Page 45 of Sweetest Temptation
Iscooped dough onto the floured tray, pretending like my life didn’t just spin out of control from one reckless night. My hands moved on autopilot, while my mind replayed every detail I wished I could forget.
Samir’s touch still lingered, like a ghost I couldn’t shake off. I keep telling myself it was a mistake, and that it didn’t mean anything, but deep down I know that’s a lie. It meant too much—I felt too much—and that wasn’t the plan.
The timer on the oven beeped, snapping me out of my thoughts. I pulled the first batch of cookies out, the sweet aroma rushing up to meet me, masking the ache sitting heavy in my chest. Everyone thinks baking is just about sugar and flour, but for me, it’s therapy. It’s how I keep from unraveling.
As much as I wanted to go all the way with Samir, mentally, I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s “girl” again. I’ve only been withJerome, so the thought of being with another man scared me. However, the way Samir handled my body with just his tongue alone, I knew it’d only take a few more sessions to have me dickmatized. I’d be outside his house in broad daylight, armed with a spotlight and bad intentions, if he tried to play me the way Jerome did. I ain’t trying to catch no case for being a stalker, though, which is why I was adamant about us not having sex again. Samir did me a favor by not pushing things further and respecting my fading boundaries because if I hadn’t passed out on the couch, I was positive I would be feeling even more discontent the last two days.
When I woke up the morning after the meet-and-greet “party,” I was still on the couch. Samir’s cologne lingering in the air, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to face him again. I was too embarrassed about how the night ended. I also was ashamed that anytime I was around that man, the day ended with him between my legs.
I was stuck between guilt and craving.
I immediately packed my things and booked the quickest flight home, missing the hotel’s official grand opening. I was happy the Armstrongs only hired me for the pre-opening gala because had I needed to stay for the main event, I would’ve breached my contract. Nyala wasn’t happy about my decision after filling her in on what happened with Samir, but she understood and left with me. She kept giving me that “Girl, you trippin’” look the whole way to the airport, but she didn’t press it. She knew when to back off.
My mind flashed back to the conversation Nyala, and I had on the plane ride home. She said a lot, but it was one part that stuck. Rather, one question.
“Do you want to find love again, Zanova?”
My answer had been a quick yes, but the truth was heavier than that. I was afraid of opening up… Afraid of letting someonein… Afraid of getting my heart broken again. And then there was Samir wanting kids, which was something I couldn’t give him. That fact alone should’ve been enough to keep me running with my walls up, like they always were.
Samir had been blowing up my phone for the past two days. Of course, I didn’t answer. He even came by the shop yesterday looking for me, and I had Denise tell him I wasn’t there. I watched from the cameras as he stood at the counter, his tall frame blocking the sunlight pouring through the glass door. He didn’t look mad, just disappointed. And that somehow made me feel worse.
After he left, I sat in the office for a long time, staring at my phone, wondering what I would even say if I did pick up.
Sorry for running? Sorry for acting like what happened between us didn’t mean anything?
But I couldn’t. That would mean I had to admit that I was feeling something for Samir, and I wasn’t ready for that. So I buried myself in work, hoping the long hours and constant smell of baked goods would drown out the thoughts of him. However, that wasn’t enough. Every time the bell over the door chimed, my heart jumped, thinking it might be him again. And when it wasn’t, I felt that strange mix of relief and disappointment.
I keep telling myself to move on and let it go, but it’s hard to forget a man who made your whole body remember him.
Now, back home in my bakery, everything feels familiar but off. The sweet scent in the air didn’t calm me the way it usually does. I’ve got flour on my hands, and a storm in my chest. Every time I close my eyes, I see him.
His smirk.
His eyes.
His skin.
His hands.
The way he’d look at me like I washissweetest temptation.
I walked over to the shelf and grabbed a few small boxes with my bakery logo and began placing the cookies from the tray inside. This was the last of the online orders for the day. I’ve been here since five this morning, filling a large order that was set to be delivered today by five this evening. The person who called the order in specifically requested that I deliver the cookies. Normally, I wouldn’t take such a request, but one of my delivery guys called out sick, and the other was already busy with deliveries, so I had no choice but to step in.
After I made this delivery, I was taking my ass home to run me a warm bubble bath. The city was expecting heavy rain in the next hour, and I wanted to be home before it started. I had Denise come and help me to the car with the multiple dozens of cookies. I didn’t know who ordered two hundred of the same chocolate chip cookies, but I wasn’t mad. As long as they paid for them, I wasn’t complaining. Money was money, and I was here to make it.
As we were loading my truck, a car pulled up alongside me, and Jerome stepped out. My stomach tightened before my mind could catch up. Of all people, it had to be him. As always, he was dressed in a navy blue suit. Still handsome as the day we met, but now his face didn’t stir my insides like it used to.
When we were married, Jerome rarely dressed down. On weekends, he’d lounge in his pajamas, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, pretending to be present while his mind was miles away.
Probably with her.
“Zanova, we need to talk,” he said, his tone clipped and serious, like he still had authority over me.
“No, we really don’t. I keep telling you that.”
“You that you need to leave that nigga, Samir, alone.” His jaw flexed as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
I blinked, a humorless laugh slipping out. “I’m sorry, what?”
