Page 8 of Take A Number
“Not that.” I shove him away. “That is not an option.”
He laughs heartily. “I’m sorry, it was a joke…mostly.”
“I’m not joking about any of this, Dean. If you’re with me at that party, I’ll owe you one. A big one.” I take a step closer, and his dark eyes zero in on my lips, causing my body to instantly heat. This happens a lot when Dean’s eyes are on me. It doesn’t mean anything, though. It’s just a natural hormonal reaction to being the object of an attractive man’s gaze. Ignoring the bead of sweat collecting on my upper lip, I offer, “You could have free croinuts for the rest of the year. Or I could reserve a booth for you every day. I know you have your co-working space down the street, but you spend enough time at the bakery, you deserve your own table. Or maybe I can name a croinut after you at the new Denver location. Wouldn’t that be cool? You could pick the flavor. I see you as a maple glaze and bacon variety, but I could do whatever you like. These are your terms. We can look at this like another business transaction. I will do anything to get my mother off my back.”
Dean runs both hands through his beard as he thinks long and hard. “Are you really willing to do anything?”
“Well…mostly,” I reply nervously when I see a strange glint in his eye. “I do have limits.”
A dirty smile spreads across his face. “That’s what safe words are for, sugar tits.”
“Never mind. This is a horrible idea,” I snap and turn to head back into the bakery.
Dean laughs and grabs me around the waist. His firm hands send a spasm of electricity through my body as he turns me back to face him. “Norah, I’m joking. Jesus…you need to relax a little. Of course I’ll help you. We’re friends, right?”
His eyes fixate on me for a moment, and I’m literally standing in the alley in his arms. I jerk out of his embrace before I get embarrassingly sweaty. “Just friends, yes. But I’m looking at this as a business transaction, so it’s not a friendly favor. I want to find an appropriate way to pay you back sometime. Extra emphasis on appropriate.”
He nods. “Got it, boss.”
“And I have one more condition.”
Dean inhales knowingly. “It wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have conditions.”
I quirk a brow at him. “Call me sugar tits ever again, and I get to flatten your nuts with a rolling pin.”
Dean flashes me a grin. “Fair enough.”
I reach out for a handshake. “Clearly, my mother has made me insane for going to these extremes, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get her to quit trying to set me up.”
Dean takes my hand in his. “You’re kind of hot when you’re angry, Norah.”
I roll my eyes and pull my hand away before my body overheats again. “I’m already regretting this.”
The next day, I’m on my way to Norah’s apartment for a homecooked dinner and discussion of the “ground rules” for our business transaction. Or at least, that’s what her bossy text message said last night. She clearly had an anxiety flare-up after I left yesterday because she sent several messages freaking out about everything that could go wrong at her parents’ party and came up with the genius idea of a list of rules. Knowing Norah, she’ll probably have a binder and a notary on hand for our signatures.
I can’t wait.
I’ve never seen Norah’s apartment, so I’m intrigued to see her outside of the bakery. And out of that stupid smock. The night she came to my thirtieth birthday party was one of the only times I’ve seen her dressed up. I still can’t get the images of her in that red tank top out of my mind. It was simple but effective.
Being Norah’s fake date may have been my best idea yet.
And the craziest part is, it wasn’t my idea. I didn’t see that coming from her. Especially since she’s such an introvert. Boulder is a small town, and I never see her out and about. And considering Norah lives above her bakery on downtown Pearl Street that’s chock-full of bars and restaurants, it’s safe to assume Norah is a homebody.
The sun is beginning to set as I park in front of the bakery. Norah’s place is prime real estate with lots of foot traffic from tourists and locals. Plus, her building is historical, which adds tons of character to her bakery. The second location will be very similar once the contractors have completed the restoration process. What’s better is, there are few specialized bakeries like it in Denver, so the residents won’t know what hit them. Norah’s croinuts are unbelievable and addictive. Although I’m still not one hundred percent sure my addiction isn’t to Norah more than to her croinuts.
I walk around the building and find the green side door Norah detailed in her text. I press the button labeled Donahue and wait patiently.
“Yes?” Norah’s voice echoes over the intercom.
“Hi, this is Dean Moser, your well-hung hooker for the night.”
A silent pause on the other end has me briefly regretting my joke, but she must forgive me because I hear the lock open without a word. As soon as I begin climbing the tall staircase, the delicious scent of meat hits my nose and makes my stomach growl.
The apartment door at the top of the stairs opens, and Norah emerges, looking frazzled. “I’m just finishing the béarnaise sauce, come on in.”
She turns, and her bare feet pad down the long hallway inside her apartment. I follow, taking in her frayed jeans and white tee that’s knotted in the back, revealing a sliver of pale skin just above her checkered apron. Her casual look is completely at odds with my plaid slacks, T-shirt, and sky-blue suit coat I wore to what she described as a business meeting.
Regardless, my stomach likes what it smells as I turn the corner into her bright kitchen with whitewashed walls, white cabinets, and a large cream marble slab over an island containing the sink.
