“People d-don’t talk like this in real life,” I stuttered. “Men especially don’t talk like this in real life.”
Rowan’s lip quirked. “This is real life, cupcake.”
I digested his words. He was right. This was real life. Everything was much too stark for it not to be. And my pounding heart, the throbbing in between my legs, the tingle of my fingertips (that made me worry I was having some kind of stroke), confirmed that yes, this was indeed reality.
“Need to hear you say you want to be mine,” he requested gently.
I tilted my head, eyes roving over him. His angular jaw covered in stubble. Those lips that were perfectly full and masculine. The dark brows framing his smoldering gaze. Inky hair that brushed his forehead. Broad shoulders. Muscular arms. Sinewy forearms exposed from the way he’d pushed up the sleeves of his flannel. Large hands covered in calluses, proof of the work he did every day.
I’d cataloged all of this before, of course. But from a distance. Or with fleeting glances when I was brave enough to actually engage with him.
“Do you want to be mine?” I asked him instead of heeding his command.
I was forcing the staunch feminist in me to the forefront. Because I was embarrassed at how much I wanted to be his. Even though, two nights ago, I’d been cursing another man for thinking I was something to own.
But Rowan was saying it was like I’d be something to worship.
Still, I was pushing back. Because how was I to know that he truly wanted to be mine? It was one thing to have a woman, but it was quite another to be had by a woman, belong to her in the same way you expected her to belong to you. A lot of men didn’t think like that. Thought the rules were different.
“Cupcake, I was yours the second my steel-toed boot set foot in this pink fuckin’ bakery,” he said without hesitation.
My lungs seized as he stole all the oxygen from them.
Rowan didn’t rush me to respond when I just stared at him, unblinking, trying my best to fathom what he just said. To believe it.
“Carlisle’s will be packed by seven,” I said finally, unable to find the strength to say anything else.
Rowan didn’t look disappointed that I did not utter I was ‘his’, presumably because that was pretty clear. “I’ll make a call, get him to put a table aside.”
“Carlisle doesn’t just put tables aside,” I replied. “Not even for Tom Hanks, and he’s a national treasure.”
It was true. The movie star had come to town when he heard one of his favorite chefs was working again. And when he turned up, there were no tables. Carlisle did not make exceptions.
With all of his good nature, Tom had taken it in stride and had stood in line with the rest of the patrons the next night.
That was three years ago, and the story had already become a town legend.
Rowan leaned forward to kiss the top of my nose. “I’ll pick you up at seven,” was his only explanation.
Then he walked out of my bakery like he hadn’t just rocked my world.
Chapter
Ten
Recipe: Malted Chocolate Brownies
From ‘Dessert Person’
I was driving home, thinking of what I could wear out for dinner tonight. I’d barely been able to concentrate all day and had taken solace in the predictable and safe rhythm of baking. Even that hadn’t done much to calm my nerves, though. Not even the malted brownies that were known to work like a charm against nerves and heartbreak.
I was thinking about my red dress and the Valentino Rockstuds that went with it. I hadn’t had the occasion to wear them in a while. Though I did wear designer heels to work—I usually slipped into cozy Uggs while I was baking, I wasn’t a masochist—I saved my special designer pieces for dates or special occasions.
And I hadn’t had either of those in a while. I hadn’t been out anywhere in a while, come to think of it. Fiona had tried to drag me out to bars many times since the breakup, but I’d been insistent on my need to stay at home, where it was safe, where the floor wasn’t sticky, and the wine was much better.
But a date. With Rowan. To one of my favorite restaurants in town. In the world, really. Yeah, that was something to break out the good shoes for.
Thoughts of shoes and dates and even Rowan went out of my mind when my eyes found the parking lot of the store.
Slamming on my brakes was instinct more than anything. As was pulling my car into the parking lot and getting out, running through the lot until I got between them.
Ronnie and Lori.
Lori had worked on and off at the bakery throughout the years. When she was home from school, needed the extra money. I offered that kind of work to a lot of the high school and college kids who needed money every now and then. I liked almost all of them.