Page 78 of Frosted Fakes

"Acceptable?" Julia laughed. "I made you scream."

"I did not scream."

"The neighbors might disagree."

Elliott opened one eye, her mouth twitching. "Fine. Better than acceptable. Much better." She pulled Julia closer. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late."

They lay tangled together as the evening light faded to dusk. Julia's head rested on Elliott's shoulder, their legs intertwined, skin cooling in the quiet air. She could feel Elliott's heartbeat gradually slowing beneath her cheek.

"I meant what I said," Julia murmured. "About having real feelings."

Elliott's arm tightened around her. "I know. I believe you."

"And you? Um, feelings?" She was pushing the issue, but she had to, this was the only chance she might get to see Elliott open and relaxed and… natural.

A pause. Then: "I don't do this. Let people in. Share my bed or my space or any of it." Elliott's voice was quiet, vulnerable. "But with you, I want to." She cleared her throat. "It’s terrifying."

"Good terrifying?"

Elliott snorted a laugh. "The best terrifying."

Julia smiled and pressed a kiss to Elliott's shoulder. Outside, the church bells chimed the hour. The cake sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, and Julia couldn't bring herself to care.

This was exactly where she wanted to be. Where she thought she’d always wanted to be, she’d just never known before truly what she wanted. Who’d have thought it would be a grumpy, tattooed baker with commitment issues?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Julia woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and spent three blissful seconds wondering why the bed was so comfortable before remembering she wasn't on the couch.

She was in Elliott's bed. Because she'd slept with Elliott. Actually slept with her, not just slept beside her.

The space next to her was warm but empty, and Julia could hear movement in the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifted through the flat, rich and dark and perfect. She stretched like a cat, feeling muscles she'd forgotten she had, and smiled at the ceiling like an absolute idiot.

This was real. Whatever this was, it was actually happening.

She found one of Elliott's t-shirts on the floor and pulled it on, padding barefoot into the kitchen. Elliott was at the counter, hair still damp from a shower, wearing an apron over her jeans and nothing else underneath, as far as Julia could tell.

"Morning," Julia said.

Elliott turned, and something in her expression softened. "You're wearing my shirt."

"You're wearing an apron and apparently nothing else. We all make choices."

"I'm wearing jeans."

"Disappointing, but I'll survive." Julia crossed to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. "What time is it?"

"Half six. I was going to let you sleep."

"And miss watching you cook in an apron? Never." Julia leaned against the counter, cradling her mug. "What's for breakfast?"

"Croissants. Pain au chocolat. The usual."

"For the shop?"

"For you." Elliott's ears went slightly pink. "I made extras."