Page 68 of Building What's Meant to Be

There’s a spark and crackling between us as hands and fingers rove. As breath comes shallow and heavy. As our mouths push and pull, deepening the kiss.

He presses against me and I curl into him. It’s like our bodies were molded for each other. He nibbles my lip and then releases it when we part. His eyes are heavy and meet mine. I sense they contain hearts, sparkles, and the unmistakable look of someone who’s been kissed senseless.

My lips feel puffy. My expression glazed over.

“Hi, you,” Aiden says, smoothing a piece of my hair between his fingers before dropping them to lace around mine.

“Hi,” I reply.

Our hands swing between us for a long moment as what just happened settles. If there were clouds, I think we’d both be floating on them right now.

Instead, the stars sparkle overhead in the night sky. One twinkles like it’s winking as if it caught us in the act. I wink right back.

Aiden takes a few steps toward the four-wheeler, our arms stretching between us. Then our fingers loosen and we let go.

“Goodnight,” he says as he gets on and the quad starts with a roar.

“Goodnight,” I whisper.

From what I’ve seen, Aiden easily shifts between a maverick biker dude, easy-going in slacks and a button-down shirt but hiding a prank behind his smile, a businessman in a well-tailored suit, and a hardworking guy who wants to help his town.

I don’t know what to make of him, other than that he’s Loki-like. A shapeshifter. A trickster. I just hope the joke isn’t on me.

The next morning at Sweethearts Bakery & Café, I put the napkins in the dispenser backward and win the prize for hashtag cake fails. It’s only my second day, but Rhondy had a last-minute cake order but couldn’t write the message on a heart-shaped cake because it hadn’t cooled before she had to head over to the diner.

She tasked me with printing two simple wordsHug me. She told me a story about a couple who have an inside joke. Well, now they have a new one because their cake saysHuge me.

What does that even mean? I don’t know.

Do I know how to spell the wordhug? Yes, I do.

Did I make the mistake because I was tired? Nope.

Distracted? Yep, by the epic kiss with Aiden last night.

There was nothing scripted about it, but if I were to write a kissing scene it would’ve been the perfect kiss. The one to send the audience atwitter. To give them the same swoop that I feel every time I think about it. The one that made me add anEat the end of the wordHug.

I do my very best to remove the offending letter. Then with a toothpick, I try to swirl the pink icing to hide the blemish. It looks like the cake has a pimple. A white head.

Letting out a long breath, I have to figure out a way to fix this. I pull out my phone and ask the internet. All I get is a long list of cake disasters instead of cake saves. At least I’m not the only one, but I can’t let laughter distract me too.

I go to the kitchen, looking for more icing. Could I make some?

The door in the front jingles, indicating there’s a customer. I hurry out, beading up with sweat. It’s only my second day. I can’t mess this up.

A young man with glasses stands at the counter. He has a pimple on his cheek that reminds me of a reverse dimple as he smiles. “You did it. This is perfect,” he says.

“It is?”

“Yes, she’s going to love this.”

“Really?” I’m about to point out the blunder, but with fresh eyes, it doesn’t stand out as badly as before. “Way better than I could’ve done. It’s perfect.”

“That’s great. Wow. I’m glad you like it,” I say, wondering if I should be fair and point out the mistake I tried to hide and give him a discount.

He pulls a picture of a cake out of his pocket drawn in crayon.

I tilt my head in confusion as he plunks it down.

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