Page 196 of Sweet Ruin

I finish sealing the box.

Then I spend forty minutes thinking about his obedience.

At four fifty, we have a gap before the last few pickups. Every order is finished. Every label is verified. The staff is resetting stations while Jolene watches the front.

I take Kane by the apron tie.

“Office. Now.”

He follows.

I shut the door, grab his shirt, and kiss him before he can speak. Kane catches my hips and sets me on the desk. My knees open around him. His mouth moves down my neck while I free his shirt from his waistband.

“Five minutes,” I tell him.

“You won’t be finished in five minutes.”

“Confident for a dishwasher.”

He puts one hand under my apron and closes it around my thigh. “After dinner, I will show you confidence.”

I kiss him again. He pulls me to the edge of the desk, and the hard length of him presses between my legs. I rock against him once, then again, but he pulls away just to mess with me.

What an infuriating irony. I have spent all day telling this man where to stand. Now, I want him right here, and he won’t listen.

The front bell rings, and Jolene calls, “Pickup for Feldman!”

He kisses me once and helps me down. “Eight tonight,” he says. “I’ll collect you at home.”

“Where are we going?”

“You will choose when we arrive.”

“That’s suspiciously vague. What do I wear?”

“Wear what you want, Lilah.”

He straightens my apron, opens the office door, and slips out into the world.

At five twelve, the Feldman order leaves. At five twenty-three, two college students collect matching breakup cakes. At five forty-one, Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez take the anniversary cake with every sugar rose intact.

The final customer arrives at five fifty-eight. I check the name, open the box for approval, and watch her grin at three dozen heart-shaped cookies iced with private jokes I was paid not to understand.

She leaves at six oh-three.

I lock the front door and turn the sign to CLOSED.

Priya checks the board while Jolene closes the register. Every route is marked complete. We lost one chocolate collar, used both backup drivers, moved seven pickup windows, and sold every spare pastry through the front case. Nobody missed a paid deadline.

I authorize an extra hour for cleanup even though we could finish faster. Angelica’s shoulders are sagging. Cameron has driven from Sunset Park to Bay Ridge and back often enough to qualify for a taxi medallion. Priya has chocolate on her cheek and the thousand-yard stare of a war vet.

“Sit for ten minutes,” I tell them. “Eat anything without a customer name on it.”

I stand in the middle of my kitchen and marvel at what we accomplished.

Every order went out correctly. My staff handled the largest production day in the bakery’s history. We did it. I did it.

With just a teeny bit of help.