Page 69 of You Cake My Breath Away

“Words, Tilda St. James.”

“Yes, fine.”

“No, not fine.”

He flicks on his blinker and pulls over to the side of the road. The leather steering wheel squeaks as his hands grip it, and he stares out at the open fields before turning to me.

“He was your husband and my best friend. He was a phenomenal, fun, caring guy, and it fucking sucks he’s gone. But he loved you so much, Tilly.”

My nose runs, mixing with the tears on my upper lip, and I steal a Whataburger napkin from his glove compartment to clear my face.

“I know.” I sniffle.

He stares out the window, and I can tell by the furrow in his brow that he’s thinking about his brother. “Grief is fucking hard. Doesn’t matter if it’s been two or twenty years. After a few years, I realized the hardest part of losing Sebastian wasn’t his actual death, it was figuring out how to live afterward. Figuring out to get up every morning and not immediately reach for your phone to call them, or how to breathe—” he pauses, sucking in a shaky breath, “—when every breath reminded me that he wasn’t here, that I had to go through life without him every single day of the rest of my life. But if I didn’t have Jessie, and Shantel and Nora, to help lift the weight, I would’ve let it drown me.” He grabs my hand and softly squeezes. “You’re not broken. You are working through it daily, just like the rest of us.”

I dab at the tears on my face and give him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

A minute passes with Archer swiping his thumb along the back of my hand, drifting over the diamond still on my finger as he soothes my fraught nerves. “I know I’m not him. I’m moody, I’m not that fun, and I’ve treated you poorly. I’m sorry for pushing you away, it wasn’t right, and I know you may not be able to forgive me. But all I’m asking is for a chance to make it up to you. To show you how muchyou mean to me. I’ll take it however slow you need me to, but I’m asking for my chance to make you feel like I should’ve been doing all these years, which is loved.”

I’m standing at a fork in the road, terrified to move in either direction.

One way leads me back to the empty comfort of grief where I can still pretend I’m not alone, pretend that Jessie would’ve wanted me to stay true to him even as a widow.

And the other way leads to potential disaster. If Archer and I try to make a go of it and it all comes crashing down, not only will it affect us, but it’ll affect Nora and Shantel, and even potentially ruin my chance at opening my bakery.

Needing air, I roll down the window and inhale the earthy smell of rain. Too many options sit in front of me, and either way I may end up alone.

But you’re already alone, my conscience reminds me. And it’s not wrong. I’ve been alone since Jessie died; that was my comfort zone. I learned how to live by myself, relying on no one to take care of me, and it worked for a while. But now that I’ve given a part of me to Archer, I don’t think I want to be alone and scared anymore. I want someone to enjoy daily life with, someone to relax into after a long day at work, and I want that person to be Archer.

Running a bakery is a risk I’m willing to take, so why isn’t putting my heart back out there worth it too?

“A chance,” I murmur.

“A chance,” he pleads.

My chest rises, renewed hope filling the deserted crevices of my heart. “Okay.”

For the first time in a long time I crave to be held, and like always, Archer senses exactly what I need without me having to voice it and wraps his arms around me. My hands slide around his back and pull himcloser, thankful he didn’t freak out or make me feel bad for how I reacted this morning. I imagine it’s hard on him too, to have feelings for his best friend’s widow.

“Thank you,” he whispers into my hair.

We get back onto the road headed home, and even though I know there’s so much more we need to talk about, so many things left to hash out, I relish this time where it’s only us. Before the outside world pushes its way in, ready to tell us that what we’re doing is wrong.

After stopping home to shower and change into new clothes, we make it to the bakery before evening traffic commences. My entire body hums with excitement as we unload the display case, shifting it into the spot between the counter and the side hallway.

“It’s perfect.” I dance around on anxious feet, my dress loudly swishing around.

Archer turns on the neon ‘You Cake My Breath Away’ light and stands behind me, his hands on my waist, chin on my shoulder. “It’s your bakery. Of course, it’s perfect.”

I turn my head and capture his lips. Our kiss is slow and sensual, an embrace of not only our tongues but the words we’re too scared to say. The ‘I need you,’ ‘I want you,’ and the ‘I’m scared this is too good to be true’ statements lingering in the backs of our minds.

Archer deepens the kiss and leads me back until I’m pressed against the new display case. His fingers graze my bare arms, and the strap of my dress falls down my shoulder as his kisses on my neck become more feverish. I’m lost to the moment, lava pouring into my veins, mind a swirling abyss of pleasure. Within moments, my hands are in his hair, pushing him down to my chest.

“Tilly,” he groans, pulling down the cup of my bra, alternating between nipping and licking the sensitive buds.

“More.” My mind a haze of two years’ worth of pent-up sexual frustration, I push him further.

I’m thankful the windows are still boarded up because his knees hit the ground and he crouches under my dress, pulling my panties down. My hand splays against the display case as he lifts my leg over his shoulder. His firm tongue slides through me, swirling around my clit before he sucks it into his mouth. I cry out, gripping my dress in my hand and trying to steady myself against the case.

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