Page 27 of Mitch

It was hard to believe it had only been a few days ago.

I’d messaged him, and he’d been flirty then too. I’d just assumed at the time we were joking around, but if I was being honest, it felt easy then too, talking to him. Letting my guard down.

It was the Internet.

Who didn’t say things they wouldn’t in person on the Internet?

It didn’t mean anything.

It was just... fun, right?

Yet, I couldn’t deny every time he called meCream Puff, I actually found Ikind of... liked it.

No one had ever really given me a pet name before.

Pet names are for people in relationships, Penn.

You are most certainlynotin a relationship with this... man. Photographer.

The photographer youhiredto help the bakery get some more focus.

Has the buttercream gone to your head?

“That’s not my name,” I touted with annoyance, before turning back to the display to fill the box with half a dozen cinnamon rolls.

Where the fuck was Archie?

Why hasn’t he broken the case down yet?

Mitchell laughed. “I know. But you make it so easy with those rosy cheeks and those pretty rolling eyes of yours every time I do it,” he said.

I rolled my eyes, but he couldn’t see me.

At least, I hoped.

“I take it you got everything you needed for the day?” I asked as I set the last cinnamon roll in the box, sealing it.

I turned with the box in my hand to see him zipping up his camera bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“For the most part, yes. I’ll go home, download everything, and start culling and editing. I should have a couple teasers for you by tomorrow,” he said, his tone changing from the flirtatious, sexy one to the much more cut, dry, professional one.

The tone he probably used for all his clients.

Because that’s what I was.

A client.

Mortification coursed through me once more as I remembered our kiss.

God, he must think I’m a total basket case.

Or a total slut.

Which would be the farthest thing from the truth, but I couldn’t deny that the thought—the wonder about whathethought about that kiss, about me—was just as nerve wracking as the memory itself.

But I also wasn’t the kind of guy who just got drunk and made out with people.

I liked to take thingsslow.Meetsomeone for coffee, get to know them, go out on a nice, romantic date, and then, if the moment was right, then I’d kiss them.

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