Текст книги "Torn"

Автор книги: Monica Murphy

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Leaning forward, I breathe deep, inhaling the deliciously sweet floral scent. The flowers are so beautiful they almost don’t look real. The arrangement appears haphazard, a casual gathering of gorgeous blooms, but as I look closer, I see that it’s artfully arranged.

“They’re lovely,” Gina breathes, sniffing loudly. “And they smell divine. Even better than the chocolate cake baking in the oven.”

She’s right. I can’t even smell the usual bakery scents anymore. All I can inhale is the fragrance of the flowers. Plucking through the arrangement, I run my finger first over a silky white petal, then a velvety purple one. I notice the pick nestled amongst the blooms holding a small, cream-colored envelope.

I tear it open and pull out the thick, square card, frowning at the sight of the unfamiliar, very bold script.

Marina—

I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive my rudeness the other night. Perhaps we can start over?

Best,

Gage

Blowing out a harsh breath, I roll my eyes at no one. I’m freaking irritated he didn’t sign his last name, believing he was that memorable.

And he had been.

A giddy, fizzy sensation washes over me, and I fight it down as best I can, but it’s no use. I like that he did this. That he wanted to apologize by sending me flowers.

It meant he was thinking about me.

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head, focusing instead on why he had to make that apology in the first place. Talk about a grand gesture. The flowers had to have cost him an absolute fortune. Glancing at the back of the torn envelope, I see the name of the floral shop printed in tiny script in the upper left corner.

Oh yeah. I know they cost a fortune. Botanical is the premiere florist shop in the valley—and right down the street from the bakery.

“Who are they from?” Gina asks.

I glance up at her, sad I’m about to disappoint her. My mother’s family has already written me off as a dried-up old maid, I know it. I’m freaking twenty-three but every Molina woman, including my mother and my aunt, were married by the age of twenty-one.

The way they act, they may as well set me up on the shelf and forget all about me.

“A man I met a few nights ago,” I start, glaring at her when she begins squealing excitedly. She shuts up quick. “It was nothing. We were at that new winery’s open house, remember the one I told you about? We started talking, and then he made me angry, so I stormed off. The flowers are his way of apologizing.”

“Some apology,” Gina says dryly, her gaze still lingering on the bouquet. “Why did you get so mad at him?”

“He insulted our family.”

I knew that would get her riled. She stiffens her spine, her expression gone indignant. “What? How? What an insufferable—”

“I overreacted. He didn’t know who I was.” I shrug, trying to act like he didn’t bother me too badly, but he so did. If I think about it too much, I could get angry all over again.

Angry and some other emotion I’d rather not focus on at the moment . . .

“He didn’t know who you were? Who is this imbecile?” My aunt is outraged on my behalf. Gotta love her. “Everyone knows the Molinas!”

“First of all, I’m a Knight—” I start.

“And a Molina,” she adds.

“Right.” I nod. Proud Italians are the worst, as in the most stubborn people of all the land. At least my family is. “And he’s not from the area.”

My entire family tends to forget there’s a whole other world outside of their Napa Valley glass bubble. As I child, I found it very secure. As an adult, I view them as narrow-minded and self-important. Sometimes.

Didn’t you act a little self-important with a certain someone a few nights ago?

I frown. Really didn’t need that reminder.

“Where’s he from?” she huffs.

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. But I knew he was a stranger. I’ve never seen him before.” I’m lying. Yes, he’s a stranger, as in not local. But I know where he’s from. I can’t tell Gina I did a background check on him though. Then she’d ask why, and I’d have to tell her, and I’m sorry, I don’t have time to answer questions right now.

I need to work. It’s all I do lately. I definitely don’t get out much; the event where I saw Gage had been a social-working thing, so that doesn’t count.

Otherwise, I’m so busy I’m either here at the bakery, helping out my parents, or having long meetings at the bank trying to straighten out our financial mess with an advisor who’s worked for my dad since before I was born.

Then I go home late at night and collapse into bed, only to start all over again the next morning.

Talk about living in a sheltered little bubble. I’m the complete embodiment of it.

“Well. He sounds horrid.” Gina sniffs.

I hold back from rolling my eyes. My mother’s younger sister loves to rush to judgment. It’s one of her finer qualities, my mom always says. Her steadfast loyalty is always appreciated. And we work well together, despite her occasional moodiness and uneven temperament.

Of course, she could probably say the same about me, so . . .

