Page 29 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

“I knew that.”

“You absolutely did not,” she accuses.

“No,” I admit.“I didn’t.”

Her smile appears again, quick and reluctant.Victory.

I pick up the bag and attempt a swirl.It comes out looking like a sad pink mountain after a landslide, and Holly goes perfectly still.

I frown.“That seems wrong.”She makes a tiny sound, and I look at her.“Are you laughing?”

“No.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m grieving.”

“For the cupcake?”

“For your dignity.”

I look down again.“Can I eat the evidence?”

“No.It goes in the ugly pile.”

“There’s an ugly pile?”

“There is now.”

She takes the bag from me, her fingers brushing mine again.The spark jumps between us, hot and immediate.Not as fierce as the alley, but enough.Enough to make her breath hitch.Enough to make my chest tighten.Enough to remind us both that this lightness sits on top of something wild.

Her smile fades, and I take one slow step back.Not because I want to, but because she needs me to.Her eyes track the movement.There it is again, that look, like she expected me to move forward and does not know what to do when I don’t.

I hate him.I don’t know his name, but I hate him.I hate the man who taught her to brace for being cornered.I hate the man who made my patience feel like a miracle instead of the bare minimum she deserves.

Holly turns back to the cupcakes, clearing her throat.“You can box the finished ones.”

“I can do that.”

“Try not to injure them.”

“I make no promises.”

For the next hour, we work.I box cupcakes, label orders, carry flour sacks, and reach everything on the top shelves because apparently Holly has been climbing onto counters like a feral raccoon instead of buying a step stool.

“I have a step stool,” she says when I mention it.

“Where?”

“Storage room.”

“Why don’t you use it?”

“It offended me.”

“How?”

“It wobbled.”