Page 40 of Desserts for Stressed People

Taking a deep breath, I let my shoulders relax—I didn’t notice they got this tense—and unlock my phone. I don’t want to let Shane wait, not after he’s been so honest in his voice message.

Nevaeh:

Yes. It makes perfect sense.

Shane:

Your turn now.

For a couple of seconds, I ponder what to say. I search my heart for an honest answer, but one that doesn’t sound too pathetic, like, “I have a huge crush on you” or “Butterflies? I feel the whole zoo when I’m with you.”

Nevaeh:

Every time we text like this, it feels like reading a book and thinking, “Damn, this chapter is so good.”

You say that dessert is a whim. I guess you are my whim, and I’m indulging.

Shane:

I’m your dessert. Got it. #HotFromTheOven

I chuckle. Yes. He is my tray of brownies, my slice of cheesecake, my favorite brand of cookies.

Up for a marathon? I don’t think I can sleep yet.

Chapter11

The Sugary Bet

Yawning,I enter the corridor and walk toward my office. It’s only two doors away, yet I manage to meet Marina, who ignores my wave as she speeds past me.

God, I’m craving coffee. Though I met Emma for breakfast this morning, I couldn’t even stomach a sip of my latte as I told her about Alex’s dick pics and went down the rabbit hole of “whatever have I done to turn him into this.” Thankfully, she mostly pulled me out of it.

As I set my bag down, I notice a little blue paper box on my desk, right in front of my keyboard. I move closer to examine it and untie the white ribbon on top, letting it fall onto the desk. If it’s a bomb, it’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen.

The box unfolds, and there’s a pastry inside. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s an eclair? It looks delicious, and I haven’t had any breakfast, so there’s almost drool on my lips.

The door to my office opens and Shane appears, smiling wide and looking gorgeous with his hair styled back and in a total black suit. The devil, but with an angelic smile.

“Good morning,” he says. I’m pretty sure he’s never said that in the last eight years.

“Good morning.”

“I see you got my guess of your favorite dessert.”

My chin jerks down. “I didn’t realize this would involve actual pastries.”

He holds the door, half in and half out of my office. “Well, you can’t know if it’s your favorite if you don’t try it.”

“I’m pretty sure I already know what my favorite dessert is, Mr. Hassholm.”

As I cross my arms and push my chin up, his smile widens. “Well, Miss Wilson, this is my first attempt, and I worked hard on it. Please get back to me at your earliest convenience.”

He almost slides out of the door, but I put a finger up. “Hmm...Excuse me? First attempt?”

“We agreed on four weeks.”

“Four weeks to think about it. One attempt.”

---