I mean, I have some ideas, don't get me wrong.
It's just that I never would have imagined that beneath all those ridiculous superhero t-shirts and Betty Jo's Bakery aprons was such a, God help me, hunk of a man. Seriously. Adam is built. He's not like world strongest man or anything, but his arms are strong and thick, and his abs are defined, complete with a trail of hair that disappears into his jeans. I guess it sort of makes sense though. He does all the heavy lifting at the bakery. I've seen him hoist a fifty-pound bag of flour around like it was a balloon. He runs up and down the flight of stairs from the office to the shop at least twenty times a day, and he does play hockey on occasion. And while I know good and well he samples all of his baking creations, I also know that he looks down on fast food restaurants and, more often than not, prepares a healthy dinner every night.
This is just the worst. I don't hate Adam anymore and he has to be super hot? I did not sign up for this kind of change of my opinion.
"What?" Adam asks, and I realize that I haven't stopped staring at him since he took off his shirt.
"Huh?" I reply dumbly before my brain can kick in and come to the rescue. "Oh, I was just thinking what would be the best way to get that stain out."
"You just said white vinegar."
My face grows warm as I try to think of a lie. "Right. But, you know, there are other options."
"Really? Like what?" Adam hands his shirt to me as I prepare to take out the stain. "I've thrown out more shirts than I care to admit because of food stains."
That's it, Adam. Put me on the spot and grill me over stain removal while you're shirtless and standing in my little kitchen.
Oh, come on, Evie. Pull yourself together. He's just a guy. Admittedly, a nice guy with a steady job, a future, and nice abs but, still, just a guy. You will not let your hormones get the better of you. Not this time.
I start blotting the stain with a damp towel. "Well, um, white vinegar for tomato stains. If you spill red wine, you can put salt on the stain and let it set overnight. In the morning, it cleans up easy enough. You can use club soda too, for both red wine and tomato stains." I reach for the white vinegar; why did I put it on the top shelf of the cabinet? "I feel like they should have taught you this in culinary school."
Adam comes up behind me and grabs the vinegar bottle for me. I squeeze my eyes shut as I try not to focus on how warm his body feels next to mine or how he smells like flour and soap, with just a hint of vanilla. As far as occupational hazards of working in a bakery go, this is one of the better ones.
"Thanks," I manage to squeak out as he places the bottle in my hand.
"No problem," he says and takes a step back from me. I let out a deep breath before moving back to the sink to finish cleaning up the stain. I feel his eyes on me, and try not to think about how red my face is becoming. If asked, I will one hundred percent blame it on the heat of the peppers.
"Um, here." I force Adam's shirt into his hands. "It'll take a few minutes to dry but … " My voice trails off as my vision travels from Adam's abs to his eyes.
"Thanks," he whispers, his gaze as hard on me as mine is on him.
"We should get back to our dinner, not that the peppers are going to get cold," I say, just wanting desperately to not feel this way anymore.
Adam laughs at my joke, and I feel my stomach spin. I pray that it's the peppers.
He puts his shirt back on, despite the wet blotch, and we eat our dinner in an uncomfortable silence.
"So, what's going to happen with those two?" Adam asks, casting his eyes up toward to ceiling where we can hear Rachel and Carter's muffled voices.
"They'll argue for another hour, hour and a half tops, and then you will hear the unmistakable sound of a headboard hitting the wall."
"And you live below that?" Adam asks, his eyebrows raised above the rim of his glasses.
"Next to my serger, my noise-canceling headphones are the best investment I've ever made," I say, causing Adam to smile at me. God. His teeth are so straight and white.
"So, what you're saying is, if I stay here long enough, I'll hear my best friend get lucky?"
"I mean, if that's what works for you," I say with an uncomfortable laugh. "Why you currently share an apartment with him is making more and more sense."
"Har-dee-har-har," he replies dryly.
"Um, I know it's nothing compared to the stuff at your shop, but I have a couple of frozen pie slices in the freezer," I say, already on my feet. "If you're interested, that is. I don't want to keep you from whatever else you have going on tonight."