“He wasn’t that bad.” Major understatement. No, Gage Emerson definitely isn’t horrid. Handsome, yes. Sexy, indeed he is. Confident to the point of smug, oh yeah.

I’ve always found confidence in a man attractive. I blame my father. He embodies all of those traits in a most handsome package.

“Do you forgive him?”

Blinking, I turn to find Gina studying me, her gaze shrewd. “What did you say?” I ask.

“What with the flowers and the card he sent you, do you now forgive this man who insulted our family? And why would he go so far and apologize like this? How long did you two talk?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Ten minutes?”

Her lips tighten to the point of almost completely disappearing from her face. How does she do that? “So a man you spoke to for ten minutes and treated you rudely sends you flowers that probably cost hundreds of dollars? I smell a rat.”

“You always do,” I joke with her, trying to lighten the moment, but she won’t have it.

Shaking her head, she rounds the counter and stands on the other side, sticking her face into the bouquet and breathing deep. “This is by far the most beautiful arrangement I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot.” That was the truth, considering Gina used to create beautiful cakes for wedding receptions. We gave that up when I took over. I’d streamlined the business completely, something my aunt was very grateful for. She’d been working herself to the bone.

Now I guess it’s my turn.

“He’s just trying to impress me with his money,” I joke, making her smile. “Probably hoping I’ll fall to my knees and praise him for his lavish gifts.”

“Now that sounds like an interesting scenario,” a man’s voice said from behind her.

Gasping at the sound of the faintly familiar, velvety deep voice, I glance up to find Gage Emerson himself standing in the middle of the bakery, looking disgustingly gorgeous, clad in another one of those perfect suits he owns. The man dresses to perfection. And why didn’t I hear the bell ring over the door? “Oh my God,” I whisper, absolutely mortified. His suggestive tone said he found my words . . . titillating. Great.

And while we’re standing in the presence of my very overprotective and slightly angry aunt.

“I take it this is the rat?” she asks, making me groan inwardly.

“At your service, ma’am.” Gage goes to her, his hand outstretched. Gina eyes it warily, as if it was a snake that might strike her at any moment. “Gage Emerson, aka The Rat.”

She laughs and takes his hand, charmed. Just like that. It might not last, knowing my aunt, but come on . . . everyone seems to fall for him.

Why does her positive reaction rub me the wrong way? Why does Gage rub me the wrong way?

If I’m being honest with myself, I could get on board with him rubbing me the right way. And I don’t normally fall for smug assholes. I’m attracted to confident men, but there’s something about Gage I don’t like. His arrogance is over the top. He seems like he’d be bad for me. And I’ve never had a bad-boy fetish.

Not that he’s a bad boy, per se. But he’s definitely trouble. Trouble I don’t want.

Yeah, you do.

I’m arguing with my own self inside my head. Clearly, I’ve lost my mind. I don’t get it. I don’t get my reaction to him.

Correction. I don’t want to react to him, and I can’t seem to help myself.

Chapter Three

Gage

THE TWO WOMEN eye me carefully, the older woman—who I assume is Marina’s aunt—relaxing somewhat.

At least someone has a sense of humor around here. You could cut the tension in this cute little European-style bakery with a cake knife.

“How are you, Marina?” I walk toward the counter, noting how she grips the edge so tight she’s white-knuckling it. Do I make her that angry? Or maybe . . . that nervous?

I know she makes me nervous. She’s all I think about, which can’t be healthy.

For once, I really don’t give a damn.

“Good.” She lifts her chin, her expression neutral. Only her eyes give her away, a hint of nervousness fluttering in their depths. This woman standing before me is completely different from the one I first met a few nights ago. This version looks younger, sweeter. More like the woman in the photo on the Autumn Harvest website. Not quite as poised as the elegant siren luring me in with her dangerous smile and sweet voice. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“My conscience wouldn’t let me stay away. I had to seek you out and apologize for how I offended you.” I gesture toward the flowers that cost me a shit-ton of money. Cost doesn’t matter though, since I believe she’s worth it. Getting me an in with her father, her entire family?

Even more worth it. Plus, I can eventually write off the expense.

Christ, you’re a jackass.

I can’t even admit to myself that I really wanted to buy her those flowers. That the bright, colorful arrangement made me think of her. Hiding behind it in the hopes of getting an in with her father is only part of the reason I’m here.

Marina Knight. She’s the true reason I’m standing here worried I’m going to make a complete ass of myself.

“How did you find me?” she asks warily.

