Page 39 of Only Mine
“Know him?” Noa chuckles, a warm, genuine sound.
Oh. It suddenly makes sense. Noa would be the perfect love interest for that man. She’s gorgeous, genuine, and makes irresistible baked goods.
This is the kind of woman who belongs in Saint’s life. Grounded, talented, radiating a quiet strength that complements his storm.
When my stomach sinks at the realization, I’m not even surprised anymore even though I’m not sure what to identify this feeling as. Envy? Jealousy? Sadness? Loneliness?
“He practically made Libby Jude’s happen. Helped me pursue my one true passion when he opened C’est Trois here. Taught me everything I know about pastry and most of what I know about not taking crap from anyone.” Noa’s expression turns fond. “He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s family.”
The knot in my stomach tightens, a familiar ache. It’s not just envy, it’s the sharp pang of realizing how utterly out of my depth I am. I’m a temporary placeholder, a two-week solution, while women like Noa are the sturdy, hand-built furniture of his world.
“So you’re not Libby Jude?” I ask, grasping for something, anything, to say that isn’t“So were you and the grumpy chef with the soul-searing eyes ever an item?”
Noa laughs, shaking her head as she wipes a stray coffee ground from the counter. “Libby Jude is a combination of my husband’s and my mothers’ names.” She leans forward, her expression kind. “You okay, Wrenley? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Or like I’ve just experienced a relief that is so off-balance, I’m not sure what to do with it.Whyshould I care that Noa has a husband and is therefore not on the market for Saint?
“Just … processing,” I say, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. It’s strong, rich, and undeniably good. “Small town. Everyone knows everyone, huh?”
“Pretty much,” Noa agrees. “Especially when ‘everyone’ includes a six-foot-four tattooed chef who glares at people for a living but secretly has a heart of gold. Or, you know, slightlytarnished bronze. Saint’s life is… well, it’s a frequent topic. Especially when it involves someone new. Don’t worry,” she adds after noting the blush creeping along my cheeks. “Around here, ‘new’ just means we haven’t figured out your favorite pie flavor yet.”
Her gaze is curious, but not prying. Friendly.
“I’m not sure I have one. Still in the exploration phase,” I say.
Of Falcon Haven, of Saint, of this strange new chapter in my life.
Noa’s smile widens. “Well, when you’re ready to commit, I make a mean apple crumble. It’s Saint’s favorite, actually, though he’d rather die than admit it.”
I try to picture Saint enjoying something so wholesome. It’s another crack in his fortress, a tiny detail that makes him infuriatingly more likable.
The bell above the door jingles, its cheerful sound slicing through the air, and?—
No. Way.
I don’t have to turn around to know.
The inviting atmosphere shifts, charged with the static before a lightning hit, the scent of his cologne cutting through the sweet bakery smells of cinnamon and sugar.
“Speak of the devil,” Noa says, her voice warm and easy. “We were just talking about you.”
Noa gestures toward me. And even though I keep my attention on my coffee, I can feel his eyes on me. My skin buzzes like the lightning’s getting closer to striking me where I stand.
Slowly and reluctantly, I lift my head. Saint comes up next to me, his bright gaze locked on mine. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t scowl. He just looks with that evaluating stare thatmakes me feel like he can see every stupid, anxious thought scrolling through my mind.
Then his gaze flicks down to the pastry case and the slice of apple crumble Noa had referenced, before returning to me.
He takes a step closer, not to Noa, but toward me and the small space I occupy at the counter. “Find anything you like yet, Wrenley?”
NINE
WRENLEY
My heart does a little flip-flop at what Saint probably thinks is an innocuous question. It’s ridiculous, this fluttery reaction to a man who considers smiling to be a strenuous activity.
“I’m still browsing,” I say, my voice a little too breathless for a casual pastry inspection.
My gaze skitters from his intense blue eyes to the apple crumble. “But you guys are right. That one looks promising.”
