Page 52 of Sweet and Salty

“Goodnight.”

But I don’t fall asleep until the sun’s early morning rays break through the last of the storm clouds.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Laura

I pullanother test batch of kringle from the oven and frown. They still don’t smell quite right. They certainly aren’t competition-worthy.

An ache flares across my low back. Probably from letting Jesse flip me onto my stomach while he fucked me with my vibrator. Again.

No, that isn’t the problem. The problem is that all the nights with Jesse are an addictive combination of exhilarating and exhausting. I want to sleep, but his proximity is too appealing. Not only his proximity, but the way he listens to me. I spill all my anxieties, and he holds me without saying a word. It isn’t just that he sees me, but that he wants to know everything that makes me tick. Like I matter to him.

Just thinking about him has me shivering.

“Are those the kringle? They look amazing.” Sasha sails into the room and sniffs the tray, pulling their long blond hair from their face. “Yum.”

“They’re not quite right.”

Sasha raises their eyebrow. “Really? How so?”

“They’re supposed to be Mexican hot chocolate-flavored, but I think I didn’t put enough cinnamon or chili in them.” I wave a cutting board over the top of the pan to speed the cooling. The only way to tell would be a taste test, but I’ve already sampled too many options that day. If I eat one more bite of kringle I’m going to move to Tennessee.

“Hmph.” Sasha heads for the espresso machine and packs grounds into the spout. “Maybe the problem is that Hard-Bodied Hardware Hottie isn’t giving you the goods?”

My blood freezes in my veins as a flush rises along my spine. It’s a very confusing mix of hot and cold. “What are you talking about?” I know people are going to talk since Jesse accompanied me to the wedding. They were gossiping way before that. The problem is that it’s supposed to be fake. I should be able to manage a one-night stand, but instead I turned what was meant to be casual into something that feels completely monumental. Ground breaking. Earth shattering.

And I know it will all come crashing down. It always does.

“Come on.” Sasha doesn’t turn from making a hazelnut cappuccino, their sure hands moving around the shiny espresso equipment like the professional they are. “Everyone saw him hanging all over you at Daisy’s wedding. Not to mention he’s living with you.”

“He’s living in the apartment over my garage.” This gosh darn kringle is never going to cool, and then how am I ever going to test out my spicy mocha glaze? “He’s not living with me.” Just sleeping with me. Cooking me breakfast. Taking care of my animals. Holding me in the night when the rain surges outside.

“Mhm.” Sasha makes a second cappuccino, this one with sugar-free vanilla syrup. “Is he coming to the fish fry with you tonight?”

“Yes.” I abandon the kringle to the cooling racks, which is a far better fate than chucking it like I really want to do. “But as friends. He hasn’t been out much with the rest of the town, and it’s good for him to mingle.”

Sasha’s eye roll can be seen from Mars, even as it’s reflected in the high-shine steel of the espresso machine. “Don’t let him mingle, Laura. You do that, and Maddy Olmstead will try to foist potential partners on him. He’s a gorgeous single man, he’s employed, and he’s new. Talk about a unicorn.”

That only reminds me that he found the glittery sex toy in the pink unicorn box in my nightstand drawer. Unopened, of course, but Jesse was thrilled at the prospect of using it.

Still. As he keeps reminding me, I don’t know anything real about him except that he’s from Florida and is amazing in bed. Amazing doesn’t cover it. It’s a wonder my poor old IKEA bed frame hasn’t fallen to little unsalvageable bits over the past week.

“He’s not a unicorn. He’s just a guy.” I will repeat this to myself over and over until I finally learn to accept it.

“He’s a guy who is super into you. I don’t want you to miss out. You deserve better than the Chrises of this world.” Sasha picks up a tray holding the two cappuccinos they made and heads back out to the bustling café.

I sigh, staring at my kringle. I should be out there, serving sandwiches and soups and salads and pastry. I’m never going to win the Sweets Showcase at the cherry festival in two months. I’ll never expand into a restaurant and bar. I’ll never be on a cooking show. I’ll never have a long-term relationship with Jesse or someone like him.

No matter what, I will always be Laura Marshall, my family’s de facto mama bear and permanent singleton.

My phone rings with a call from an unknown number, and I swipe it on to speaker mode while I lift the kringle from the baking trays to the cooling racks. “Hello?”

“Hi! Is this Laura Marshall?” The voice is a cheerful alto soprano with a slightly nasal New York accent.

“Yes. Who’s calling, please?”

“We’re fromAmerica Bakes!Maybe you’ve seen it?”

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