Now she probably thinks I’m a stalker. I can’t give away my source. Yet. Archer’s the guy I want to hook her with eventually. If I can’t charm her, I need to find another way to make her see me again. “I figured out who you were and put it all together.”

“Hmmm.” That’s her reply. She sounds like she doesn’t believe me.

Great. I wouldn’t believe me either.

“Do you like the flowers?” I ask when she still doesn’t say anything else.

“They’re beautiful,” she admits grudgingly, making me smile. She doesn’t return it, screws her lush mouth into a little scowl instead. “Thank you,” she mumbles.

“So.” I offer her my best, most humble smile in return. “Am I forgiven?”

“You think it’s that easy, Rat Boy? That you can just waltz in here and have yourself declared forgiven all because you threw your credit card at the most expensive flower shop on this street and bought the biggest arrangement they’ve got?” Her aunt snorts and shakes her head. “I don’t think so, young man.”

Raising my brows, my gaze meets Marina’s. Guess the aunt has no problem letting her opinion be known. “It was an honest mistake,” I say. “And well, you sort of jumped to conclusions, you have to admit.”

Marina’s expression hardens in an instant. Jesus, what is with me constantly saying the wrong thing to this woman? I’m usually a smooth-talking motherfucker—direct quote from Archer—and if anyone is an expert at that subject, it’s him. I put women at ease, I make them laugh, and if I’m lucky—on certain, especially rare occasions, at least lately—I get them to agree to come home with me.

“You’re two seconds from getting kicked out of here,” she whispers fiercely, her eyes shooting fire. Aimed right at me.

“Sorry! Shit.” I throw my hands up in front of me defensively, her aunt’s mutterings of “stupid Rat Boy” coming from somewhere behind not going unnoticed. “I just . . . I’m sorry.”

Marina crosses her arms in front of her chest, the movement plumping up her breasts, drawing my attention. I can’t help it, I’m a guy and she has nice ones. She’s wearing a black T-shirt with AUTUMN HARVEST written across the front in elegant gold script, her long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, minimal if any makeup. She looks tired. There are dark smudges under her eyes and her mouth is tight. “Go on,” she prompts.

Hell. I have to say more? Breaking out in a light sweat, I forge on. “I was rude. And I didn’t mean to offend you. I had no idea who you were—”

The aunt makes a harrumph noise, but I ignore her.

“—and my friend had to point out who exactly you were a few days later.” Stuffing my hands in my front pockets, I shuffle my feet, feeling all of about ten years old and having to confess everything I’d done wrong to my dad. Waiting for the inevitable punishment that was sure to come.

“Who’s your friend?” she asks, her voice curious.

What? No ‘you’re forgiven,’ or ‘thanks for the apology’? I’m boggled. And I may as well reveal my secret source. I have the distinct feeling she’s ready to tell me to get the hell out.

“Uh . . . Archer Bancroft.”

Her arms drop to her sides, curiosity written all over her pretty face. “I know Archer. Vaguely. He owns the Hush and Crave hotels, right?”

Slowly I nod, wondering at the sudden gleam in her eyes.

“So how do you know him?” she asks.

“Where you going with this, girly?” her aunt pipes up.

“Gina. Don’t you have a cake to check on?” Marina asks pointedly.

“Crap! I do. Oh my God, I hope it’s not burning. I’ll be back.” Aunt Gina gives me the evil eye as she passes by and pushes through the door I can only assume leads to the kitchen, disappearing in an instant.

“Sorry about that,” Marina says, taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly. “So do you mind telling me? How you know Archer Bancroft?”

Hmm. Someone wants something. I can see it in the way she’s looking at me. Like her question shouldn’t matter but it definitely does. I wonder what she wants from Archer? “We go way back,” I drawl. This could be fun, making her work for it.

“Really? So are you two close?”

Best friends since high school, but like I’m going to give her that info. Yet. “Close enough,” I say, purposefully vague.

“Hmm. You know, I had this idea I wanted to propose to him, and I keep forgetting to give him a call, I’ve been so busy. Maybe you can help me with that,” she says hopefully, her eyes wide, her expression open.

Is she serious? I can’t tell. But I haven’t even earned her full forgiveness yet. “I can help you with whatever you want.”

Her gaze narrows. “You say things like that, and it sounds sexual.”

Guess this attraction between us isn’t all one-sided. Good news. Just looking at her and I want to touch her. Run my fingers through her hair. Drop a soft kiss to her very kissable mouth. She might punch me if I try though. Can’t push her too hard. “I guess I can’t help but think of sex when I’m near you.”

Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

Shit. Yep, there I went, pushing too hard like I can’t help myself. I need to change the subject quick. Most women who flirt with me have no problem talking about sex. This one acts like I just asked her to commit a crime. “So, what sort of idea were you thinking?”

Her expression instantly goes blank. “Like I’m going to tell you anything. I don’t even know you.”

Fine. She wants to play that way? I can play right back. “You want my help talking to Archer?”

She nods so subtly I can almost believe she didn’t do it. Almost.

“I need your forgiveness.”

“You’re forgiven,” she says automatically.

Meh. That was quick. And it really didn’t count since I know she didn’t mean it, but I’ll let it slide. “You can’t make me feel guilty about this anymore. What’s done is done.”

“Fine. Great. Works for me.” She releases another shaky breath. I think I make her uncomfortable. Perfect, because she makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

As in the I want her so much I feel like I’m going to lose it if I don’t touch her in the next five minutes kind of uncomfortable.

“I’ll need one more thing from you before I can make this happen,” I say quietly, trying to amp the anticipation. I’m dying to see her reaction when I tell her.

Marina rolls her eyes, sexy despite her irritation with me. Since when have I ever been excited by a woman’s irritation? I’m a sick bastard.

“Oh, come on. What more could you want?” She sounds completely put out. And clueless.

Well. I’m about to rock her world with one single word.

“You.”

Marina

“LISTEN, I’M NOT some whore you can buy and sell,” I say, immediately regretting my words. I sound completely over the top.

The look on his face shows he knows it. “That wasn’t what I was implying,” he says carefully. “I just . . . like you. I was hoping maybe we could see each other sometime.”

The man is insane. Gorgeous and confident and with a surprisingly good sense of humor, considering how deftly he handled crazy Gina, but he’s also a complete pain in my ass.

He has something I want though and I can’t believe I forgot. Connections: one I somehow missed, so shame on me. And that connection is Archer Bancroft: a transplant, not necessarily considered a local, but definitely a man who’s moved into the area within the last five years and done positive things to regenerate the economy. His hotel business is thriving; he’s provided lots of jobs and plenty of sales revenue. He’s solid, and his reputation is relatively golden, helped considerably since he settled down into a serious relationship. This community is small enough that everyone knows each other’s business, and Archer’s not shy about making a public statement.

He is definitely someone I want to do business with. I’ve had these new ideas bouncing around inside my brain, and I think he’s the perfect candidate for one of them. Well, his hotel is the perfect candidate. If I could get my aunt’s desserts into his restaurants, the extra exposure and revenue might help save the bakery.

And I exaggerated. I don’t know Archer. I know of him. I’ve met him a few times. We always exchange polite hellos when we see each other at social events, but that’s not very often considering I’m always working and rarely out. I just don’t have time.

That’s the extent of my so-called friendship with him. Whereas Gage really knows him. And even though I don’t trust him and know he wants to buy up my family’s property—including the bakery—I may as well use him while I can, right?

So yeah. I want him to get me an appointment so I can propose my idea to Archer.

Not with these sort of stipulations put on me though. Saying he wants me? That has cheap sexual thrill written all over it.

Sighing, I finally shake my head. “Of course. I know. It’s just . . . it’s been a long day. And then you send me the gorgeous flowers, and my Aunt Gina flipped out.”

“She’s quite the character,” he inserts politely.

“You’re too kind.” Smiling wryly, I continue on. “Then you show up begging for forgiveness and . . . you distracted me.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“When a girl needs to focus on working, her business, and nothing else—yes. It’s a very bad thing.” Deciding to hell with it, I move away from behind the counter and head toward the front door, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED and turning the lock.

“Closing up?” he asks. He sounds incredulous.

“There are no customers in here besides you.” And it’s near enough to our actual closing time that it won’t make any difference.

“So are you going to answer me?” he asks, watching me move around the tiny café. His big body seems to eat up all the space, filling the air until all I can breathe and see is him. I do my best to avoid him, straightening chairs, picking up miscellaneous straw wrappers and crumpled napkins that still litter the tables. I’m trying to avoid answering him. Too full of nervous, restless energy he can no doubt pick up on.

What more could you want?

You.

I mean really. Who says that sort of thing? I feel like I’m in some bad, cheesy made-for-TV movie or something.

“What sort of answer are you looking for? You never really asked me a question,” I finally say, glancing out the corner of my eye to see him approaching.

