Page 29 of Stuffed

The bakery is quiet when I arrive, just the construction crew working on our final installations. Ivy's out with Asher, probably having a much better morning than mine.

"Focus on work," I command myself, reviewing paint samples for the back office. But my mind keeps drifting to last night. To the way Zane looked at me like I was everything. To how different he seemed this morning.

Finally, I cave and text him.

Me

Miss you already. Though your shower almost makes up for the empty bed. Almost.

But his response doesn’t come until an hour later.

Zane

Glad you found everything okay.

I stare at the message, my stomach sinking. Where's the man who couldn't keep his hands off me last night? Who whispered all those naughty and delicious confessions against my skin?

Maybe he's just busy. I try again, instantly second-guessing it.

Am I being clingy?

Me

Busy day? Was thinking about ordering from that Italian place again. Though hopefully we'll actually finish our meal this time… unless you have other plans?

The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times before a response finally comes through.

Zane

Can't tonight. Rain check?

"Don't cry," I whisper, gripping my phone like I’m a silly little teenage girl again. "Don't you dare cry."

I manage a quick response, making sure I keep it light and fresh.

Me

No problem! Another time.

Then I throw my phone in my desk drawer before I can say something pathetic like "did last night mean anything to you?" or "why are you suddenly so cold?"

The construction crew needs approval on some fixtures anyway. Better to focus on that than obsess over why Zane's suddenly acting like last night never happened.

But as I review paint colors and lighting options, his morning kiss keeps replaying in my head. Quick, impersonal, like I was an afterthought. Like I was just another woman in his bed.

My eyes keep drifting to the drawer where my phone is. I reach inside, my fingers itching to type something else back to him but at the last second, I decide against it.

I shake the thought away, focusing instead on the stack of invoices needing my attention. Work. Work is safe. Work doesn't leave you confused and aching.

Hours blur together as I lose myself in spreadsheets and vendor contracts. The construction crew leaves, then the painters. Outside, darkness falls over Chicago while I stay tucked away in my back office, letting numbers fill the hollow space in my chest.

The bell above the door chimes, making me jump. Must be Ivy, coming to check on me.

“Shit the door,” I mutter to myself as I scurry around my desk and out of my office. "I'm fine," I call out, walking to the front before she can yell at me. "I know I forgot to lock the door but really, you don't need to?—"

I stop short. Because it's not Ivy standing there in the dim light.

It's Zane.

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