I pulled out my phone and took some photos. He still didn’t wake up. I looked around for something fun to do, settling on pulling my lipstick from my purse to give him a fun makeover. He woke up as soon as the lipstick touched his lips, and his sudden movement made me scream, which made him scream.
“Is this a dream?” he asked me, blinking and looking confused.
“Yes, this is all a dream.”
“Good.” His long arms snaked around me, pulling me into his embrace. His hands squeezed my buttocks as he buried his face against my neck, kissing me and groaning.
“And good morning to you, sir.” I shivered as he pressed his lower body against me.
He pulled away and gazed down at me tenderly. “I was here so late, and I decided to stay up and have breakfast with you.” He blinked a few times, then frowned. “But now I don’t feel so great.”
“You’re probably dehydrated.”
“Would you be offended if I went home?”
“No more offended than when you chased me out of here last night.”
We stared at each other for a moment.
“Did you have a good night?” he asked.
“I had some sushi and watched a movie.” I grabbed his arm and steered him toward the door. “Please go home. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”
He leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “You’re the best. Do you still have those other plans for tonight?”
“I do.” I dragged him to the door and sent him on his way. “Get some sleep!” I called down the street as he walked away.
I looked around to make sure nobody was looking my way. The scent of evil cupcakes wafted over from the bakery.
Shaking my fist at their fiendish vanilla-cinnamon smell, I ran back into the bookstore. The piece of cardboard I’d taped over the ceiling vent was still doing its job of keeping the scent from infiltrating.
The cardboard gave me a surprising blast of nostalgia. I’d been taping it in place when Dalton Deangelo had first crashed into my life, knocking me into his arms. What if he’d run into Java Jones that day instead? Kirsten wasn’t as curvy as me, but she wasn’t skinny, either. He could have dated her as “research” for his indie film, then claimed the research became genuine feelings.
Imagining him spouting all those cheesy lines to Kirsten made me cross my arms angrily. How dare he be so damn charming! And how dare he have me checking the time every ten minutes, nervously awaiting our date that night.
There were still no customers in the store, so I snuck back out, locked the door, and ran over to the door to the bakery. It was going to be a two-cupcake day.
CHAPTER 10
Vern, Dalton’s butler, driver, and personal assistant, knocked on the door of my house at 7:01. He apologized for being late.
“Looking good!” I said, admiring Vern as I stepped out onto the porch. He’d gotten a haircut and lopped off the weird ponytail.
“You’re too kind. And you look very well yourself, Miss Monroe.”
We both looked down at my gold, strapped sandals. “Is this footwear okay for what’s in store tonight, or do I need hiking boots?”
He peered behind me as I pulled the door closed. “Where is your overnight bag?”
“You’re scaring me, Vern. Am I leaving town? Do I need a passport?”
“Not tonight.” He abruptly stopped talking and tried to cover by quickly adding, “Great shoes! The car is right this way, and of course I’ll drive you back home this evening when you’re ready.”
He held open the back door of a dark car with tinted windows—the same vehicle from my first date with Dalton, but not the one Dalton had been driving himself in LA.
“How many cars does the ol’ Dalt-meister have?” I asked as I settled into the back seat. The glass divider was only open a crack. “And please lower this. I’m not a fancy person.”
The window lowered silently. “Mr. Deangelo has a few vehicles.”
We began driving, the car’s luxurious suspension making the pothole-filled street feel like a runway. Vern guided the vehicle north. I guessed we were heading to Dragonfly Lake, but I played it cool and didn’t ask. Instead, I amused myself by probing the limits of Vern’s confidentiality boundaries.
“How many turtlenecks does Dalton own?”
Vern chuckled. “Zero. He doesn’t like how broad they make him look.”
“Nobody looks good in a turtleneck.”
“I’m sure you do, Miss Monroe.”
“Does he have any food allergies?”
“Just an imaginary one to fresh-baked bread, but I’m sure you’ve heard all about that.”
“Does he date many women?”