Page 10 of Worth the Heat
I see a subtle pink sheen cover her cheeks as she fights to withhold her smile. “They just like the free baked goods.”
I stop her immediately.
“What?” she asks.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Why do you write off any compliment? Is it all compliments, or just ones from me? That wasn’t even from me, though. It was from your brothers. So tell me why you do it.”
“It was a joke.” Isabella crosses her arms, staring at me defiantly. God, I fucking love the fire she has insideher that no one but me appears to see. “I’m allowed to make jokes about my brothers.”
“Not at your own expense. You’re fucking phenomenal at what you do,mi Cielo. Own that shit. Don’t apologize for having a gift.”
“It was a joke about how much food they can eat, Sebastian. Not about my product.” Her eyes narrow as she catches on to what I said again. “And stop calling me that. I looked it up, and I’m not your fucking sky.”
Oh, but you are.
I chuckle as I place my hand on the small of her back, gently pushing her to walk beside me into the sandwich shop. “We’ll see about that.”
After grabbing two sandwiches, Isabella hastily mumbles her thanks before scurrying back to the bakery. I watch her go, noting how she attempts to look back at me quickly. As soon as she sees me watching, her head whips around again. I chuckle as she rushes through the bakery’s front door.
New Lovebirds?
Anyone who has lived in Eternity Springs for longer than a minute knows we’re now down to only two Santo siblings who haven’t found love yet. Or maybe only one? Our own baker extraordinaire, Isabella Santo, was seen chatting amicably with her brother Luca’s bestie, Sebastian Garcia, over lunch in the park. Has Sebastian finally figured out how to lock down his love interest, or is Isabella just being friendly? We have it on good authority that Ms. Santo holds quite the grudge, and Sebastian should hide the glitter if something goes awry in their budding relationship.
After finishingmy inventory at the bar, I head home with the sun and wind feeling perfect against me. Contrary to what most people believe, not every MC President lives at the clubhouse. I’ve chosen to live in my own home, because I need my own space. My property abuts to the Club property, which is incredibly convenient when I’ve had more than a couple of drinks.
The guys know not to just show up at my house. It’s basically an unspoken rule, although some of them try to get prospects to break it on occasion. Once they know about Camila, however, they understand why.
“I’m home!” I shout as I walk in through the garage door, dropping my things in a decorative bowl beside the door, and toe off my shoes.
“In here,Mijo,” my grandmother calls. At eighty years old, Rosario Garcia is as spry and outgoing as the day we landed in Florida. In order to make ends meet, my parents worked multiple jobs. Myabuelawas the one who raised us, helped with homework, took us to school, and worked on school projects with us. In turn, we helped her with learning English. While we mostly speak English nowadays, certain words, likeMijo, have stood the test of time.
“Hi Daddy!” A blur launches toward me, and I grunt as I stumble back against the counter.
“Hello, Camila,” I reply as my beautiful five-year-old daughter stares up at me, eyes sparkling. She may not have been expected, but taking on the single dad role has been an absolute joy.
I meant what I said about my world tilting when I saw Isabella for the first time. But that didn’t mean I remained celibate. Camila was the result from a one-night stand, and her mother didn’t want to be in her life. There were some thinly veiled threats in an attempt to extort money from me, which didn’t fly. Her mother, Beth, had no desire to be a mom. The pregnancy definitely wasn’t planned, and one of my swimmers got throughthe condom. I, however, took to Camila immediately, and haven’t regretted one moment since. With dark brown hair and tan skin, she also has my nose and eyebrows. Striking blue eyes are the only trait she took from her mother.
“Daddy,Abueladoesn’t like the microscope you got me for my birthday,” Camila pouts.
“And why is that?” I ask.
“I made her look at an ant.”
“Ahh,” I sigh. “Did you find a dead ant, or did you kill it first?”
“It was in the name of science!” Camila shouts, her finger pointing as she shoots her arm into the air. Where the hell she learned the saying,orthe gesture, I’ll probably never know. Taking my daughter’s hand, I pull her into the living room, whereAbuelasits on one of my couches.
“She said it was a girl bug,” my grandmother snaps. Girl bug?
“Ladybug,Abuela. Ladybug,” Camila corrects cheerfully.
Abuelashrugs. “Same thing, no?”
I fight to hide the smile threatening to break free. “I don’t believe there is an insect called a girl bug.”
