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Frustration rumbles in my chest.
I think I know what’s coming.
She’ll ask questions aboutus,and I won’t have answers she’ll like. Hell, answers that make sense.
This day has been complicated enough.
Now, it looks like it’s ending with a choice between destroying my business or Junie’s heart.
21
SWEET HEARTACHE (JUNIPER)
Idon’t know when I first started thinking of Dexter’s house as ‘home.’
It might have been the very first day of the flood, when he hauled me into his bed and I woke in his arms and felt more at peace than I had in forever.
Or maybe it was after, when I explored every inch of the house and made mad love to him on the kitchen island.
Or maybe it was when I caught myself singing in the shower like no one could hear—or at least, like no one would complain to the landlord.
When I felt like maybe this could be my life in a parallel universe—and then inthis one.
Dexter and his life and his house.
It certainly feels like home now, curled up on the sofa after dinner with Catness perched at the end, snoring away.
Dex sits beside me with my legs thrown over his lap and one large hand resting on my calf. His thumb strokes absently with the same affection that never fails to send warmth through me.
“If I don’t survive this, I expect a hero’s funeral.” He holds up his coffee mug and reaches across me to cut a slice of the cake.
It’s hard not to laugh as he takes the smallest piece possible with none of the cardinal icing. I accept my plate with a normal-sized piece, too, but I don’t take one bite until he goes first.
After hesitating, he stuffs a forkful in his mouth and chews slowly, fixing his gaze on me the entire time. His sharp blue eyes give away nothing.
“Well?” I urge, leaning forward.
Finally, he swallows.
“Disgusting.”
My heart plummets.
“Disgustingly delicious,” he tells me, giving my calf a rough squeeze. “Don’t know how the hell you did it, but you’ve made me eat chocolate that isn’t a mole sauce slathered on enchiladas.”
Relieved, I take a bite.
It’s definitely not my favorite.
The intense, bitter chocolate and strong espresso feels like an assault on my tongue. But I didn’t make this beauty for me—I made it for sugar hating supergrumps like the maniac holding me.
It won’t be a bestseller if I even bother to make it available by special order, but I’m not out to make a new hit.
I made it so one man could finally enjoy my life’s work.
And maybe—just maybe—I was hoping the hypothetical delight would sweeten him up for what’s next. Because even in the silence, filled with nothing but the crackling fireplace, tension creeps in.
I’ve felt this charged silence before.
