Me, my jeans and blouse from yesterday.
Nothing screams wild sex all night like the repeat of an outfit. At least I wear it well.
After kissing Mason goodbye, and then really kissing Mason goodbye, with frantic mouths and greedy hands pulling at clothes, again, I cross the street and enter the bakery just before it’s time to open.
Joey looks up from behind the display case. He grins at my attire. “Ah, you know, I miss the days of a good hoe stroll. I used to rock those back in my early twenties.”
I roll my eyes and move through the shop. “Did you deliver?”
He holds up a pink cinch bag.
Sweet. My clothes.
“Thank you so, sooo much. You brought me panties, right?”
Joey hands me the bag. He lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, I brought you panties. There are jeans in there. Freeballin’ and denim doesn’t mix. Trust me.”
“Tell me about it.”
I shift on my feet, wincing at the odd sensation between my legs. Joey laughs quietly beside me.
“I’m going to go upstairs and change. Where’s Dylan?”
I roam into the kitchen and look around the room, expecting to see her sitting at the worktop since she’s not up front like she usually is in the mornings. I haven’t seen her since before she left for her doctor’s appointment yesterday.
Joey trails behind me. “She’s upstairs. She’s been waiting on you to get here so she can talk to us.”
I glance back over my shoulder. “What? Why?”
“Fuck if I know. I tried getting it out of her when I got here this morning but she wouldn’t open the door for me up there. Can you believe that? She sent me a text saying she’s only saying this once, whatever it is. Shouty capping me and shit. Girl, please. I don’t need that kind of attitude before seven A.M. .”
I climb the stairs with Joey following, my mind trying to come up with a scenario that would explain Dylan not being present in her bakery.
I remember when she was pregnant with Drew and it was nearing her delivery date. She was exhausted all the time, mean to everyone, walking around here like a slap-happy zombie. Joey and I convinced her to sleep in a couple days a week and leave the morning baking to me. I thought she was going to fire us both for that suggestion, but she must’ve been past her breaking point and too tired to argue. With little convincing needed, she agreed and soon became much more pleasurable. Everyone was happy.
Reese especially. Lord, was she cranky around him. Threatening his manhood with notes she made Pete deliver. Swearing up and down that she was not having any more kids.
And now look at her. Kid number three on the way. Reese pushing for more. They’re both gluttons for punishment, in my opinion.
I knock on the door at the top of the stairs. Dylan mumbles something from behind it, and I twist the knob, swinging it open and stepping into her loft.
“Oh, now it’s unlocked. I see how it is,” Joey spits behind me.
Dylan lifts her head from the magazine she’s reading.
She’s in what looks to be one of Reeses’ shirts, a baggy University of Chicago tee that stretches across her belly. Her back is against the headboard of her bed. Her feet still under the covers.
Huh. Maybe she is opting for lazy mornings around here. But shouldn’t she be asleep?
“What’s up, cupcake?” Joey leans his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He jerks his head. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
“What’s the point?” Dylan quietly asks, pinching her eyes shut through a slow shake of her head. She looks between the two of us. “I’ve been ordered to stay off my feet. Permanently.”
“What?” I move closer to the bed. My bag of clothes hits the floor. “What do you mean, stay off your feet permanently? You aren’t allowed to come downstairs at all?”
“Seriously?” Joey questions behind me.
How can she stay off her feet? She runs the bakery. She’s Dylan, of Dylan’s Sweet Tooth. She does all the wedding cakes and every other awesome thing we produce.
Oh, no. This won’t work at all.
“Nope. I’m stuck in this bed for the next two weeks. I can only get up to pee.” She tosses the magazine beside her, dropping her head back with an annoyed grunt. “The doctor is concerned about my blood pressure spiking the way it is. He said Blake is fine, but apparently keeping to a stool most of the day isn’t doing enough. I have to be completely off my feet. That means no baking, no coffee time with you two, nothing. I’m going to go crazy up here.”
“Aw, cupcake. It won’t be so bad.” Joey walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. He takes Dylan’s hand. “It’s only for two weeks. The shop will be fine. You know Brooke and I can handle things. And I’ll load you up with gossip magazines and your favorite snacks. Don’t worry.”
Dylan weakly smiles. “I know you two can handle everything. I’m not worried about that. I’ll just be bored up here and missing out on all the fun.”
Handle everything? Everything? Is she insane?
I move to the foot of the bed so they both can see me. My hands squeezing my hips. My face pinched in disbelief.
“Excuse me? You’re not worried? Why not? You should be worried. What about the wedding cake scheduled for next weekend? Now that poor bride is going to have to find someone to fit her in on short notice. That’s not happening. The only person around here who does that is you. She won’t have a cake. And you know she’ll tell all her friends about the bakery that canceled on her last minute. We’ll be ruined.”
Dylan looks from Joey, back to me. Not a trace of anxiety in her casually amused smile. “She could have a cake.”
Joey nods in agreement.
What? WHAT?
My mouth falls open. “Oh, really? Is Ryan making it? Did you pass all your stellar decorating genes down to her?”
“Brooke, come on.” Joey angles his body so he’s facing me. “You’re fabulous at baking. You can totally knock out a wedding cake by yourself. There’s no need to cancel.”
“Are you both out of your mind?”
They must be. There is no way I can tackle a wedding cake by myself. Nor do I want to. I can’t imagine disappointing someone on the day most girls dream about. I’ll be heartbroken if they hate it.
“You make cakes all the time.” Joey waves his hand. “This one will just be taller and with more flare. I don’t see the big deal.”
I glare at him. His blue eyes widen.
“I make birthday cakes, Joey. Farm animal ones, with fat ass pigs and cows with cute little faces. I don’t do shit like you’d see on The Knot. I can’t do spun sugar and delicate piping. Christ, all the edible flowers I’ve ever made, Dylan has gone behind me and redone.”
“That’s only because you get frustrated with yourself and eat them.”
I turn my attention to Dylan after she speaks. My teeth clenching. “Because they look horrible!”
“You are seriously overreacting.” Joey stands from the bed and winks at Dylan. “I’m heading downstairs to open. If you need anything, text me. Don’t get up.” He motions in my direction. “And calm her ass down please. She played the crazy card yesterday and cussed out a bunch of kids at Grinders. We don’t need a replay of that.”
I scoff and stare at the wall. “I wasn’t directing it at them.”
I would never do that. Not unless they were really pissing me the fuck off.
The loft door squeaks open, followed by the sound of Joey’s heavy footsteps trailing off.
With a closed fist, I press against my forehead, my eyes shutting as I remember how amazing this morning started out. Stress-free and filled with mine and Mason’s hungry moans.
Now I’m so anxious I’m ready to chew my fingers off. Awesome.
“All right. If you don’t think you can do it, then I guess we’ll have to cancel,” Dylan says, staring at me with her eyebrow raised.
My stomach tightens and drops. I lower my arm to my side but keep the fist.
“But, I personally don’t think we need to. I know you can do this, Brooke. I’ve seen some of the cakes you’ve created, and your detail work is beautiful. Joey’s right. You are a fabulous baker. You’re just nervous.”