Page 143 of Bake the Town Red

This isn’t the first time my stalker has heard her flirting with me.

For me, it is.

No other woman has interested me for years. I hardly knew anyone else so much as existed other than Dahlia since she turned seventeen.

Dahlia has always been the air I breathe. Dahlia has been the reason I wake up every morning. The reason why my heart beats and my eyes see. The woman I’ve been stalking, obsessing over, and loving.

Only her.

My little savage. Possessive. Territorial. Jealous. A set of characteristics most men jack off to when they think of their dream girl.

But long before I saw these things in her, I loved her. Fiercely. Insanely.

Unconditionally.

My heart has been stored in a cage. Kept away behind a set of unbreakable locks. A million deadbolts.

Only Dahlia’s has the key to set me free. She’s the only one who can clutch the miserable organ in her fist and squeeze.

The one woman who could ever own me as much as I own her.

Granted, I’m not a rude fucker. I talk to my coworkers over video conferences. To my neighbors.

I don’tseethem. Don’t actually acknowledge them.

And I definitely haven’t noticed anyone coming on to me.

Unfortunately for Rita, Dahlia did.

“Tyler?” Rita smiles. Dahlia must hear it, because her fake smile stretches wider. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

Out of sheer curiosity, I’m trying to remember where I might’ve bumped into her. The elevators. On the sidewalk outside our apartment building. She mentioned something about…recycling? The fuck do I remember.

I must’ve talked to her on autopilot, since I didn’t so much as remember that her eyes are blue.

“Yeah, sorry.” The front door of the shop isn’t locked. Dahlia got too excited, and I got too caught up in the moment. We forgot. I need to amend that. “I’ll put up a sign for the rest of the neighbors when they come. Tell them we’re hanging in the back.”

“Brilliant. Thank you.” Dahlia winks at me. She spins to Rita, the skirt of her dress whirling. “Join me, please. You get first dibs on the cupcake of your choice.”

“I saw this guy post with, what’s it called?” Their voices become duller as I head to the front of the shop. “I believe he called it Tarantula’s Kiss?”

“Ah, yes.” Dahlia sounds pleased. Genuinely pleased. Those cupcakes are her babies. Soon, I’ll plant real ones in her belly. “Triple chocolate cupcake. Strawberry cut in the shape of lips. Is that the one you saw?”

“Yes, exactly.” Rita’s enthusiasm reaches to my ears.

The man I used to be before I lost my grandma and Ian would’ve felt sorry for her. He would’ve pulled Dahlia aside, convinced her to let it go. Rita had no way of guessing I belonged to Dahlia.

The man I am today locks on the front door of Sweet DeNights.

I’m not a bad person.

I’m nowhere near good, either.

Life isn’t always black and white. Truth is, it never is.

Especially not mine.

With Dahlia, everything is painted in vivid red and orange, and purple on top of the black. Whenever she’s near, the world smells like chocolate and cinnamon and death.

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