I inhale deeply, snapping my eyes up to him. I’d been admiring his torso. He’s wearing a dark blue coat and a gray sweater that clings to him almost shamelessly, highlighting the ridge of his abs. I like how he called me bold. If a man were ogling a woman as blatantly as I did him, he’d be called a pig. I’m all for double standards tonight.
“Let’s go,” he says as I shrug into a coat.
As we step outside, I smile, taking in the beautiful evening. The sun will still be up for almost an hour. Inhaling deeply, I admire the expanse of blue streaked with orange sunrays. First day of June.
“Do we have a plan?” We descend onto a steep street.
“Yeah, we do.” Blake pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. When he unfolds it, I’m surprised to find a detailed itinerary. Itinerary is perhaps the wrong word, but there’s a list of booths and stops on it, with keywords next to every stop: names of people, food, or drink types, sometimes accompanied by a note such as invite over or seal deal or remind about delivery.
“You’re cheating,” I accuse him. “This is for work, isn’t it?”
“What’s on the list, yes. But we have plenty of time to sneak in other visits.” He leans in to me. “For our own pleasure.”
A white-hot current races through me because he said that last word on a lower octave, and it came out very seductive.
“I didn’t peg you as the list-maker type.”
Blake grins. “I wasn’t, but since I started working with Alice, it’s become a vital skill. Learn fast or die trying.”
The perimeter of the festival, set in the shade of Presidio Park, is absolutely full. As we step inside it, he places his hand at my lower back, warm and protective, guiding me to a booth labeled Trifecta, displaying all kinds of pastries. My mouth is watering already.
“This isn’t on your list.”
“No.” He presses the pads of his fingers into my flesh as he steps right next to me, pinning me with his dark gaze. “This is for your pleasure, Clara.”
Hearing my name and “pleasure” in one breath is messing with me. Or maybe it’s the way he’s saying it. With a little intent and a whole lot of double entendre.
“Blake, you’re here. Just in time.”
A grinning chef greets us. He has a thick dark brown mustache that almost makes up for his lack of hair. His prominent belly hangs slightly over his apron. Blake takes his hand away from my back, shaking the man’s hand. I miss the contact already.
The chef winks at me, and as he lowers himself under the counter, I feel like I’m watching a secret mission unfold. Straightening up, he shoves a tray with sourdough bread—a treat San Francisco is known for—in front of us. When he places it on the counter right in front of me, I bring my hands to my face, bouncing on my toes.
“For me?” The question is superfluous, but I have to make sure before I attack the goodies.
“Yes,” the chef and Blake say in unison. I immediately shove a slice in my mouth. It’s divine. I barely bite back a moan as I munch on it.
“Delicious.”
“Glad you like it,” Blake says. “We should be going.”
“Lots of stops on the list,” I agree. After saying goodbye to the chef, we move on.
“Thank you,” I say simply as we walk side by side.
“You’re welcome.”
As we walk deeper into the festival area, Blake places an arm across my back, resting his hand on my shoulder, lightly tucking me into him, as if I belong to him. I’m in terrible danger next to this handsome man who is feeding me delicious goodies and making me swoon. He’s exploiting my weaknesses, and he’s doing a thorough job of it.
The festival buzzes with people of all ages: professionals who clearly just got off work, retired couples, groups of teenagers, and even the occasional parents pushing a stroller. Everyone is enjoying the city, celebrating it, and I’m soaking in all that infectious energy.
We stop at the first booth on Blake’s list, and I’m surprised by the instant change in his posture when he talks to the vendor. He seems taller somehow. In charge. It’s the same body language I saw when I first went to visit the apartment. It’s a very sexy look on him.
We finish the stops on his list surprisingly quickly.
“What do you want to do now?” Blake asks. “What looks good?”
Everything looks good. I peer around, trying to decide on a booth.