“I did so.” He stops mere feet away from me. I can feel his body warmth reaching toward me and I’m tempted to lean in. Absorb all of that strength and warmth and gorgeousness. Though he looks utterly untouchable in the finely tailored suit that I can tell cost a fortune. “I asked if you wanted my help in getting you a chance to talk to Archer.”

“Of course I do,” I say, my voice quiet, my thoughts a confused jumble in my brain. What is going on here? Why am I even talking to him? Why do I want to be close to him? It makes no sense.

I can’t stand him.

Really. I can’t. I don’t care how good he looks in that suit or how his sexy hair probably needs a trim. How bad I want to run my fingers through it. Or maybe grab his tie and yank him closer, see what he might do if I reared up on tiptoe and kissed him . . .

“Then go out to dinner with me,” he suggests, his voice bold, his expression arrogant. The glint in his eyes, the curl of his lips . . . he’s too damn confident. Like he knows I won’t be able to resist him.

Irritating, because I’m this close to giving in and saying yes.

I slump my shoulders. Seconds ago I was imagining violently kissing him, and now I’m considering some other sort of violence toward him—like bodily harm. He infuriates me, yet he interests me. Usually if I’m interested in a guy, it’s because I like him. I don’t want to smack him upside the head.

“You’re going to force me to go out to dinner with you and in return you’ll help me arrange an appointment with Archer Bancroft?” I laugh though I find no humor in his suggestion. I might find it . . . arousing. Which is wrong on so many levels I lose count.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Marina,” he says softly, his eyes glowing as they drink me in. “Unless . . . you like it that way.”

Well, holy shit. The man needs duct tape wound around his mouth about twenty times. He says the worst things ever. “Did you really just say that?” I ask, my voice sounding deadly even to my own ears.

He seems to snap himself out of a trance. Standing straighter, he blinks, runs a hand along his jaw. God, his hands are big. I wonder what they might feel like on me. Sliding over my arms, my legs, between my thighs—

Get over it!

“Did I really just say what?” He looks dazed. The tension crackling between us has suddenly become unbearable and I have no idea why.

Um, maybe because you’re attracted to him?

I push the pointless thought out of my head.

“Is it just me you say idiotic, sexist, disgusting things to, or do you talk this way to all the women you encounter?” I cross my arms in front of my chest again, noting—again—that his eyes drop right to my breasts. Men. They’re all the same. And this one is so blatant, so cocky, and with such a rude mouth. He’s downright offensive.

Yet my skin is buzzing just being in his presence. My blood is warm, my body both loose and anxious all at once. I only ever feel this way right before I’m going to have sex and I’m all amped up. Excited and nervous.

And I am never. Ever. Having sex with Gage Emerson. Oh hell, no.

A little groan escapes him and he closes his eyes for the briefest moment, gripping the back of the chair directly in front of him. Damn, his eyelashes are thick. Of course. Everything about him is the epitome of male beauty.

He cracks his eyes open. “Did I really say that out loud?”

“Yep,” I confirm, enjoying his absolute misery.

“I was thinking it,” he admits, looking sheepish. Cutely sheepish. “That probably makes me a pig just the same, right?”

“Right.” I nod, letting my arms drop by my sides. “I won’t whore myself out on a date with you just to get a chance to talk to Archer. I can do that on my own.”

A dark brow rises in challenge. “You really think so? Think about it. I’m offering you an easy in. He might throw up roadblocks, you know.”

Knowing Gage, he’d probably ask Archer to throw up those roadblocks just so I’d go out with him. Jerk. “Oh my God. Are you implying I can’t see Archer without you? Do you really need to be such an arrogant ass?” I toss back, immediately wishing I could clap my hand over my mouth. This man makes me say things I regret every single time.

“You’re right.” His vivid green eyes dim. “I’m an arrogant ass and I’m sorry. Forgive me again by coming with me on this date? I’ll make it up to you.”

I’ll make it up to you.

There is a hint of sexual promise in his request, in that one specific sentence. I’m drawn to all that heady temptation, despite wanting to also knee him in the balls and tell him to go to hell. God, I hate rich dudes who think everyone owes them something. They are the absolute worst because usually, in the end, they always get what they want.

I’ve dealt with plenty in my lifetime. My family is both populated with and surrounded by wealthy, powerful men. We move in the same social circles. I went to high school and college with plenty of those who were going on to be successful, wealthy men—and women too, of course.

