Page 25 of Silent Cravings

The driver behind me sounded their horn, pulling me out of my despair, but not before I stuck a hand out the window and flipped them off. “I’ll stop by the florist after the cake tasting to make sure they have enough hands ondeck when it comes time to start putting things together.” A side project like the one I had given them would take a lot of extra effort on top of the arrangements for the wedding. I was paying for it out of my pocket, my gift to Rose. She would absolutely love it if we managed to pull it off.

“Are you sure you’re going to have time? They’re talking about a big storm coming in this afternoon.”

The sky was pretty ominous. “Are they? Wow, I’m usually on top of things like this.” I usually wasn’t sleep deprived, but three straight nights of fucking like the world was coming to an end wasn’t something I was used to either.

With Evan, no less.

Mixed feelings made my stomach churn, but I brushed the sensation aside. We were adults. I had needs. It just so happened a decade of experience made him an expert at satisfying them. I wouldn’t have known that if it wasn’t for a night of weakness, and now I couldn’t forget. We’d get it out of our systems and move on once the wedding was over.

We had to.Right?It’s not like there was a plausible alternative.

Bianca was blissfully unaware of my rationalization, still fretting. “You don’t want to get caught in it. Maybe it would be better to postpone the florist until tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insisted, parking in the lot along the rear of a string of businesses. “It won’t take long at the bakery, and I can always use the storm as an excuse to cut out if things start running over schedule.”

“Just to be safe out there,” she urged. I promised I would, then ended the call and stepped out of the car. The air was suspiciously humid, especially for early May when it didn’t usually feel like this. An upward glance served as a reminder of what was coming—dark clouds rolling fast, andit was definitely windier than it was when I set out for Greenwich earlier.

All the more reason to get the hell in there and get this over with.

It wasn’t the promise of a storm that made my heart race as I stepped into the quaint, cheerful little shop. Like many businesses in this part of town, the historic building was full of charm and stunning architectural details. The owners had leaned into it, creating a vibe I could only describe as old-timey. Like stepping back a century, though I doubted items like cake pops and cronuts existed back then.

I had never spoken to the head baker. Until now, Evan had been in charge of that. I hated giving up even a tiny bit of control, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There were only so many hours in the day, only so many phone calls I could possibly make.

I only knew her name, so the sight of Marissa written across the name tag of the girl who stepped through swinging doors made me extend a hand over the counter. “I’m Valentina Miller, here for a cake tasting for the Goldsmith-Black wedding next month.”

She rubbed a hand across the front of her apron, leaving a smudge of flour before shaking. “Nice to meet you. Everything’s all set up in back. Follow me.”

“Is Mr. Anderson here yet?” I couldn’t be annoyed at him for wanting to be part of the cake tasting the way I would’ve been before he somehow managed to break down my defenses at my apartment. If anything, there was a tiny thrill in pretending there was nothing going on between us. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be, having a secret like this.

We were both adults. This had nothing to do with the past, and there was certainly no future in it. It was for now. Fun for now.

“He’s waiting for us. Follow me.” She flipped up a hinged portion of the front counter, and I followed her into the kitchen.

My heart skipped a beat when I found him sitting at a stainless steel prep table at the far end of the busy kitchen with his shirtsleeves rolled up like he was ready to dig in. In front of him was a row of plates, each holding a different cake flavor, but I was more interested in the man who looked much more delicious than cake ever could.

“Good thing you got here when you did,” he warned with a grin as we approached. “I’m not sure I could be a good boy much longer.”

The comment was directed my way. At least, it seemed like it was. For some reason, though, Marissa giggled. “Nobody can be a good boy all the time,” she reasoned.

Oh. So it was like that. I rolled my shoulders back, staring at the blonde ponytail that swung back and forth in front of me as we approached the stool where Evan sat.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I offered, pulling out my tablet to take notes on the different flavors with one eye on the flirtatious little baker. She stood across from where I sat next to Evan, leaning in with her elbows on the table and giving him the sort of smile that hinted at a past. Did they have a past?What the hell do I care anyway?

No, Evan didn’t do that. It wasn’t totally outside the realm of possibility that he would sleep with a vendor he frequently did business with, but he didn’t like complications. Fuck buddies presented complications. Weren’t we a perfect example of that? But I was supposed to be special.

We were… once upon a time.

Was I actually getting jealous over this girl?

“Here we are. The five flavors the bride narrowed down.” Marissa gestured at each as she described them. “Champagne-infused sponge with a strawberry frosting. Chocolate sponge with a black cherry filling and mocha frosting. Vanilla bean with raspberry filling and cream cheese frosting with a touch of raspberry purée whipped in. A traditional red velvet with plain cream cheese frosting. Finally, a lemon-infused sponge with blueberry filling and a lemon frosting.”

“I think I gained five pounds just listening to all of that,” I confessed. Evan chuckled, but Marissa didn’t seem to find it funny. She only held out a pair of forks, one for each of us.

Evan turned my way, his brows lifted. He didn’t seem to notice the difference between the way she treated him and her standoffish attitude toward me. “Where do you want to start?” he asked with a playful grin that might have melted my panties under different circumstances.

Whenever I forgot why I kept stabbing myself in the back by sleeping with the man who broke my heart, he had to go and do something like that to remind me. The handsome prick.

Where did I want to start? With the faint handprint on his gray jacket. The sort of thing that would get left behind if someone had flour on their hand and touched somebody’s chest. I brushed it off with nothing more than a pointed look, but I was definitely going to bring it up later. “Let’s start at the beginning. Champagne and strawberry.”

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