Say You Want Me(33)

My hands hook around his neck as he holds me a few inches off the floor. “I’m happy to do it. She’s so nice, even if she did play me.” I throw that last bit in. “I had fun with you tonight.”

“I did, too.” My heart races as he looks at my lips.

Working with him tonight melted another layer in my anti-Wyatt walls. Well, that and the sexy time. Maybe we really do have something.

Maybe he’s so much more.





“I DON’T WANT TO GET up.” I roll over as Wyatt nudges me.

“Too bad.”

Doesn’t he realize that I’m exhausted? “Pregnant. Need sleep.”

“Either you get up on your own or I’m tossing you in the shower with your clothes on.” He wouldn’t dare. “Or I can strip you down if you’d prefer.”

My eyes pop open so I can glare at him. “I hate you.”

He smirks. “I think you like me. A lot more than you care to admit.”

I give him more of an evil look, but he slaps the bed and hops up. “How are you so chipper this early?”

Wyatt looks at me as if I said something weird. “Angie, I get up for work before the sun rises every day. This is sleeping in for me.”

I glance over at the clock and gasp. “It’s freaking five o’clock in the morning?” I yell. “Are you kidding me? When does this festival start?”

“I thought you owned a bakery?”

“I do.”

“Well, what time do you go in? Don’t you have baker’s hours?”

I flop back and put the pillow over my head. “I don’t. The bakers do,” I mumble into fabric and feathers.

He laughs and pulls the pillow away. “Well, baby. You’re the baker today.”

Yesterday, I thought the coup to get me to do this was cute and funny. Today in the darkness of the morning, I no longer find it entertaining. Now, I want to hurt someone. But I can suck it up for today. Plus, the festival looked like a lot of fun. I love flea markets and fairs. There’s always something to repurpose or a unique craft to find. I can only imagine the types of homemade items that will be there today.

“Coffee first,” I say as I swing my legs off the bed.

I was extremely excited to learn that I was allowed to have one cup of coffee a day. I explained to the doctor that I would do my best to limit it. I went from drinking four cups a day to one. I had really bad headaches at first, but they’re definitely more manageable now.

“You get in the shower, and then we’ll get food and coffee.”

I complain, but do as he says.

The shower feels great, and we were too exhausted to care about how dirty we were last night. I have batter under my nails, and the sheets will definitely need to be washed. Lord only knows how much flour Wyatt still had on him when we fell into bed.

Once all the cupcakes were done and we’d made a new batch of icing, we had to clean the shop. I have to say that there was nothing sexier than watching Wyatt on the floor scrubbing the mess we made. He was so sweet, telling me to get off my feet and rest. I tried to fight him, but he made a face that was too cute to disobey. I sat there, ate another cupcake, and discovered it wasn’t just the first one that tasted good. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting is my favorite, and the only recipe I remember by heart. Luckily, Mrs. Kannan had planned to make something similar, so she had all the ingredients already.

I get out of the shower and throw on a pair of loose shorts and a tank top. It’s going to be hot outside today, and I want to be comfortable. Plus, Wyatt is in a pair of basketball shorts and a plain white shirt, so I doubt I have to dress up.

“Ready?” I say as I grab my sneakers.

“Yup.” He walks over, hands me a travel mug, and kisses my forehead. “What was that for?” I ask.

“This means a lot to me. I’m glad you helped out a very sick old lady in need.”

I laugh. “You mean faking sick.”

He tilts his head to the side. “She’ll expect that you believe her. One thing those women know how to do is scheme. So, for your benefit, you better play along.”

“Noted.”

I go to take a sip, needing the caffeine, and I’m shocked. “Wyatt!” I yell, pulling a larger amount from the cup. “This is a Caramel Macchiato!”

Oh my God. He made me my favorite drink. I’ve been searching through Pinterest to find a good copycat since Presley told me it was completely irrational to drive a few towns over for a drink. How did he find one before I did? Do I care? Nope.

“Pres said that was what you liked. I hope it tastes like you wanted it. Like home.”

I close the top of my heaven in a cup and rush toward him. My arms fly around his middle, and he lets out a short laugh before hugging me closer. “Thank you,” I say with sincerity. “Thank you for doing this. It’s so sweet, and it does taste like home.”