Page 48 of The Alpha and the Baker
I wished I could say no, but I had to be up early. I’d done as much prep as I could do, and Saturday was my slowest day, but a baker’s work was never really done.
“Yeah,” I said, drawing the sound out. As if doing so would give us a few extra minutes. “Unfortunately, duty calls.”
“I really never should have given her my number.”
“Huh? Oh!” It took me a moment to get his joke, but it startled yet another laugh out of me. Not a big one, but most certainly a satisfying one. “I should just block her at this point.”
“If only it worked like that.”
“If only,” I agreed. “If wishes were fishes, I’d cast a hook.”
Cas tilted his head to the side, and it reminded me of when dogs did that particularly cute head tilt. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before.”
“My mother used to say that. Hits a little different in our native language, though.” Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to recall a few instances when she used that phrase. I didn’t want to get locked in memories right now, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy their temporary embrace. “Basically, it was her way of saying that she wished the same.”
“It’s a good phrase. I can see why it stuck with you. Your mom had a way with words.”
A flush rose to my cheeks, and the backs of my eyes pricked with unshed tears. Ilovedmy mother, but I was so used to having no one to share that with. My mother had had friends and a crochet circle she’d loved, but no one else. Her funeral had been lovely, but sparsely attended, and I hadn’t kept in touch with the few friends she’d had. A mistake on my part.
But now, with Cas genuinely complimenting my mother, it felt like she was getting the respect and recognition she deserved. I was very grateful for that.
“She did,” I said.
With that, Cas offered his arm to me. It was such an old-timey sort of thing to do, and yet I quite liked it. I especially liked that it seemed to be becoming a matter of course between us. Like a comfortable habit. It was insane to think that when we’d only known each other for a few hours cumulatively, butprobably one of the less insane things I’d thought in regard to Cas lately.
“Shall we head to my valiant steed?” he asked, almost as if he could hear my thoughts.
“Let’s,” I said simply, taking his arm and resting my shoulder against his bicep whenever we stopped at a light or a crosswalk.
And what a bicep it was.
I liked people of all shapes and sizes. Skinny, coked-out line cooks, big muscle mommies, curvy women, art twinks, and Viking types with dad bods, but jacked guys had never really been my thing. However, that was rapidly changing as I spent more time with Cas. I liked the way his mass sat on him, and I would be lying if I didn’t admit that his insane strength definitely appealed to me. I could picture him on his family’s land, tossing hay and wrangling animals. Not that I saw any animals while I was there, but with so many livestock guard dogs, there had to be some tucked somewhere back behind the houses.
Unless theyweren’tguardian dogs at all, but I was beginning to care less and less about that.
When we made it to his car, Cas opened my door, ever the gentleman. Even though I was reticent for our time together to come to an end, I did have to admit it was nice to get out of the crisp breeze. It was gentle enough, but considering the temperature and my lack of dress, it definitely was giving me the chills.
I appreciated it when he turned the heat on full blast. He must not have been cold, because he turned off all the vents on his side and pointed the ones in the middle toward me.
“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my hands together in front of the vents.
“No problem,” he said, his tone almost as warm as the heat blasting onto me. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do.”
We were quieter on the way home, but not because of any discomfort or awkwardness. No, if anything, the mood was downright cozy, brought on by full bellies and pleasant feelings.
So maybe that was why I was brave enough to reach over and rest my hand on his atop the center console.
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, but his eyes never left the road. I appreciated that. I did, however, watch his face carefully, making sure that he was all right with the move.
But then his hand scooted to the side, and he turned it so I could slide mine down and intertwine our fingers.
Nice!
It was such a little thing—holding hands—but it certainly didn’t feel little to me. I was suddenly acutely aware of so many things about our single point of contact. The rasp of the callouses on his hand, the insane heat his skin pumped out. How his fingers were so thick that they were beginning to make my own ache from being stretched between his.
So yeah, maybe I was a little distracted from making good conversation. But that didn’t matter much when the mood had all the good we needed.
