Page 73 of Spicy or Sweet
“What?”
“You can’t just tell someone you want to marry them, then go down on them and give them a mind-blowing orgasm with no explanation.”
She holds her hands up, gesturing to me. “Clearly, I can.”
A quiet laugh falls from her lips at my stunned expression, and she stands, leaning over me, her lips almost close enough to kiss.
“Did you mean it?” I ask, my heart hammering.
She gives me one chaste kiss and climbs up on the bed, lying with her head on the pillow, and patting the spot beside her. I’d be embarrassed by the sheer amount of effort it takes me to lie beside her if she weren’t the one who had turned my bones to Jell-O.
“Of course I mean it,” she answers, playing with the ends of my hair. The purple is faded, and I rarely do the same color twice in a row, but purple is Shay’s favorite color, so it’s staying. “Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?Je t’aime,mon délice.”
“Hey, I know that one!” I joke, and she snorts, her eyes glimmering.
I also know the nickname now—my curiosity got the better of me, and I looked it up: “my delight,” she calls me. If I’d known that’s what it meant the first time she said it, there would’ve been no chance of me pretending I wanted to befriends.
“A lot of people don’t want to get remarried after they get divorced,” I point out.
“True. But I’d like to know how it feels to be married to the person I’m supposed to be married to,” she replies, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I assume you want a Christmas-themed wedding.” She assumes correctly. “And this Christmas is probably a little soon, but that gives me plenty of time to plan the most outlandish proposal you could possibly think of.” Her eyes are so bright; how did I go so long without noticing the way she glows?
“What if I want to be the one to propose?” I ask, and she screws up her mouth.
“Hmm. I suppose we could do that cute thing where we accidentally propose at the same time. As long as you say yes, I don’t really care when or how it happens.”
I press my forehead to hers, murmuring, “I’ll say yes,” against her lips, then lose myself in my favorite flavor.
36
NOELLE
An electrical fault. That’s all it took to turn The Enchanted Bakery to ash—one little electrical fault, likely caused by a leak after the storm we had the night of the wrap party. It’s a reminder that everything is so fucking fragile.
At least my insurance is paying out.
Rebuilding the charred remains is going to take months, if not longer. Shay and I considered waiting and funneling all our energy into rebuilding so we could open a bigger bakery with a bigger kitchen space, but neither of us wants to go so long without baking. We’ll fix it up eventually, but for now, we’ve cleared everything out and closed off the main floor. Shay and I decided to take a risk by keeping most of The Enchanted Bakery’s staff, and they’ll work out of the basement kitchen, which is still in perfect condition, thanks to the expensive-ass fire door I invested in when I first renovated the bakery. According to Quinn, that fire door is the reason the fire didn’t make it into the stairway—that door is probably the reason Shay and I are still alive. Worth every penny.
My apartment is also unscathed, and we hired a company to come in and professionally clean it and the basement kitchen of any ash and smoke residue. Technically, I’ve been free to moveback in for weeks. But, by some unspoken agreement, neither Shay nor I has brought it up.
We’ve barely stopped working since we set an opening date for our new—shared—bakery, but I don’t mind working all the time when it’s something I’m genuinely excited about. And when I get to do it with her.
Physical labor aside, the whole process has been surprisingly easy. I expected it to feel like a mountain when Shay and I sat down to list everything that was important to us, but we were completely aligned. She mostly wants to work out front in the café, interacting with people, but still wants to take on custom cake orders and help out with decorating where needed. I want to work in the back, developing new recipes, and, like Shay, work on custom orders.
So, we turned her kitchen into a custom-order kitchen, and most of the staff staying on from The Enchanted Bakery will be working on the bigger batches of things for parties, mail orders, and the café itself. Gracie will be handling the bulk of our admin, we’ve promoted one of my bakers to kitchen manager, and we have a couple of bakers who’ll be working with us in the smaller kitchen.
Perhaps most importantly, Shay and I will never be more than twenty feet away from each other while we’re working together. It’s the perfect setup.
I lean against the counter and watch her straighten the star on top of the tree in the window. Right now, it’s a Christmas tree, but Shay insisted that, if we’re leaving it up year-round, we have to update the decorations seasonally. As long as there’s Christmas lights, I’m not complaining—and there are alotof Christmas lights in here. Wintermore can be pretty dreary in the cooler months, but with the flick of a switch, tens of thousands of Christmas lights glow and twinkle all over the ceiling. We painted the ceiling a pretty pale yellow, and, inspired by Shay’slocket, painted a gold letter to represent all of the people who helped us get where we are today: my parents, Felix, Rora, my uncle Henry, Sunny, Nico, and Georgie. And at the center of the ceiling, in a swirly heart, Shay freehanded: N + S. If you didn’t know they were there, you’d never spot them.
“How does that look?” Shay asks, peering over her shoulder.
“Perfect, sweetheart.”
She smiles, dusting her hands off on her apron and crossing the café toward me, pausing every other second to straighten a chair or wipe a completely crumb-free table.
“Quit fussing. Everything is perfect,” I say as she reaches me. I pull her into me, sliding my hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “And the line of people waiting outside is going to think so, too.”
Her eyes widen. “There’s a line?”
