Page 62 of Flirting with the Stranger

“Oh. I’ve thought about potentially selling, but I’m not committed to anything yet.”

“I assure you, I’m willing to offer you a lot of money.” He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a business card and a pen. He scribbles on the card and passes it to me.

I glance down and my eyes widen. “That’s a lot of zeros.”

“My offer won’t last long, so don’t hesitate. My number is on the other side. Call me when you want to sit down and make it official.” Elliot turns on his heel and continues down the sidewalk until he rounds the corner at the end of the block.

I glance down as I flip the card back and forth in my hand. This deal would set us up. Not only would it pay off our debts, but also leave us with plenty left over for the baby.

I leave the bakery and drive the twenty minutes to Hollyn's townhouse. When I arrive, I let myself in using the door code. Quietly, I turn the door handle and creep in, not wanting to disturb her. Sure enough, she’s curled up into a ball, softly snoring on the couch. I reach for the blanket folded across the top, drape it over her, and take a seat on the opposite end. I grab the remote and flip through the channels until I find a movie worth watching. An hour into the movie, Hollyn's movements next to me draw my attention.

She stretches her legs, her toes brushing against my thigh. Her head shoots up and she rubs the sleep from her eyes. “When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago.” I grab her ankle and place it in my lap as I massage the bottom of her foot.

“Mmm. God, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Usually when I hear those words, my face is buried between your legs.” I press the pad of my thumbs into the ball of her foot.

She exhales another moan. “I fully expect that once you’re finished with the foot massage.”

“So, after you left the bakery, I did some thinking. What are we going to do when you go on maternity leave, and I’m stuck running the bakery myself?”

“That’s like seven months away. We have plenty of time to think of a plan.”

“I know. I like to be prepared, so I can take care of you and our little cupcake.” I move her feet and set them on the couch. Then I lift the blanket and crawl up her body in the dark. When I reach her belly, I lift the hem of her shirt and place a kiss on her warm skin right below her belly button.

“I know you’re probably the size of a pea, but I’m your daddy. I promise I will love you and make sure you want for nothing. And I’ll feed you all the cupcakes your mommy makes.”

She lifts her end of the blanket and peers under. “That was really sweet. Well, until the cupcake part.”

I move up the rest of her body until my head peeks out at the end of the blanket, meeting my gaze with hers. “I thought that was the best part.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you di—”

Before she can finish, I cut her off with a kiss. My hand roams across her cheek, down to her collarbone, until I reach the swell of her breast. I press kisses along her jawline, and down to the crook of her neck.

“I think it’s time to satisfy my sweet tooth.”

TWENTY-FIVE

NOT PART OF THE PLAN

Hollyn

Music blast through my earbuds as I shake my hips to Shakira. Pretty soon I won’t be able to so I better enjoy it while I can. I continue to stir the lemon custard I’m making for some lemon vanilla cupcakes. Out of nowhere, Van comes barreling into the bakery. Fear takes over and I do the first thing that comes to mind. I throw my lemon custard spatula at him. Custard flies through the air as the spatula cartwheels toward his head. Luckily, Van has quick reflexes and ducks. The spatula hits a stainless steel refrigerator instead of his face.

Van rises to his full height, his eyes wide as he stares at me and then behind him at the splatter of custard on the door and then back at me.

I pull out my earbuds. “I’m so sorry. You startled me. And it was a natural reaction.”

“Perhaps you should stop listening to your earbuds while you work.” Van bends down, picks up the spatula, and passes it to me. I grab it and toss it into the sink.

“Or you could maybe knock to announce your presence instead of barreling in here like a teenager at a Taylor Swift concert.”

“I’ll have you know, it’s not only teenagers. Adults can get crazy too.”

“How many Taylor Swift concerts have you gone to?” I raise an eyebrow.

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