Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 13908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
"Won me, huh?"
"Won you over? Convinced you to let me in."
I giggle. "I've let you in, on, and around me in ways no one else can imagine."
"Speaking of our, uh, creative sex life, do you want me to save some of this red icing?" He wriggles his thick brows up and down.
"Only if we're using it at your place. I can still smell caramel from our last confectionary catastrophe in my wooden floors.”
"I can bring the floor buffer, treat your entire place, and see if that helps."
"Well, there aren't any ants or other critters, so it's probably just the scent of our memories playing tricks on me."
"I'll still come by and go over the floors just to be sure. Believe me, you don't want to find out later that something leaked and turned to mold or anything."
"Always the fucking gentleman," I sigh.
"The only gentleman you like to fuck." He holds up a finger full of icing to my mouth, and I suck the red cream off his finger with a moan of delight.
"That tastes like a maraschino cherry," I tell him. "That's delicious."
"It's a slightly altered recipe from my pina colada cupcakes that I offer in summer. I've added some spice to the cake to make it more festive for the winter holidays."
"You're a genius. Will you let me cook or bake something for you? I want to thank you for everything that's happening because you took a chance on me. You're always there to help me, and I just want to do something nice for you."
Dean's silence is loud, but not for long. "I'll let you do anything to me and for me, Mackenna. All I need to know is the time and place."
"How about tonight at my place?"
"Tonight can work. We have some late orders going out, but I should be finished here by seven. Is eight o'clock good for you?"
"Yeah, that's perfect. I'll see you at eight, then."
"Do you need me to bring anything?"
I push myself onto my toes, letting the lingering flavor of the red icing enhance a sultry kiss that draws out a moan from us both. When I begin to pull away, he holds me close a few seconds longer before I step back and swipe a piece of hair behind my ear.
"All you need to bring is yourself, Dean. I have everything sorted out for a meal that's going to knock your socks off."
6
DEAN
Imanage to get out of the bakery earlier than expected, giving me time to go home and shower. I opt for a silver tie, dark blue shirt, and black pants under a long black coat. It doesn't take long for me to get to Mackenna's house, a small cottage-style home on a quiet street in our little town.
As Mackenna and I grow closer, I want this to be forever. I'm happy for her success and love that I could help her find new clients. She's a visionary when it comes to marketing. The business at the bakery has doubled, and I see it increasing the longer we implement her ideas. If I'd known she needed the work sooner, I would have hired her a long time ago.
But that's Mackenna.
She doesn't complain. She puts her head down and deals with everything life throws at her. From losing her mom to pausing her college career to taking on the volatile role of a freelance marketing professional, she just gets shit done.
When Mackenna opens the door, I'm blown away. The aroma of savory food greets me, along with a vision of beauty, making me happy that I put in the effort to dress up for tonight. The spaghetti-strap black dress she's wearing frames her body perfectly. Her smile is subtle, drawing me into her hazel-eyed gaze. The way her hair frames her face tugs at my urge to run my fingers through it.
"Well, come inside." She holds out a hand to me.
I plan to do just that, but for now, she leads me into her cozy home.
It's about the same size as my place, but the living room is in a separate room. The dining room is more of an office space than a place to eat, and her kitchen is far bigger than mine. Her bedroom door is down a hallway off the dining room, where I can see the soft flickering glow of candlelight.
"Whatever you're making smells heavenly," I tell her.
"Thank you. It's a recipe my mom taught me. Chicken marsala with roasted potatoes and sauteed spinach. I also have a Chardonnay to go with it," she says with a hint of nervousness.
"I'm sure it's going to be delicious," I assure her as we sit at a table for two in the corner of her kitchen.
Delicious is an understatement. I clear my plate and most of the food she's made effortlessly. After dinner is done and the kitchen is clean, we relax in her living room, music playing softly around us.