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Her.
And just like that, my mood sours. Sweeping the shop with my gaze, I grab my colorful tote bag from behind the counter. It’s a tiny place: a show-glass with some baked goods, a few tables, bright yellow walls with little drawings of all the pastries I make, and little else. It’s like a tiny portion of the universe I’ve carved out for myself over the past year. From the first moment I stepped into the shop, I just knew this was where I was supposed to be.
Will I have to give this up?
Shoving the thoughts aside, I lock up the shop and drive to Dylan’s house. I’m on his porch ten minutes later, raising my fist to knock. There’s the sound of a loud familiar laugh near the door. Bracing myself, I plaster a smile on my face.
The door opens and my jaw drops. He’s…different. Taller than I remember. A black shirt stretches around his broad shoulders. A five o’ clock shadow graces his jaw, and when I look up, his ocean-blue eyes are on mine.
Ian’s smile fades and his eyes narrow.
“Damn.”
A tingle shoots through my spine. What’s that in his eyes — admiration? Awe? Surprise?
Ian’s gaze rakes over me slowly, heating me everywhere his eyes land. His eyes…they’re just like they used to be. Intense. Like they can see beneath the layers of my skin. An image of my appearance flashes through my head, and I shift from foot to foot. I’m in shorts and a black jacket over a pink top, and my face is bare. I learned long ago that makeup and baking don’t go well together. It’s not like I need it. Not since I traded skirts and heels for an apron and a chef’s hat.
“Kaylee!”
I inhale sharply. His voice has gotten deeper somehow. More…something. I don’t know. Combing a hand through my hair, I swallow and clear my throat.
“Y-you’re back.”
Stating the obvious. No shit he’s back.
“Yes,” he says softly. “I am.”
I glance away from him for a split second.
“Welcome back.”
Wow. How articulate.
Ian leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. His muscles bulge. He’s definitely gotten more chiseled since I last saw him. My mouth is dry. I tear my gaze away from his arms and stare at the chairs on the porch. This is ridiculous. Why do I suddenly feel like I’m a kid with a crush again? I’m twenty-four for goodness’ sake, yeah, I was seventeen when he left, yet here I am standing in front of my brother’s best friend with flamed cheeks and a too-big grin plastered on my face.
The sound of music and my brother’s singing drifts into my ears. He whistles loudly and laughs. He’s probably too busy talking to his girlfriend to notice my arrival.
“You look different,” Ian says.
And you look so much hotter than I remember.
“I cut my hair.”
Suddenly self conscious, I tug at the ends of my chopped hair. I cut it right after I vowed to get a divorce. My waist-length hair was one of the things that Logan loved — so chopping it off was an act or rebellion. I no longer wanted to be the woman he wanted. I was shedding the layers into becoming the woman I wanted.
Not that Ian would know that.
“It suits you.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Thanks.”
“Elena?” Dylan says, footsteps nearing the door. “You brought my book?”
Ian takes a step back as Dylan sticks his head out. Average height, with long dark hair packed up in a tiny ponytail at the nape and a stud on his ear, my brother looks more like a college freshman than a man in his mid-thirties. He’s always been the type to defy the odds and go after what he wants, even if it’s not what’s typical. One reason for his many altercations with Dad. He glances behind me and frowns.
“She didn’t come, did she? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her to keep to our agreement.”
“Relax, Dylan.” I whip out the book from my old tote bag and raise if up. “Here’s your prized possession.”