Except for me. My family is still drowning in a sea of debt, and it’s only a matter of time until they decide to close the bakery once and for all. I think they believe it’s a fun little project for my Aunt Gina and me. Like we’re pretending to be business owners.

None of them understand how much this bakery means to Gina. Or me. I’ve only been running it for a year, but I’ve worked here off and on since I was a teen. It became my after-school job, my summer job . . . I met my first boyfriend here. Had my first kiss out in front of it, too.

Autumn Harvest has tremendous sentimental value to me. I also think it has tremendous potential, if only I could find the extra funds to make it really shine. Not that anyone cares.

“What do you say?” Gage’s delicious rumble of a voice draws me from my thoughts and I blink up at him, still caught in hazy longing for the past. I make bad decisions when I’m feeling like this. All based on what my heart says versus my head.

My heart is almost always, always wrong.

“Say about what?” I ask, wanting to hear him ask me out on the dinner date again. I need to stall. I need to rationalize with my overexcited thoughts how going out with this guy is a huge mistake. My change of heart in regard to Gage is confusing even to me.

He smiles, the sight of it sending a flurry of butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and I stand up straighter. Determined not to act like a silly, simpering female.

I want to though. Just looking at him, listening to him talk, sets me on edge. In a deliciously scary way.

For whatever strange reason, I’m fairly positive Gage Emerson has set his sights on me. And I think I kind of like it.

His smile grows. God, he’s pretty. “Go out with me. Come on, Marina. It’ll just be a simple dinner, and in return you can have thirty minutes of Archer’s time, or however long you need, to tell him all about this mysterious proposition.”

“And what do you get out of this arrangement?” I ask warily.

“Why, the pleasure of your company of course,” he says smoothly. Effortlessly.

Men who speak too effortlessly tend to scare the crap out of me. Usually means they’re hiding something. My one long-term boyfriend in college was like this. Very charming . . . and eventually, he became toxic to my mental state. He was a liar and a manipulator. I don’t need another one like that in my life.

So what is it about this guy that I’m drawn to? Because I am. I can’t deny it.

I study Gage for a long moment, letting the anticipation roll through my veins. Saying yes would be tremendously easy. So would saying no. In fact, refusing him would be even easier. Then I’d never have to worry about Archer Bancroft or the good idea I want to bring to him. I wouldn’t have to put on a phony show for Gage while going out on this date with him. Being something that I’m not; I do that constantly.

“Take a chance,” Gage murmurs, his decadent tone reaching right into me, shaking me up. “Say yes, Marina. You know you want to.”

“Hmm. Funny thing is I don’t want to.” I try to sound irritated and instead it comes out breathless. What is wrong with me?

His expression goes from confident to crestfallen, like I flipped a switch. “You hate me that much?”

“Hate is a pretty strong word, so let’s just say I’m not your biggest fan.”

“So you won’t go to dinner with me.”

I slowly shake my head, disappointment filling me, and I push it aside. I’m doing the right thing. I need to remember that. “You’ll probably try to pull some funny business, and I’m a little behind on my self-defense classes.”

“Funny business?” His lips twitch, despite his sadness just a second ago over my rejection. “You sound like your aunt.”

“You’re right. I do,” I agree. “Going out to dinner with you would be a mistake, Gage. We both know this.”

“We do?” He sounds surprised.

“I do. And I can’t afford to make any more mistakes in my life. I’d rather date no one than fall for some gorgeous guy who’s out to manipulate me. Right?” I offer him a tentative smile, but he doesn’t return it. I can’t blame him. I just called him a mistake. We’ve insulted each other, lobbing them back and forth like a tennis ball for the last ten or fifteen minutes. Imagine an entire evening just the two of us? Tearing each other apart with our words. Maybe tearing off each other’s clothes with anxious, eager hands . . .

Swallowing hard, I usher him out of the bakery with a few choice words and a firm push on his shoulders so he goes through the door. I slam it shut behind him, turning the lock with a forcible jerk. The loud click rings out—I know he heard it—and he glances over his shoulder at me one last lingering moment before he heads off into the sunset. As in for real, he walks toward the sunset, no doubt in search of his car.

Walking back toward the kitchen, my entire body begins to relax. I’m thankful to be out of Gage’s presence. It’s too overwhelming, just flat-out too much. He makes me think things, say things I don’t normally ever think or say. I’m a nice person. I don’t reject people or call them names. And I called him a disgusting pig. Talk about harsh.