Page 337 of Love Bites

COCO

Date one had been the dinner out where Magnus had walked me home and kissed me at my front door.

Date two had been a long and casual brunch at the diner down the street from the bakery—the one run by Misty’s family.

Date three would be another dinner. Three dates in just under twenty-four hours—that had to be some sort of record. At least, for me. But that wasn’t what I was concerned about. Not really. Tonight was date number three. Third-date night, which meant sex. Not demanded or required, but sort of back-of-the-mind planned for. The anticipation of what was likely to come had built within me all day, the sense that we’d be moving our relationship forward burning just under my skin. I couldn’t wait, and yet I didn’t want to take that step at the same time. Conflicted, thy name is Coco.

If I’d been Ginger, I would have jumped Magnus that first night on my front porch. She had a tendency to dive in head first and think about hitting the bottom later. If I’d been Madeleine, Magnus would likely have to wait forever to touch my naughty bits. I was pretty sure my younger sister was a card-carrying virgin, which was perfectly fine for her. Me? I was neither a first-date sort of girl nor a virgin. Hence the third-date rule that had somehow developed in my head over the years. Three dates seemed like an adequate amount of time to get to know someone enough to make yourself available for…stuff. Naughty stuff. Naked stuff. I needed to shave my legs. And…other parts of my body. Just in case.

Whether I was ready to jump off the cliff into a relationship with Magnus or not, the desire was definitely there. I’d wanted to drag him inside with me and strip him down after our first date, but the idea of getting attached to him, knowing my history, slowed me down. How could I let myself fall for him—and I totally would fall for him—when I knew he’d just find his mate while with me? I was apparently a living, breathing good luck charm for shifters looking for their fated mates. Three times—three—the man I’d been dating had been struck by fate. That had to be some sort of record. Or joke. Three strikes and I was out—or so I’d thought.

The fear of Magnus leaving me for his fated mate still lingered, but my desire to be with him in every way was growing. Perhaps it was nothing more than denial, but I was in a full-blown “enjoy today what you’ll have to pay for tomorrow” frame of mind. And I was going to enjoy every singleinchof Magnus for as long as the fates allowed.

“The groom’s cake is ready for tomorrow’s rehearsal dinner. How are you doing on the five hundred macarons?” Ginger asked, her voice a little tinny as it came through the phone. I had my foot resting on the closed toilet, my leg slathered in foam, and a razor in my hand—not exactly the ideal schedule-planning situation, but we made it work.

“I’ll be finished tomorrow morning. Most are already completed and stored. So the rehearsal dinner is pretty much set. What about the cupcakes for the bachelor and bachelorette parties? Last I checked, we needed to make another three dozen to meet the order quantity.”

Ginger piped up at that. “I’m on those. The sweet and salty ones are already completed—I just need to sprinkle some pretzel dust over them before I call them complete. For the boozy ones, I’ve got cake soaking in liquor already. I’ll only need to make the buttercream frosting and top those suckers, and they’ll be done.”

Good. The schedule for the wedding festivities was tight—we had to work ahead. “And those parties are the day after tomorrow, so we’ve got time there. How’s the wedding cake coming?”

Madeleine groaned. “All the lace-like icing is taking me forever, and the perfect tiny roses the bride wants are going to get lost in the massiveness of this thing.”

“But will you get it done in time?”

“Don’t I always?”

Yeah, she did. That didn’t mean we weren’t going to check in to make sure. Each of us had our specialties—Madeleine decorated the things Ginger and I made. She had an artist’s gift with fondant and buttercream, able to make cakes that looked as if they were spun from spider webs, carving faces or animals into what was essentially flour and eggs to create edible masterpieces.

Ginger mostly handled our cookies and cupcakes. She was creative much like Madeleine, but her talent tended to focus on flavor combinations and profiles our customers couldn’t resist. The woman had come up with a bacon-maple cupcake that always brought a line of people to our door.

Me? I was a classically trained pastry chef, so I tended to stick to the French pastries and tarts that had stood the test of time. The things that required technical baking knowledge to pull off well. My specialty, though? The treat that had put us on the map asthebakery to go to? Macarons. We were famous for them, especially when the three of us got together to create them. Between Ginger’s flavor combinations, Madeleine’s decorations, and my talent at simply making a macaron with the perfect texture, we could build a cookie that made people beg for more. The ones for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night would be no different.

“Okay,” I said as I slid the razor up my calf for the final time. “So tomorrow is all about macarons. We can finish the cupcakes after those are ready for delivery.”

“Deal,” Ginger said. “So, can we focus on the more important event?”

My mind went blank. Nico’s wedding was the biggest event of the year, and we had the contract to supply desserts for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, the bachelor and bachelorette parties the next night, and the wedding cake on Saturday. There was nothing bigger.

I had no idea what needed to be discussed. “What are we talking about here?”

“Your date with Magnum.”

“It’s Magnus.”

Ginger chuckled. “I think Magnum fits him better. Or does it? Do tell.”

As if I would talk about his…oh hell, I totally would, and my sisters knew it. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Wait…what?” Ginger sounded horrified. “How have you not taken that pony for a ride yet?”

“Maybe she’s waiting for the right time.” Madeleine. Of course.

“Thanks, Mad. I am sort of waiting.”

“For what? Christmas?” Ginger sounded affronted at the very idea. “He may have a little gray in that beard, but he’s not fucking Santa Claus, Coco.”

There was a ho-ho-ho joke in there somewhere, but I didn’t have time to think it through. “I’m not waiting for anything in particular. I just…”

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