Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
This is what I’ve dreamed about when I’m not being trampled by nightmares.
I’ve ached for this, imagined him coming back and comforting me, because he’s the only one who really understands.
Dex was there.
He’s the man who saved my life.
He knows me well enough to save me from myself, and when I’m too stubborn to listen, he still puts his own neck on the line.
But if I let myself settle in his embrace now, I’ll never climb back out again.
“I should’ve known,” I tell him, my voice shaky. “I should have and I didn’t, and Dex—that told me I could learn a lot from you. As if everything you’ve done for the Sugar Bowl wasn’t already lesson enough. I’m such an idiot.”
“Junie, I don’t normally go getting mixed up with mobsters—”
“Let me finish.” He’s not the only one who’s been rehearsing this, although my lines were all hypothetical. I never thought I’d get a chance to say this to his face. “All this stuff you do—the multimillion-dollar deals, the stakes you play with—it’s totally foreign to me. I don’t know anything about it. I can barely keep the Sugar Bowl alive without your help.”
His arms tighten defensively around me.
“You’re doing one hell of a job. As soon as Haute’s money dried up, the customers didn’t stop, did they?”
“…no,” I admit sheepishly, smiling because business is better than ever. “I’m no businesswoman. I’m a baker first and I always will be. And that’s okay. I struggled with it for so long, and now that I’m doing better and making money it still feels like pulling teeth… but what I’m trying to say is, I don’t want the sort of life you live, Dexter.” This is the hard part, and my throat closes around those words. I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending I’m not confronting him at all. “I mean, I want something with lower stress. Less responsibility. Time for family, travel, art, life.”
For a second, he’s dead silent.
I’m just waiting for him to shove me away and walk out of my life forever.
But he doesn’t.
His big chest heaves as he holds me tighter.
“Sweet Stuff, you’re the most dedicated, stubborn pain in the ass I’ve ever met,” he whispers in my ear, stroking a slow line down my back with his fingers. “Are you finished, or do you want to abuse my lifestyle some more?”
“I… I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not judging, I just—”
“You know I’m joking, right?”
I lean back so I can see his face.
He’s still wearing that secret smile just for me, the smile that goes straight to my heart like an arrow.
“So you’re not mad?” I whisper hopefully.
“Why would I be? Except for the fact that you’ve been crying.” He wipes his thumb under my eyes. I refuse to tell him this week has involved a lot of tears. “No, Junie, I’m not mad. I’m just fucking dying without you.”
My heart dives.
“But I just basically said you suck at life.”
He shrugs. “And I deserved it. You’re right. I’ve been so wrapped up in work, in carving out my own legacy from the Rory shadow, that I’ve missed so many things—life and family and art.”
“And travel,” I remind him, touching his nose.
He shows his teeth.
Dexter Rory actually flipping grins.
His eyes warm like the perfect summer sky. “Yeah, about that—where do you want to go first, Junie? I’ve always wanted to see Italy. I hear Catania’s stunning. Warm beaches, breathtaking old buildings, cozy streets, citrus trees, plus you can eat your weight in seafood and pasta any damn day of the week. It’s Europe, yeah, but I’m sure they have something with five times the daily recommended sugar intake for you.”
I giggle.
He takes that as a cue to sweep me up, cradling me in his arms.
“Wait.” I ease back a bit so I can look at him. There’s an embarrassing wet patch on his shoulder from my tears. “What are you saying, Dex? You talk like it’s a done deal, like it’s all just that easy.”
“Does it need to be more complicated? I spoke with my brothers this morning. After they asked me a hundred times if the blood loss did any permanent brain damage, we agreed to restructure our duties and take on a couple new hires to help me analyze new properties. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life, even if it took me thirty-two years to realize it.”
“That’s you, all right,” I say with a smile that’s breaking my face. “It takes a lot to convince you, but once your mind is made up, watch out.”
He chuckles and brings me closer to his lips.
“I’m reducing my hours at the company, effective immediately. Stepping back. With more time on my hands, I’ll figure out this whole work-life balance everyone raves about.”
This is probably the time when I should say something big and important, but I’m just opening and closing my mouth like a fish sucking air.