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)
Broad shoulders and a torso sculpted to perfection sit under a short-sleeved shirt that seems to taper toward his waist. Denim pants fit him nicely but hide one of my favorite parts of his body.
Sheesh. I can't remember the last time I've had sex, let alone go on a date, but seeing Dean like this makes me wonder if my lack of work is enough to keep me from committing to what he wants. Hell, it's time I acknowledge what I want.
And what I want is him. All of him.
"Are you going to come in or give me your proposal on the doorstep?" he asks, the side of his mouth lifting.
With my thoughts slamming to a halt, I follow him inside.
The living room, dining room, and kitchen are all in the same space. There's a large TV playing silently in the background. Some baking show is on as Dean grabs a towel off the dining table to handle a steaming pot in the kitchen.
"It's nothing fancy. Just meatballs, sauce, and, uh, you have some options. Pasta or baguette?"
"Pasta," I tell him, and he nods and makes me a heaping plate of food.
"So, Miss Monroe," he teases me like I did to him earlier. "Please tell me all the wonderful things I should do to drum up business for Sweet Treats."
I pull out my tablet and a few printouts to show him what I've been working on all day since he kicked me out of the bakery. Between work and catching up on time gone by, I've forgotten how easy it is for us to fall into comfortable conversation. Dinner is delicious, especially with the wine he's paired with it, and I sit back in amazement.
"It's incredible," he whispers, more to himself than to me. "I never thought of delivering videos of baking tips and recipes to devoted fans. Taking a few days out of the month to bank them all and schedule their send-out will take less time than I thought."
"That's only for subscribers, but we can tweak it once your fan base grows. You already have around ten thousand followers, which is phenomenal, considering you barely post. Your muffin of the day should be posted daily."
He chuckles. "It was great when it first started, but then it took off, and I couldn't run the businesses and the social media. I didn't have the time or the funds to hire someone full-time to manage it. I try to get around to it every few days. Thankfully, business in town keeps me floating way more than social media stuff."
"You've been coasting since, which is not bad considering how much you hate human interactions."
He laughs again, flashing me a half-cocked grin. "I don't hate human interactions. Patience with people isn't one of my strong suits."
"You've been patient with me."
He reaches across the table, hooking a finger under my chin to lift my gaze to his. "You're not people. You're my Mackenna."
I can barely stand how sweet he is to me when I don't feel like myself. I have to change the subject, gently moving away from his touch. I'm certain I sound abrupt as I speak. "This food is great, Dean. How is it that you bake, cook, and run the bakery and the bar so effortlessly? I feel like I'm losing the race of life, struggling to catch up to everyone around me."
Dean gets out of his seat to grab my plate. "It's life, Mackenna. There's no race. We all finish in the same place."
I follow him into the kitchen, where I help clear the dishes and wipe down the stove. We fall into a silent rhythm effortlessly—just like the bar, like everything between us. It's too easy, almost to the point that I don't deserve it.
"Can I ask you something?" Dean's voice cuts through our quiet movements.
"Anything."
"Why would you let me taste you, touch you, but when I want to feed you and help you, it's too much?"
4
DEAN
I'm tired of staying away.
I'm tired of waiting.
Mackenna belongs to me, and it's time she accepts that. Yet, as much as I want to throw her over my shoulder and plow her sweet pussy, I can't force her to let me love her. I don't want to force her. I just want her to make a choice.
She inhales deeply and looks at me, tears welling in her eyes. "Because it is. I'm not where I want to be in my career, my life. I feel like letting you in, you'll take over and try to fix it all. This is my mess. A mess of my own making, and I … I have to take care of it."
"Not on your own, you don't. Listen to me, Kenny." I use the name everyone calls her to show her I'm willing to be her friend. I know she hates it because I'm different, at least I'm supposed to be. I get to call her Mackenna because no one else does. But if she's going to treat me like everyone else…