Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Old man?” he questioned. “I’ll address that later, but right now, I need icing.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a rude, overbearing tyrant?” I frowned at him. “Stop stealing my cupcakes.”
“I have been called all of those things,” he acknowledged with a careless shrug. “High-handed, demanding, arrogant, bossy, to name a few others.” He paused. “Not old man, though. That was rude, Little Bee.”
I tried not to blush. It was a bit rude.
“So is Little Bee,” I insisted.
“But you are one.” He smiled. “All riled up and ready to attack. Defend your territory.”
I lifted one eyebrow, not saying a word.
He smirked at me as if he knew my thoughts. “You’re being rude again.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. You say it all with your eyes.” He gestured impatiently to the van. “Now, icing,” he repeated.
“I will have your job.” I said haughtily. “For harassing me.”
He chuckled and bent low, catching me by surprise as he kissed me again. Once. Then again. Harder, his lips lingering. He eased back, looking down at me, another smile pulling his lips upward.
Jesus, I suddenly wanted to smear icing on him and lick it off. Old man or not.
Everywhere.
He smiled wider, his dimples deepening.
“You are entertaining. I might let you do that one day. And I will disprove the old man theory,” he vowed. “Thoroughly.” He winked, turned, and walked away, stopping to pick up his discarded cigar. I shook my head, muttering to myself in embarrassment for speaking my thoughts out loud. I spun around, cursing when I realized he’d taken one entire container of icing, leaving the lid behind. The man was stealthy and fast. Like a ninja. I had to admit, I was impressed. For an old man, he moved quickly.
I counted six more missing cupcakes.
Six.
How the hell had he taken six?
His kisses weren’t that intoxicating.
Were they?
I’d never know.
Since it was the last time that would happen, it would remain an unanswered question.
I was certain of it.
I made it through the long and painful dinner, on edge and slowly dying inside. I hated social functions. I was naturally shy, and being seated with a group of strangers was difficult for me, which was why I usually avoided social gatherings. I only made exceptions for weddings when one of my cakes was being served. Usually, the bride was only too happy for me to sit in the kitchen or elsewhere to keep an eye on the cake until it was time for me to make sure it was served properly, but Carolina had insisted I sit with the guests. I was used to much more casual attire, and my dress felt foreign against my skin, the material loose around my legs. My bare arms were cool and I wanted to tug at the neckline a hundred times, but I forced myself to sit still. I had thought it pretty when I got ready, but now it seemed plain compared to the glitter and shimmer of the dresses around me. Some of the necklines were cut so low you could almost see nipples, and some hems so short I wondered how they sat without exposing their butt cheeks or even something more private. My hem fell below my knees, the neckline modest, and the capped sleeves that seemed flirty in the store, now all felt old and frumpy. Even the pretty green seemed dull. I was mostly ignored at the table, the people around me drinking, laughing, and already knowing one another. I tugged my shawl around my shoulders, feeling invisible. I wanted to leave, but I watched the cake, ready to spring into action if anyone started touching it. But aside from admiring it, no one had approached it. As soon as it was cut, I was free to go. I counted the minutes.
I kept my eyes peeled for the cupcake stealer, but I didn’t spot him. He had to be the event coordinator for the building, which explained his slightly haughty ways and how he kept appearing. I didn’t say anything to Carolina about running into him again or the fact that he’d taken more cupcakes. I’d have to explain how he distracted me, and I really didn’t want to do that.
I doubted I would get another gig here, so there was no point in ruining his career. And I had extra cupcakes, so no harm had really been done.
That was what I told myself.
It had nothing to do with his talented mouth.
Not at all.
After the speeches and first dance, I headed to the corner and watched as the staged photos were taken, the cake captured on film, then I helped the staff slice the cakes and slid cupcakes onto plates to go to tables and be shared. Once it was done, I sighed in relief and sadness. So much work to disappear so quickly. I heard the positive comments about the cakes, which made me smile, and I chatted with some people who came up to me to express their thoughts on my creation. I really hoped this display would lead to more jobs for me, and I gave my number to four couples and a few older mothers and fathers who had children being married or anniversary parties coming up.