Page 40 of Cream and Punishment
Before Quincy answered, Max nudged me to get my attention. As if it ever seemed to leave him.
“When you’re ready to go in the morning, just knock on the wall we share, okay?” he said softly. “You’re going to run that bakery tomorrow, Dekker Piper. One way or another.”
fourteen
DespitehowexhaustedIwas, I tossed and turned until my alarm went off way too soon. Even with our efforts last night before the fire department rescued us, Quincy couldn’t get to the bakery until the tail end of the breakfast rush. I was going to have a long, painful shift ahead of me.
After dragging myself through my morning routine, I hesitated in front of my bedroom wall, the one that butted up against his own. I felt ridiculous, but true to my word, I knocked. Two short, crisp raps.
Almost immediately, the faint but unmistakable sound of two identical knocks replied from his side of the wall.
I grinned, even if I had no idea why he’d wanted me to knock in the first place. Just knowing he was awake and thinking of me in any way made my one good foot step lighter as I hobbled to my door.
I’d just pulled out my phone to order an Uber when two short knocks sounded on my door. I pulled it open, a mixture of bewilderment and excitement playing tug of war with my face.
Sure enough, Max stood on the other side, looking delectable in a white T-shirt and black jeans, his dazzling smile firmly in place despite the bags under his eyes. He held a to-go cup in one hand, which he offered to me. “Morning, Chef.”
“Morning, Max.” I took the cup as if in a dreamlike trance, the delicious mix of coffee and hazelnut wafting through its little sippy hole. He brought me coffee?
“Ready to go?” He brandished his keys and nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. “Your chariot awaits.”
“My… what?” I wasn’t still dreaming, right? I half expected the demon donkey to go waltzing past him, since that would make as much sense as him offering to cart me away with—successful—lures of coffee and quality time. “You’re not wearing workout clothes.”
Yet another point for it being a dream.
“Correct.” He held his arms out, as if waiting for a hug.
Honestly, that was the least strange turn of events in this dream, so I didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it. I lurched toward him, wrapping my arms around his warm, deliciously firm torso before he could get any more words out.
He hesitated for a moment before reciprocating the hug, which was a little odd for someone who’d asked for it in the first place. But whatever.
“This is nice,” I sighed, not caring how wistful I sounded.
And, boy howdy,nicedidn’t even begin to cover it. Hearing his heartbeat, strong and steady against his chest, while sucking his warmth into me like an iron-deficient leech was a bliss I hadn’t felt since tasting German chocolate cake for the first time. And hisscent. Spicy and clean and everything candle companies should be trying to replicate all in one. Hugging him was a haven, really. One I never wanted to leave.
Best. Dream. Ever.
Max spoke, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my cheek. “I was going to ask if I could carry you to the car, but, yeah. This is nice.”
Wait. Hehadn’tbeen asking for a hug?
The reality of my situation sunk in as delicately as a blue whale flopping into the ocean. This wasn’t a dream after all. He was about to offer to carry me—a platonic, chivalrous offer out of the kindness of his heart—and I’d suctioned myself to him instead.
Wait, was his heartbeatspeeding up?
He pulled away, and I backed up as quickly as my ankle would allow, verbally backpedaling three times faster. “You’renice. All of you is nice. Wait—no—that’s not what I meant. This is very nice of you.That’swhat I meant. The hug was a…thank you.For being so nice.”
Sweet salami and peas, that was about as smooth as turbinado sugar. Yikes.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I gestured in the general direction of the parking lot, cutting off whatever he might have said in response to my criminal abuse of the wordnice. “Sling me over your shoulder like a bag of rice if you want.”
Anything to keep me from having to make eye contact after all this.
He laughed. “I don’t want to accidentally hit your head against door frames, so I think I’d prefer the bridal carry, if that’s okay with you?”
Honestly, at least bonking my head would give me an excuse for my lack of charisma. But I digress.
I settled on a nod, hoping my flaming cheeks weren’t as strawberry-red as they felt. He scooped me up with ease, and away we went.
