Page 32 of Killer Confections
“I am,” I smile, reading his friendly posture in search of any clues.
He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, looking far more bashful than he should. “I’m sorry. I came over here to stake out the competition, but I didn’t expect you to be so…”
I lift a brow at the flustered man.
“Hot,” Addison chirps, popping up behind Chance with a smug expression. “The word you’re looking for is ‘hot.’”
He laughs awkwardly, lifting a shoulder. “I was going to say beautiful, but yeah.”
“She’s single too,” Addison adds, like she’s auctioning me off to any potential husbands. “Very single and businesssavvy.”
“No, she isn’t,” a chipper feminine voice calls from down the counter. We all turn, and there’s a woman who looks a few years younger than me at the next register. Miranda is ringing her up as she rests an elbow on the glass showcase. Her chin settles in her palm as she watches us with intense blue eyes. Her long, silky black hair is pulled into a thick braid that rests over her shoulder. Her lips are a dusky shade of pink, the cupid’s bow as pronounced as her plump bottom lip.
She’s stunning and she reminds me of someone—someone I swore I would forget about.
“I mean,” she motions to me with a hand. “Just look at her. There’s no way she’s single.” She shoots me a wink as if to say, ‘Let me help you.’ “I’m Thalia, by the way.”
“Well,Thalia,” Addison emphasizes smugly. “She is, in fact, single. And open to the dating scene.”
“Addie,” I warn, shooting her a scowl.
Chance chuckles, his cheeks becoming rosy. “Well, if you’re interested, I know a great little cafe a few blocks away.” He takes a card and a pen out of his pocket. He scribbles out the information for Miller Family Sweets before writing out his personal number and handing it to me. “Hit me up. I would love to take you out sometime.”
I take it, feeling my blush spread. He really isn’t a bad-looking guy. “Sure,” I smile shyly.
Thalia gives him an apathetic once over, one thick, black brow raised. Blair crosses her arms as her eyes size Chance up like she agrees with the woman on the other end of the counter. Addie bounces on her heels, looking far too giddy for my liking.
Chance leaves, and Thalia slaps the counter loudly. “Should have listened to me.” She mutters quietly before Miranda sets three large bakery boxes down on the counter.
I frown at the strange woman, unease prickling my neck at her words as she grabs the boxes and thanks Miranda.
“It was nice to meet you, Loxley.” She smirks beforesauntering to the door with her order.
Addie shakes her head after the woman, pursing her lips. “She’s something else.” She looks at me, her brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” The words die as my head turns to the street. My eyes bounce around the crowd, trying to locate that familiar black hair and blue eyes, but she’s already disappeared into the crowd. “I didn’t tell her my name.”
My friend shrugs. “It could have been from my posts. I’m on a hot streak, and I’ve mentioned you countless times. Sweet Haven’s following has almost tripled today.”
“Oh, nice!” Miranda praises.
“Wonderful,” Blair deadpans.
I snap out of my daze, choosing to believe the obvious. “Great work. Can you keep it going?”
She laughs. “Does a stalker leave roses?”
I give her a detached look, my head turning. She giggles at her own joke before speed-walking from the store, her phone ready to snap some more pictures.
I feel my butt vibrate and sigh before fishing for my device. I see a few messages from my mom, asking if her coworkers have been by yet. I see a long message from my dad telling me good luck, and to make sure I check the oil in my car. But the one that makes me pause is from a contact that wasn’t previously saved in my phone.
My heart thunders as I press a shaky thumb to the message, opening it.
My Stalker <3: You look so fucking pretty in pink.
My head whips up to the glass storefront, eyes searching the crowds. I don’t know who I’m looking for, but this asshole is here—watching me.
My blood rushes and anger flares in my gut as my fingers fly across my phone’s screen.
