Page 92 of Captain's Claim

And suddenly, I’m not so sure I like that.

Blake and Iaren’ta brand.

We’re… something else. Something real.

Shit... What have I done?

***

"Girls night!" Natalie squeals, jumping up and down on the spot like a tiny yapping chihuahua.

Mia grins, looping her arm through mine as we push into the Summit Café. “About time.”

"I can't believe what Clara has done to the place! It's look nothing like this during the daytime," I say, holding the front door of my favorite café open.

The Summit Café is a vision of cozy, twinkling lights and the scent of cinnamon and vanilla in the air so strong it makes my soul sing. There's a crackling fireplace that adds a warmth to the room, and so much laughter in the air that it floats around us like a big bear hug.

“Holy shit, this place is magic,” Mia breathes, looking around.

Natalie smirks. “Clara outdid herself.”

I follow behind Natalie and Mia towards the corner booth. It's complete with plush cushions and candles, and has a 'reserved' sign that reads:For the Queens of the Night.

Natalie looks stunning in her deep emerald wrap dress, cinched at the waist to add a yummy 'pop' to her curves. Her heels could kill a man - if her attitude didn't do it first.

Mia is always a playful vision, but tonight in her off-the-shoulder red number, her dark hair cascading down her back in waves, she looks downright stunning.

And me?

I’m wearing Blake’s favorite: a silky champagne slip dress with delicate straps that slide off my shoulders when I move. Hethreatened to destroy it when I got home later, but for now, it’s my armor from the dozens of eyes locked all every one of us.

Natalie adjusts her dress and throws an appreciative glance around the café. "We deserve this, girls."

The first round of cocktails arrives, and they’re as stunning as we are. My raspberry and peach bellini sparkles with red flakes floating in the bubbly prosecco. Natalie’s classic dirty martini looks sophisticated - just like her…not.

And Mia’s spiked hot chocolate is topped with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon

"To us," I say, lifting my glass.

"To trouble," Mia adds with a wink.

"And to whatever happens next," Natalie finishes.

We clink our glasses together, giggling and sipping our drinks all at once.

Our waiter returns with a tower of decadence that would make any dessert lover weep with joy: chocolate lava cakes oozing molten goodness, lemon tarts zesty enough to make your mouth pucker in delight, and caramel-drizzled waffles so golden they look like they were kissed by the sun.

"Oh my god," Mia gasps. "I think I’m in love."

"With the dessert? Or with Clara?" I tease.

"With everything," she says dreamily.

I spot Clara behind the counter. She's a whirlwind of motion as she expertly handles the rush of her first themed night in Iron Ridge. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and her apron is dusted with flour and sugar.

Despite the chaos, she catches our eyes and waves enthusiastically.

“Thank you!” we call out in unison, raising our drinks in salute.

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