Page 77 of Heartbreak & Cupcakes
I had no idea Frank knew about that nickname.
Sadie didn’t seem to mind the moniker, if anything she glowed when he mentioned it. “I do make cupcakes, yes.”
“I’ve packed on some extra weight the past few months.” Frank patted his waistline, which had expanded in the recent months. “I even had to get all new pants.”
Frank always had at least two donuts before we got to the office. I still had never tasted her donuts or her cupcakes. I wasn’t sure why. It had just never happened.
“I’m sorry,” Sadie smiled.
“Don’t be! It’s worth every pound.”
I stood beside the car and held out my hand to help Sadie in. She placed her hand in mine and I closed my eyes as the sensation of her fingers pressing into my palm washed over me. Just like when I’d checked the back of her head in the kitchen for a bump, tingles shot from my palm up my arm and spread through me like a shot of whiskey. Her hand dropped after she ducked her head and got inside and I immediately missed her touch.
As we drove through the city, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to kiss her. This night was definitely going to be torture, just not the sort I’d thought it was going to be.
“So, do you go to things like this a lot?” she asked as she shifted in her seat causing her cleavage to push up over her neckline.
I forced myself to keep my eyes above her neck. “Not if I can help it.”
“Oh, you don’t like them?”
Did I like big social events with fake people who did and said fake things? No. It wasn’t my favorite way to spend an evening.
“I’m more of a homebody.”
Her eyes widened. “Me too! I always have been. I’ve never liked going out. Even before I had to get up at three every morning. I would rather be home, in sweats, eating pizza than at da club.”
My lips curled at the edges. “Da club?”
She smiled back. “Yeah. Charlilovesto go clubbing. I love dancing, but not when it’s happening past my bedtime. She always says that I’m an old lady because I like cooking shows and want to be in bed by nine. My idea of the perfect night would be having a glass of wine, slow dancing with a man who knows how to kiss.”
As soon as she made that confession her mouth snapped shut.
I had no idea what tonight held, but I hoped that I’d be hearing more confessions. I wanted to know that she was a homebody and that her perfect night was a glass of wine, slow dancing on a rooftop with a man who knows how to kiss. And despite myself, I wanted to be the man to make that night a reality.
