Page 22 of Summer Affair
She had a hundred mini-cakes, half chocolate ganache and half green tea with mango frosting—her biggest seller—to finish and deliver by tomorrow morning. She was two hours behind schedule, a dozen of the ganache cakes suffered from sinkhole syndrome, and she’d resorted to sitting Sammy in front of her iPad. Usually, tablet time was closely monitored but, under the circumstances and with zero childcare available at such short notice, Jillian was doing her best.
But her best wasn’t cutting it.
Dirk had no idea the extent of the situation he’d put her in. She’d already had to call three clients to let them know she wouldn’t be able to design their cakes. Since she couldn’t rely on Uncle Eddie to take Sammy every time a tasting came through the house, and the downstairs looked like a toybox and bakery collided, she’d had to cancel all foreseeable tastings.
There was just no way she could do it all. She had an assistant, Kelly, who came on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Even though she really couldn’t afford it—the lost income was bringing her further and further away from her dream of a storefront—Jillian was tempted to offer Kelly double pay to come in on Saturdays. Kelly could do the deliveries so Jillian could focus on the backend of the business. But Jillian was a control freak who respected her clients too much to allow a novice to assemble the cakes when they arrived at the venue.
Because her business survived on word of mouth, she worked hard to ensure her clients felt that their cake had received Jillian’s personal touch and attention to detail.
The one thing that was going her way was her rhythm. It had taken a few days, but she’d finally found her groove, thanks to Taylor Swift and Britney Spears. Moving around the kitchen like clockwork in a very Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers kind of way, keeping in time with whatever song popped on her playlist.
Today though, she’d paused the music to listen to the next episode ofHear Me Roar, with its new lesson plan to help get her closer to that woman she wanted to be. Bold and brazen, a real trailblazer of her own life.
Think of love as an exploration where the first step is singlehood,Dr.Claire began. Just because you’re not in a relationship, doesn’t mean you’re not on your way to one. But there’s no need to rush through the steps; sometimes slow and steady wins the race. Take your time, use dating as a way to get to know people. More importantly, use dating as a way to get reacquainted with yourself. It’s just as easy to say yes as it is to say no.
Let’s play a game. You’re at a bar and a good-looking man or woman buys you a drink. They’re not your type but they have a nice smile—what do you do? I’m going to give you a moment to think up a few reactions that will get you closer to your goal.
“Find his ex and ask her how it ended?” Jillian said, sifting the flour into a fresh batch of chocolate fudge batter. “Or check his ring finger for tan lines?”
All great possibilities. And all very important safeguards when trying to avoid the Dirks of the world.
How about thank them for the drink and have a seat next to them. Then engage them in conversation. If anything, you walk away with one more no under your belt. With the average for success being around ten percent for meaningful contact, you’re going to get more nos than yeses. Don’t let this deter you. Rather, use it to motivate you. This week I want you to try saying yes. Just once and see how it feels. What’s the worst that can happen?
Jillian was compiling a list of possible worsts, which ranged from being chopped up into little pieces to being held captive in a well. She was also, possibly, looking out her window, shamelessly admiring the view.
She told herself it was to admire the stream rushing over the mossy rocks, one of Jillian’s favorite pastimes. Only today, her gaze was drawn to something that had become a new pastime—the downstairs bedroom, which had been refashioned into a workout room for her latest tenant.
Jillian’s kitchen window had a direct line of sight to the room at the main house. And she was spying on him like some crazy woman. He was in the middle of a hard workout. Earlier, he’d dominated the treadmill, which left him slightly limping, and left her wondering if he was pushing a little too hard, but that was none of her business. Neither was the way he’d use his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, exposing glimpses of his chiseled abs.
Now he was on the weight bench, so she couldn’t see much of him. Just quick glances of his glorious, glowing biceps whenever he lifted the barbells. But it didn’t stop her from fantasizing about him in nothing but glistening pecs and swim trunks, his pool-wet lips on hers, those big, powerful hands in her hair giving a little yank.
She froze.Where had that come from?Jillian was as vanilla as it came—vanilla was all she knew. Dirk believed foreplay was battery-operated.
Dating isn’t a commitment and there’s no obligation to see that person again,Dr.Claire said, and Jillian froze.Let yourself be open to some fun conversations with a variety of men or women. Remember, you set the rules in dating.
And Jillian’s rules said a twenty-eight-year-old who dated models and kissed like God’s gift to women was a hard no. Her hormones, however, said screw the rules.
It’s okay to take things slow. It’s easy to get excited about someone and put the pressure of a relationship on things, but I’m here to say, don’t give in to the desire to label things right away. Enjoy the journey.
Oh, Jillian was enjoying the journey all right. Clay had dumped the barbell for some free weights and dumped his shirt, gifting Jillian an up close and personal view from his well-defined shoulders right down to the V of his lower back, which disappeared below his shorts. There were enough heat-slicked shoulders and sleek muscles on display that even with the leftover fog in the morning air, she could feel the heat.
Her heart gave one last excited fist bump to the sternum, and everything in her body went on standby. Jillian knew that she wasn’t over that kiss with Clay. No matter how many times she told herself to knock it off, to act professional and get back to work, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Holy cow. How was she not going to jump his bones the entire summer? Oh right. Because hooking up with the new tenant was a bad mommy move. Heck, it was a bad move period. Sammy already adored him, and Jillian didn’t want to complicate matters. She’d had more than three years of complicated with Sammy in the middle, she didn’t want to fall back into old habits.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the hard work and dedication he put into making his body a machine. Especially since—lord help her—he was doing squats.
Up and down, with every down showing off why he’d been named best butt in the NFL by CleatChaser.com. Not that Jillian subscribed. Darcy had printed out the photo over a hundred times and taped them all over Jillian’s car as an April Fool’s joke. Jillian hadn’t been laughing. If anything, it made her regret confiding in her best friend about her harmless little crush—which didn’t seem so harmless anymore. It felt all-consuming and very distracting in the best kind of way. Man, if the girls caught her now, she’d never live this down. In fact, the only thing worse than being caught would be—
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”
Her heart plummeted to her belly like she was on a roller coaster to embarrassing town. She dropped to her knees and ducked behind the counter, praying he hadn’t spied her spying on him. She breathed in and out, hoping he hadn’t spotted her, and praying to the universe that, if he did, he’d ignore it.
Either the universe was sleeping or her wishes didn’t account for much because, in the distance, she heard a tap on glass.
Cheeks hot and with sweat between her breasts, Jillian stood up to face the music—which happened to be in the form of a big, sweaty, sexy, shirtless Clay, who was staring right at her, his deep dimples barely visible beneath the morning scruff.
“Play it cool,” she mumbled to herself, then said, “Morning.” Realizing he couldn’t hear her, she said it again, moving her mouth extremely slowly and exaggerated.
