Page 10 of Temptation at Randy's

The relief I felt was palpable. I didn’t care.

“Thanks.” I swallowed, the knot in my throat becoming bigger now that I didn’t have to fight my way through an apology I didn’t have time to rehearse first. “And I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sure I’ll have forgotten all about this once I try your stuff.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t say that out loud. I just smiled—tried to—and started moving.

Bars in the fridge? Check. Then I just had to take off the not-so-funny-now apron and scurry upstairs to my room. I’d been working from home today, and my idea had been to change after the food was cooling in the fridge to avoid any problems.

I could be clumsy. I was very aware of it. And I was not the best at thinking on my feet—as evidenced by the fact that while running out of time, I completely forgot to change.

At least I had thought far ahead, and the clothes I’d planned to wear were splayed out on my—perfectly made—bed.

I didn’t stop to wonder if I should go with a different choice of outfit. It was too late, I was sweating, and the last thing I needed was to spend so long here that Claude left. Or maybe they wouldn’t leave, but it would be ten times more awkward when I finally went back downstairs.

No way I was risking it.

Okay, clothes were taken care of. I didn’t stop to check myself out in the mirror. I’d done enough of that last night, and I was on a time crunch here.

I’d felt cute in it last night, and that would have to do. It was just an oversized hoodie and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. Strangely enough, I liked my—admittedly—gnarly legs, and temperatures hadn’t dropped too much yet. Plus, with all the baking, the kitchen and living room felt much warmer.

Claude was sitting on the same stool Dylan had been pestering me from. They were scrolling on their phone, but they didn’t look bothered or tired of waiting, or like they were going to make an excuse and leave.

I’d take it.

They didn’t notice my thudding down the stairs either, though.

“Hey.” I cleared my throat. I always felt self-conscious doing that. “Sorry about… that, earlier.”

“No problem.” As they spoke, they locked the screen on their phone and dropped it on the table. I did my best to ignore the way they seemed to check me out. Surely, that was just the nerves. “I kind of feel bad that I put you through all this.”

They glanced at the messy counters in the kitchen.

I blushed.

As clumsy as I could be, I was usually more organized.

“It looks worse than it is.”

Kind of.

“I can help.”

“You really don’t have to?—”

Claude cut me off, again. “I’m offering, aren’t I?”

Yeah, I supposed they were. I was not used to being around people who weren’t Dylan, or Dylan’s friends. Well, or clients, but I didn’t invite those home. I certainly didn’t bake for them—even though something told me my father would love that idea.

The amount of ass kissing and hand holding being a financial advisor required was something no professor had warned me about.

I shook those thoughts off, though. My job might not be ideal, but I had to look at the bright side of things. Working for my father meant I made enough to live in this house, and I had a budget where I could bake as much as my heart desired.

So, it was fine. I was doing much better than most, and I was painfully aware of that reality at times.

I just had to remain positive, and sit down, and breathe. The bars might not look perfect, but they were going to taste great, and Claude didn’t look upset because they had to wait.

“So did you want anything to drink?”

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