Page 18 of Baking with Bryan

“Are you here to steal my daughter early?” I turn sideways to view my father at the register.

“Would you let me get away with it today, Mr. Shore?” Bryan asks.

“Yes. She’s been working too hard this season. Go do something fun.” My father jests.

“I have to admit, I’m borrowing her for her skills. She’s helping me bake something.”

“Is that right?” Dad flashes me a knowing look, and I tense. He’s always had a way of seeing straight through the smoke screens I try to put up.

“Yes, we’re working on making something special for my mom.” Bryan spins me and wraps an arm around my waist, standing closer than he normally would. A look of understanding passes between the two men in my life. Dad’s eyes soften and fill with approval.

“That’s thoughtful. You know us parents like those handmade things.” His face softens. “How’s she doing?”

“Better, but holidays are still tough,” Bryan says solemnly.

Dad nods. “Give Priscilla our best?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You two go on and get out of here. It's about time you saw the outside of this store before nightfall,” Dad says.

“But I need to finish the sugar cookies.” I gesture toward the backroom.

“Not today.” Dad’s voice is kind but stern.

We both know retirement is around the corner, and I’m the shoo-in for managing the shop. The baking gene is genetic. The organization skills are not.

“Alright.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Let me get my jacket.”

The bell above the door rings, and I watch a leggy brunette strut inside in a fur-lined leopard print jacket that’s too busy for our small town and tall black leather boots. Pushing a pair of designer sunglasses up, Allison smiles. The flash of teeth is more feral than polite.

“Nora. I’m so glad I caught you.”

I arch a brow suspiciously. “I was actually just headed out.”

“Oh, but you can’t. You’re the only one I trust to take this order. It’s for a party, and I want my guests to have the best.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

“That’s enough.” Bryan’s voice is low and cold. I’ve rarely heard him sound like this.

“W-what?” Allison startles.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing. But you’re embarrassing yourself.” He steps toward her. “If you think I’m going to let you bully her, you’re out of your mind.”

“What?” Allison laughs. “Are you her bodyguard now?”

“I’m whatever she needs me to be.” He moves, blocking me from her view. “And if you continue to cause problems, you can see yourself out.”

“It’s true, then. You’re going to marry her?” The pain on Allison’s face is surprising.

“Someday. Not that this is the time or place for this conversation.”

“You owe me—”

“Nothing. We haven’t even been out together in over six months. You always want what you can’t have. This isn’t me playing hard to get. I’m just stepping into the relationship I should’ve been in all along.” The bass in his voice has my nipples pressing against my bra and the walls of my pussy flexing.

People stare at us as their hushed conversation continues.

“You’re going to walk over to the register, order like you have common sense, and order politely. Trust me when I say you don’t want me as an enemy.”

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