"This is what I have going on tonight," he says, gesturing at our empty plates. We both smile.
I tear into the freezer. "Okay, I've got key lime and pecan. The single girl's specials. What'll it be?"
"Whichever one you like the least."
"That's the key lime."
"I was hoping so," he says, accepting the cardboard-covered frozen pie.
"How are the costumes for the show going?" he asks as we poke at the frozen pies with our forks, both of us too impatient to wait for them to thaw.
"Good," I say as I free a pecan from the top of my pie and pop it into my mouth. "Do you want to see them?"
Adam scrunches his eyebrows together. "Why did you say that like you were afraid?"
"I didn't," I stammer. "I just … most people don't care about that kind of thing. I didn't want you to feel obligated to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over costumes."
"Evie," Adam says, lowering his head to look me in the eyes. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't have asked."
I have to take a breath. Staring into his dark brown eyes is no joke.
"Okay," I say, and it's so quiet I'm not sure he hears me. I clear my throat and try my best to get back to normal. "But if I bore you to tears, you have only yourself to blame."
"Yes, ma'am."
He follows me into the living room and to the wardrobe rack which I've hung all the costumes. The rack was in my bedroom and subsequently, all the clothes that were originally hanging from it are now lying across my bed and I'm sleeping on the couch.
I flip through the costumes quickly, not wanting to cause Adam to fall asleep, but he surprises me by asking questions about almost every piece. And he's not even doing it to be nice. I think he genuinely cares about this project.
"What about this? Is it going in the show?" he asks, pointing to the wedding dress on my dress form.
"No, that's a project for work." Hey, he doesn't have to know that I stole my boss' dress design. I look over at Connie's dress. You know, it does have kind of a modern feel to it … and Jane does have a wedding dress in the show. The director told me only to make the veil to save on time and supplies, but … I already have this dress, and the actress playing Jane could probably fit into it …
"Are you having a stroke?" Adam asks, only half-kidding.
"No, that's just the face I make whenever I have an idea," I say, not even minding that he's witness to my idea face. It's not a pretty sight to see; my mouth hangs open and I rub my tongue over my canine tooth while narrowing my eyes at my intended target. I'm truly terrifying when I'm plotting.
"Should I leave?" he asks, taking a step back from me.
"No," I say, probably too fast.
Adam smiles. "Good."
Every hair on my body stands on end at the way he smiles at me. Am I … am I actually developing feelings for Adam Iberico?
Oh my God. Are those damn stuffed peppers actually magical?
Chapter Nineteen
"Of course you like him!" Jamie shouts at me as I run her through everything that happened last night. I left out the part about Connie's dress design, naturally. That's Jamie's aunt I disobeyed and stole from, and Jamie's a stickler for the rules. She'd rat me out in a heartbeat.
"But I don't want to like him," I say, plopping the veil on the store mannequin a little too hard. I sigh and rearrange the veil until it lays just right.
Jamie chuckles. "If you're anything like me and Cal, you'll be meticulously planning your life together with binders and color-coded tabs in no time."
I have never been so relieved to be nothing like Jamie in my life.
"I have Grant, though," I mumble as I lace up the corset of the mannequin's dress. "And he's great."
"No, he's really not. He can't even text you without putting in an emoticon."
"They're called emojis, Jamie."
Jamie shakes her head. "I refuse to call them that. If my great aunt Milly can say racist slurs and get away with it because of her age, then I think I get a free pass on the word emoticon."
I don't press her on the issue. I wish I had never brought up Adam to Jamie. It wasn't intentional, really. Jamie can read me like a book and, honestly, I wanted to talk to someone about him. I can't really go to Rachel; she has enough on her plate with the job search and Carter. I could talk to Hank but I think this would make him far too happy, and I refuse to give him something he can tease me about. Besides, he's being quiet about the woman he's been seeing. Maybe once he comes clean about her, I'll tell him about Adam. That seems like a fair trade.