I grumble loudly. “Shut up, it’s just sex. And he doesn’t write me love letters. He sends me flour and panties with tiny notes.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Want something to drink?” he asks, moving towards the kitchen as my phone beeps in my pocket.
“Please,” I reply, pulling it out and seeing an unknown number.
Unknown: There you are. Now I don’t have to worry so much about Fred intercepting my letters to you.
I smile and type frantically.
Me: Here I am. And I happen to like your letters so I hope you don’t mind the risk of Fred intercepting them.
Reese: The risk is worth it, love. Can I see you this weekend?
Me: I think I can squeeze you in somewhere. I have a wedding cake to work on tonight but I’m free tomorrow night.
Joey returns with two sodas and places one in front of me on the counter.
“Thanks. So, where are you and your hot ass lawyer going tonight?” I force myself to keep my eyes on Joey and not the phone that is in my hand.
He notices the struggle instantly. “Some ritzy Italian joint. And you don’t have to hide your enthusiasm about Reese texting you. I’m done trying to convince you that it’s more than you’re both letting on.” He takes a sip of his soda and pulls his phone out, pointing to the clock on the wall and smiling wide.
“Sweet. Dance party time.” I squeal, setting my phone down on the counter as he docks his phone onto the speaker station and flips to a song.
Every Friday at noon, Joey and I dance and sing along to one song in the shop. It doesn’t matter if customers come in and it doesn’t matter how busy we are. We always make time for one song on Friday. A few months ago, I had an entire wedding party in here dancing along to “Locked out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars. It was awesome. Justin Timberlake’s “Love Stoned” blares through the speakers as I spin around and begin dancing and singing along to the lyrics with Joey.
I’m on a serious roll when he cuts the music and stands staring at the shop door, the familiar hot guy in the building look on his face. Spinning around to see what the fuss is about, I see a very amused face staring at me. Smiling in a suit and tie, the attractive blond steps forward and tilts his head.
“Well, thank Christ I decided to stop in here during my lunch break. Otherwise I might have missed that hot little show.” He steps closer to the counter and presses his hands on the top, causing me to stumble back a bit.
“Sweet mother. You’re like a sexy man magnet lately,” Joey mutters to me softly.
I clear my throat and smile. “Sorry about that. Can I help you?”
“I hope so, Dylan.” His eyes drop to my name tag and then flick back to my face. Good but didn’t have the same effect as my name coming out of Reese’s mouth. He’s tall and blond, hair cut short and spiky with chiseled cheek bones and thin lips. “My father came in the other day and requested something. He’s not feeling well so he sent me to come pick it up.” He glances down at the display case and then back up at my face. “Do you have any idea what I’m referring to because he wasn’t specific?”
I think for a minute before it dawns on me. “Oh, the tarts.” I shuffle quickly to the kitchen and bring out the container of treats. “I’m sorry to hear he isn’t feeling well.”
The man smirks. “Yeah well, I can’t say I share your sympathy. His illness did bring me in here to see you.” He smiles wide, showing perfect teeth and winks at me. I shudder a bit.
“Jesus.” Joey utters as he steps behind the register. I ignore him and the comment from the man.
“Umm, well the tarts are $3.75 apiece. How many would he like?”
“I don’t know, three I guess? Can I get your number?”
I freeze midair as I’m reaching into the container to pick out the tarts. Jesus, Joey was right. I don’t think I’ve ever been this popular with men before. Quickly shaking off his question, I pull four tarts out of the container and place them into a pastry box as Joey rings him up.
“I’m seeing someone. Here you go, the fourth one’s free.” I push the box across the counter and meet his eyes. They’re the strangest color, a mix between mustard yellow and pale blue. It’s a bit unsettling and I quickly glance away.
“Well that’s too bad. If he fucks up and you stop seeing him, give me a call.” He smiles and pulls a card out of his pocket, sliding it across the table. I glance down at it briefly before flicking my stare back up to him. There’s something about this guy that I find to be a major turn off but I can’t quite put my finger on it. “Thanks for the tarts,” he says, turning and exiting the shop as I pick up his card.