind from her lungs at one stage during our time away.

  I’m not a man who backs down when it is something I desperately want and need. Harlow will soon learn that better than anyone.

  Harlow’s eyes widen with every thousand feet my jet ascends into the crystal blue sky. I really shouldn’t say “mine.” People assume my small fleet of aircrafts are mine because of my family we
alth, but this jet is a Colt Enterprise asset, so it belongs to Isaac as much as it does me.

  “When you said we were flying, I assumed it would be a commercial aircraft.” I can’t tell if Harlow is pleased or pissed. I really hope it isn’t the latter.

  “The closest airstrip to Mummo Koti can't handle commercial-size aircrafts, so I compromised." Because the first half of my statement is honest, it comes out sounding that way.

  She stops assessing the woodgrain cabinets and stitched leather seats to shift her eyes to me. “So this isn’t normal for you? You’re as. . . shocked as me?”

  I shrug, deciding to lie without words.

  It is a pity Harlow knows me better than that. “You always travel like this, don’t you?”

  She rolls her eyes when I nod. “I’ve never flown commercial.”

  I stop grimacing at my snobbish monologue when Harlow stammers, “There better be a bedroom in here, because sucking your cock midair may be the only way I can pay my fare.”

  Although some of her statement is made in jest, most of it is straight up honest. Whether it is a $5.99 pizza or dinner at an expensive restaurant, Harlow always pays her share.

  Her massively dilated eyes follow the direction of my gaze when they shift to the back of the plane. “Holy shit. There’s a bedroom in this plane?” Her voice is laced with as much excitement as I got when she mentioned sucking my cock.

  “Do you want to see it?” I try to keep eagerness from my tone. My attempts are half-assed.

  “Hmm. . . let me think about this?” She taps her finger on her pursed lips, thickening my cock even more than the wicked glint in her eyes. “I have two options. Yes, and hell yes!”

  I want to bang my chest and act all alpha, as if the thought of sucking my cock is the only reason for her eagerness, but considering I've dished out enough lies to last us a lifetime the prior few months, I keep my mouth shut. Don’t get me wrong, Harlow wants to fool around, but her readiness is more due to her cycle ending yesterday than anything.