Page 153 of Booked on You
“Please,” he tells her.
“On the house,” she says. “You’re family.” She pats my shoulder. “How’s the new book coming along, sweetheart?”
“Really good. I’m over halfway done.”
“That’s wonderful. AndHer Forever? I saw something online about a movie deal?”
“Major motion picture,” Ezra says proudly.
Millie’s eyes go wide. “Really? Need a cute old lady for a cameo?”
Laughter escapes me.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetie. Look at you, making your dreams come true.”
Ezra’s expression softens, and I see him swallow hard.
“Thanks, Millie,” I say.
“I get one of them invites for the red-carpet things in California, right?” she asks in her southern accent.
“Of course,” I say with a chuckle. “You’re always invited.”
She gives us both another squeeze, then heads back to the counter to help other customers. I take a bite of my sandwich, and it’s perfect.
“Oh my,” I say with my mouth full. “This is amazing.”
“Yeah, it’s so fucking good.” Ezra pops a chip in his mouth.
We eat and watch people come and go through the bakery. I recognize a few faces of the locals who’ve started to nod at me when they see me around town. It feels good to be part of the community. The two of us make small talk about the weather,about our work, about our lives. It’s full of heated glances and smirks.
After we finish, we say goodbye to Millie, who gives us a sack of pastries to take home. We take them because arguing with Millie is useless. Outside, the afternoon sun is warm, and the breeze carries the smell of the harbor. Ezra’s hand finds mine as we head to the truck. I can’t imagine choosing anything other than him.
“Are you done working for the day?” he asks as we drive home.
“Very done,” I tell him.
He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “Me too. I’m ahead of schedule, actually.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“We’re good for each other creatively.”
“Damn right about that. The purple mugs are our best seller. Thanks for the suggestion,” he says.
“Thanks for glazing my favorite color.”
He reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles.
By the time we pull into the driveway, there’s a different kind of tension between us.
After we park, he comes around to the passenger side, and when my feet hit the ground, he’s lifting me over his shoulder, caveman-style.
“What are you doing?” I ask, laughing, but I don’t dare drop my pastries.
“You’re mine,” he says, smacking my ass. “For the rest of the day.”
He carries me up the steps, inside the house, and up the stairs while I’m laughing and halfheartedly protesting. When we get to the bedroom, he lays me gently on the bed and hovers over me with that sexy as hell smile that makes my heart race.
