Page 24 of Lavender and Lust

Having him dive straight back into what is familiar between us has somehow washed away the anxiety plaguing me from the moment I opened my eyes this morning. And for the first time since stepping foot outside my house this morning, I feel like I can actually take a breath.

“Hey, Kenzie,” Harper greets me as she punches an order on the spike, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Hey,” I reply with a smile and tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ear. Moving on to the task at hand, a small smile plays on my lips as I collect my order pad and pen, then proceed to get straight to work.

* * *

“Good night, guys.”I farewell our last customers for the night, then close the door behind them and twist the lock. Flipping the open sign to closed, I turn on my heel and proceed to do a sweep of the dining area to check and see if anything needs to be stocked up.

Once again, I’m left to close up with Owen.

Alone.

However, not only were the concerns I had about things being awkward between us squashed from that first interaction we had this morning, but they were completely obliterated as the day wore on.

He’s basically been acting like nothing has changed and has been his usual pain in the ass self all damn day. When he wasn’t teasing me relentlessly, he was flirting up a storm, winking at me whenever our eyes would meet, and finding every excuse in the book toaccidentallytouch me.

But the thing is that this isn’t unusual for us. This is how we’ve always interacted, and my usual reaction would be to retaliate with a smart-ass comment or do some harmless flirting of my own.

However, everything feels different now, and the harmless banter we once had has taken on a whole new meaning. I’m seeing everything in a different light, and what’s worse is that I’m reading more into it, which is scaring the absolute shit out of me.

Every flirtatious wink has had my heart skipping a beat, and every curve of his luscious lips twisting into a smirk has made my core feel like it’s melting into a puddle on the floor. And every time he touched or accidentally brushed past me, it felt as though my whole body was about to burst into flames.

So, needless to say, I’m now so incredibly wound up that if he does one more thing, I’m afraid I will snap. This is precisely why I’ve been avoiding the kitchen for the past hour like it’s some kind of temple of doom that’s set to explode the minute I step inside.

But as I check each and every table, noticing that nearly every napkin canister is empty, the realization that I have to go to the storage room—which just so happens to be in the kitchen—has nerves twisting my gut into a tight knot.

Glancing over to the pass-through, I see Owen busy with closing down the kitchen for the night and let out a weary sigh. Making my way over to the kitchen’s double doors, I push them open a fraction to peek through the crack, spotting Owen with his back to me as he loads the dishwasher.

Using this as an opportunity to slink past him undetected, I quietly push through the doors and make a run for the storage room, quickly yanking open the door and stepping inside. But the minute I hear the resounding click of the door closing behind me, my stomach immediately drops.

My father still hasn’t fixed the inside latch, and in my mad dash to get in here, I completely forgot to put the door stopper in place, which means the only way of opening this door is from the other side. And the only way to do that is to ask the man who I’ve tried to avoid, like the bubonic plague, to do it for me.

Goddammit.

Padding my way back to the door, I reluctantly lift my hand and knock. “Owen,” I call out and wait for a response.

Silence ensues, and the seconds tick by as I’m met with radio silence, so balling my fist tighter, I pound on the door harder. “Owen!”

“Mac, is that you?” Owen’s voice suddenly speaks up from the other side.

I roll my eyes. “Who else would it be?”

“I’m not sure,” he hums. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer who’s pretending to be Mac?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale a long breath in an attempt to curb my frustration, but finding myself far past the point of tolerance, I drop my arms and glare at the door separating us. “Because if you don’t open this door in the next two seconds, you’ll wish it was a serial killer on the other side after I get done with you.”

He lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, okay, it’s you. So how can I help?”

I throw my hands up in the air even though he can’t see them. “Isn’t it obvious? Open the door.”

“Well, that all depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you’re going to do for me in return,” he says, the sultry ring to his tone like rich melted chocolate tempting my innermost cravings, and my mind swims with all the possibilities of what he actually wants, making my throat suddenly feel thick “W-what do you want?”

The deep rumble of his chuckle penetrates through the barrier between us. “Oh, I want many things, Mac,” he purrs, the pure wickedness laced in his tone stoking a burning arousal in my core and a pleasant ache throbbing between my legs. “But first, I want you to admit something.”

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