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)
I’m blushing.
Holy hell, I’m blushing.
Again.
Nana bursts into a new laughing fit.
To compensate, I drain the rest of my wine and pour myself another glass. Yeah, the only way I’m going to get through tonight is with dangerous amounts of cabernet.
“Amazing ribs, Jo,” Dexter says, thankfully diverting her attention before I choke on a potato. “It’s easy to see why Junie’s a natural at what she does.”
“Oh, baking always had her heart. She’s wanted to work at the Sugar Bowl since she was making cookies out of Play-Doh. Didn’t you, Junie?” Nana smiles at me, probably thinking she’s doing me a favor. But the less we talk about my childhood, the better—especially before she touches the depressing stuff.
“Always.” I force a smile. It’s not like my other dreams were ever concrete.
And I’m good at cooking, baking especially. I take a lot of pride in my stuff, the way a customer’s eyes light up when they taste the Sugar Bowl’s magic for the first time.
I just never thought making people happy would come with a nice big side of crushing responsibility.
Sensing my discomfort, Dexter keeps the conversation on food and barbecue places he loves. I nibble at the creamed corn, extra glad he’s here to pick up the pieces.
I didn’t realize how smooth he is when he keeps his short-fused attitude in check.
How many social situations has he had to sit through like this, always pinpointing the right thing to say?
He knows just how hard to push, just how warm to make his voice as he showers praise on the food and listens warmly while Nana rattles on about all the rock stars of barbecue she knows in this city.
I wonder a bit jealously if this is the first grandmother he’s had to charm—or has he practiced this on lots of other women’s families?
Probably the first he’s had to charm for a pretend relationship, anyway.
At least I can be the first at something.
Nana doesn’t say anything as she clears my empty plate, but she tops off my wine again and brings out dessert.
I try not to laugh as Dexter’s face drops.
He’s about to break character, clinging to a neutral look and holding back a scowl for the ages. It’s the way the corners of his mouth tighten. The way he eyeballs the cake like he wants to punch it rather than eat it.
Miraculously, Nana doesn’t notice.
“There’s more,” Nana says proudly. “I know how much you must like your desserts to be with my Junie, so I made three classic goodies.”
My eyes flick over the spread.
Chocolate fudge cake. Cherry pie. Bola de Berlim—custard-filled Portuguese donuts. Y’know, just in case regular donuts aren’t sweet enough for him.
I help myself to a generous slice of chocolate fudge cake and Nana hands him a plate with all three desserts.
Dexter looks at them with the same joy as a little boy staring down a pile of brussels sprouts.
“Aren’t you thrilled you’re dating a baker?” I ask, my tone saccharine.
Shut it, his evil eye says before he fakes a smile for Nana.
“Looks delightful. Yes, I’m a lucky, lucky man. Can’t believe it sometimes,” he rumbles.
“Eat up, young man!” Nana urges, taking a donut for herself and watching him with the same doting look she normally saves for me. “There’s always more. No one’s tracking your dessert count in this house, dear.”
“I never would’ve guessed,” he says gruffly. “These look divine, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle much after the main course…”
I’m about to break down in hysterics, knowing he’s probably doing the mental math already, hashing out how much time he’ll have to put in sweating to burn off the extra calories.
That’s probably how he approaches his marketing, too.
Hell, it’s how he approached me, isn’t it?
Calculating to a fault.
“Dexter, you heard the lady. Eat,” I hiss playfully, taking a nice big bite of my cake.
Yum.
Nana knows just how to make it melt in your mouth like a good piece of fudge. Call it my inner basic bitch, but this is my favorite dessert of hers ever.
On my next bite, Dexter joins me, slicing into the donut.
To his credit, he does an amazing job of keeping pure disgust off his face, but he hasn’t looked this tense since I saw him with Forrest Haute.
“The chocolate cake is my favorite,” I say, nabbing another forkful off his plate to be a good sport. He should thank me later—it’s easily the sweetest thing on there. I totally deserve a pay raise for this.
“You’ve always been a chocoholic.” Nana beams at me.
“Only because you make the best, even the really dark stuff like the cocoa truffles you made last Christmas. It’s usually too bitter, but yours is just right, Nana.”
“Yeah. Just right,” Dexter manages, swallowing a mouthful of pure fudge without chewing.
I hide a grin.
Bet he wishes he didn’t compliment the food so much earlier now.